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THE

FOURTEENTH OF JULY

AND

DANTON

TWO PLAYS OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

BY

ROMAIN ROLLAND

AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION

WITH A PREFACE

BY

BARRETT H. CLARK

LONDON

GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD.

1919




CONTENTS

    ROMAIN ROLLAND AND THE PEOPLE'S THEATER
    THE FOURTEENTH OF JULY (_Le 14 Juillet_)
    DANTON (_Danton_)




ROMAIN ROLLAND AND THE PEOPLE'S THEATER


It is perhaps a little surprising to learn that the author of
_Jean-Christophe_ has written at least sixteen full-length
plays. Most of these, it is true, antedate the publication of
the first parts of his epoch-making novel, but since nothing
that comes from the brain of Romain Rolland can fail to possess
significance and interest, a brief inquiry into his dramatic
writings and theories on the drama will reveal an aspect of
the man which has hitherto strangely enough scarcely been
touched upon. His plays for a people's theater, and his book
of projects, are as integral a part of his development as
_Jean-Christophe_ itself.

The life of M. Rolland seems to have been a perpetual
struggle between conflicting mental forces: for years he read
philosophy, and suffered agonies before he at last found
himself spiritually; until the completion of _Jean-Christophe_
he was a prey to doubts regarding the utility of art and the
end of life. He applied in turn to the great master-minds of
the world--Empedocles, Spinoza, Michelangelo, Shakespeare,
Beethoven, Tolstoy--seeking for a satisfactory philosophy of
life. Small wonder, therefore, that his work should bear the
imprint of the masters who have at one time or another been his
guides and inspiration.

His two years' sojourn in Rome, from 1890 to 1892, awakened
a passionate interest in the Italian Renaissance, which he
immediately translated into plays. It is likely that _Orsino,
Les Baglioni,_ and _Le Siège de Mantoue,_ plays of the
Renaissance, were inspired by Shakespeare, for whose historical
dramas M. Rolland professes a decided partiality. The plays
are not published, but if we can judge from the fact that
Mounet-Sully wished to produce _Orsino,_ they must have shown
some of the power of the later plays. At Rome he was associated
with the aged revolutionist Malwida von Meysenbug, whom he had
met at Versailles some time before, and doubtless the story
of her eventful life had its part in shaping his Ideals. Four
other plays--three of them on classical subjects--belong to this
period: _Niobe, Caligula, Empédocle,_ and _Jeanne de Piennes._
It is probable that these also belonged to the writer's period
of apprenticeship. At the end of M. Rolland's stay in Rome he
went to the Wagner Festival at Bayreuth, in company with Malwida.

Even at this time he was already dreaming of a new theater
in France, and his theoretical writings of later times bear
unmistakable proof of the impression made upon him by the
Bayreuth theater and Wagner's epoch-making ideas on art and the
people.

After his marriage in 1892 Romain Rolland returned to Italy,
where he gathered material for his thesis, which he presented
and successfully upheld at the Sorbonne in 1895. His subject was
_The Origins of the Modern Lyric Theater. History of the Opera
in Europe Before Lully and Scarlatti._ This he published in book
form in 1895. But in addition to his university studies and his
lectures, he found time to experiment with the dramatic form,
and in 1896 he published his _Saint Louis._ As this was later
included in a volume called _Tragedies of Faith--Les Tragédies
de la Foi_--together with two other plays, he evidently
conceived it as one of a series of works based upon a single
underlying idea.

_Saint Louis_ depicts, in the author's own words, "religious
exaltation." In _Saint Louis_ and the two other plays which
accompany it--_Aërt_ and _Le Triomphe de la Raison_--"One
can observe the presence of the main currents and passions
of the French youth of today." All three show "the ardor of
sacrifice, but a sacrifice which is courageous, militant: a
double reaction against cowardice of thought and cowardice of
action, against skepticism and against the relinquishment of the
great destiny of the nation." But in spite of this "program,"
M. Rolland is an artist far too austere to write thesis-plays;
he has often spoken in contempt of them. Nor did he in the
least appeal to the great public; for his plays have as yet not
proved acceptable to them. _Saint Louis_ is a beautiful poem,
not a tragedy after all, but a triumph, for no hero may see
the fruits of his labor, and if a temporary failure seems for
a moment to cloud the sky, it is only temporary. This is the
message of _Saint Louis_. The good monarch who, "dying at the
foot of the mountain, sees Jerusalem only through the eyes of
his army," is a figure of hope. _Aërt_ takes us from the time
of the Crusades to "an imaginary Holland of the seventeenth
century." Aërt, the son of a murdered patriot, is imprisoned
by his father's assassin; he makes a vain effort to rally the
forces of the opposition, and at last, free from all that is
vile in life, he throws himself from the window. _Le Triomphe
de la Raison_ belongs, so far as the subject is concerned, to
the Revolutionary plays. As an afterpiece to _Le 14 Juillet,
Danton_, and _Les Loups,_ it shows the Revolution "devouring
itself"--to translate literally the author's own comment. So
far as it depicts the excesses into which faith can lead men,
it is a tragedy, but there is an implication of progress in the
characters whose fate is bound up with that of the Revolution,
even those who fell prey to the blood-lust of the Girondist
massacres.

The _Théâtre de la Revolution_ includes the three Revolutionary
plays I have just mentioned. They were written not as
experiments for some vague stage dreamed by the author, but for
theatrical production before the people, the masses of France.
That they were not wholly successful matters little; Romain
Rolland might well refer us to the "moral" of _Saint Louis_: he
has opened a new field and laid before his countrymen--perhaps
the world--an ideal which may well require half a century to
bear fruit. The idea of writing a series of plays on the French
Revolution was suggested to M. Rolland by a decree of the
Committee of Public Safety, dated March 10, 1794:

1. That the Théâtre-Français shall henceforward be solely
dedicated to productions given by and for the people at stated
intervals each month:

2. That the building shall bear the following inscription on
its façade: PEOPLE'S THEATER, and that the various troupes
of actors already established in the Paris theaters shall be
requisitioned in turn to act in these popular productions, which
are to take place three times in every decade.

A few weeks later there appeared another decree, inviting
the poets "to celebrate the principal events of the French
Revolution, to compose Republican plays, and picture for
posterity the great epochs of the regeneration of the French,
and give to history that solid character which is fitting for
the annals of a great people who have fought victoriously for
their liberty, in spite of the opposition of all the tyrants of
Europe."

"All these projects for Republican art," says M. Rolland,
"fell, on the 9th of Thermidor, together with the chiefs of the
Republic."

When, early in 1903, Romain Rolland and a few associates began
writing for the _Revue d'Art Dramatique_ a series of articles on
the people's theater, they were merely "following the tradition
interrupted by the events of the Revolution; and it was but
natural that one of them was led to select the Revolution itself
as the natural subject for popular productions. The three plays
were to have been part of a dramatic cycle on the Revolution--a
sort of epic comprising ten plays. _Le 14 Juillet_ was the first
page, and _Danton,_ the center, the decisive crisis, wherein
the reason of the chiefs of the Revolution seemed to waver, and
their common faith be sacrificed to personal hatred. In _Les
Loups,_ where the Revolution is depicted on the field of battle,
and in _Le Triomphe de la Raison,_ where it goes out into the
provinces in pursuit of the Girondin proscripts, it devours
itself." Thus M. Holland.

The remaining plays are three in number, and inferior in
dramatic and literary quality to the six just discussed. The
first of these is an anti-war propaganda piece, _Le Temps
viendra,_ published in 1903, and inspired by the Boer war. _La
Montespan,_ a French historical drama, followed in 1904, and
_Les Trois Amoureuses,_ also based upon history, in 1906.

In order to grasp the full significance of M. Holland's plays
it will be necessary to consider his interesting book, _Le
Théâtre du Peuple._ Ever since the early eighties M. Holland
had been a staunch admirer and in some ways a disciple of
Tolstoy. The young Frenchman, however, expressed his doubts
to the Russian, and in 1887 Tolstoy wrote a long letter which
was, according to one of M. Holland's biographers, a sort of
preliminary sketch for _What Is Art?_ And when that astounding
book appeared, with its iconoclastic attacks on M. Holland's
idols, he was at first prone to disagree, but _Le Théâtre du
Peuple_ is ample proof that "literature for the people" had sunk
deep into the Frenchman's heart. The theater, in common with
most modern art, is a whitened sepulcher, rotten to the core,
affected, aristocratic, anti-democratic. The evil is not only
in the plays, but in acting and the physical arrangement of the
playhouse itself. New plays must be written for the masses,
plays which they can understand, plays which bring them together
as a class and in which they can participate. M. Rolland
briefly considers the dramatic masterpieces of the world, from
Sophocles to the comedies of the boulevard, and finds them, with
rare exceptions, unsuited to the people. Even Shakespeare and
Schiller are lifeless: they belong to past epochs, and express
ideas foreign to the French workingmen of the twentieth century.
The playhouses, too, are built for a society divided into
classes; these must be altered to suit the workingmen. Says M.
Rolland in the preface to the first edition: "Of late there has
been an attempt to found a People's Theater in Paris. Already
personal and political interests have begun to make themselves
evident. But we must unflinchingly destroy the parasites who
seek a living at the expense of our theater. The People's
Theater is not a fashionable toy; it is no game for dilettanti.
It is the imperious expression of a new society, its voice and
thought; it is, as a result of circumstances, the war-machine
against an ageing and fossilized society. Let there be no
misunderstanding: we must not merely open up new old theaters,
bourgeois theaters endeavoring to appear new merely by calling
themselves people's theaters. We must found a theater by and for
the people, a new art for a new world."

Having tested the plays of the past and found them wanting,
M. Rolland set himself the task of supplying plays for his
projected people's theater. As we have seen, he went to the
Revolution, and wrote plays which would appeal to the masses.
But these plays must also be acted _by_ the people, and M.
Rolland proceeded to make the people a character, a great
composite crowd, participating as The People. In _Le 14
Juillet_, The People are the protagonist, and the taking of
the Bastille afforded him ample opportunity for utilizing
them. In _Danton_ they are rather implied until the last act,
while in _Les Loups_ and _Le Triomphe de la Raison_ they hover
in the background and determine the course of events: they
are always near at hand, although they do not appear on the
stage. M. Holland must of course be a confirmed enemy to our
star-system, and there is, even in the hero-play of _Danton,_
a fairly even distribution of parts. The effect is at first
somewhat disconcerting, and the plays seem a trifle discursive
and rambling, but this is doubtless due to the fact that we
are accustomed to the Sardou method of handling historical
themes. There is no conventional plot, and the love-interest, as
developed in such a play as _Patrie,_ is conspicuously absent.
In its stead there is greater breadth of touch, a solider
framework, a broader canvas; and the artist, we instinctively
feel, is better able to depict a great movement like the
Revolution than if he were confined to raveling and unraveling
a plot. Possibly M. Rolland's ignorance of or disdain for the
tricks of the dramatist's trade has lessened the purely dramatic
tension of occasional scenes, but, on the other hand, he has
drawn characters--Hoche, Desmoulins, Danton, Robespierre, among
others--which Sardou and the rest could scarcely have conceived.
The lovable weakness of Desmoulins, the dynamic and superhuman
power of Danton, have never been so vividly set forth as in
these plays, and the Revolution, so often exposed as a series
of more or less exciting events, stands forth as the most human
of all stories.

While it is true that M. Rolland recognizes the motive power of
the people in the first two plays of his Revolutionary cycle,
and while they direct and influence practically every event,
he is not blind to the excesses into which they fell, and the
last two plays, _Les Loups_ and _Le Triomphe de la Raison,_ to
some extent show the degeneration of the people. _Les Loups_ is
perhaps, from the purely theatrical viewpoint, the best play
M. Rolland ever wrote; it treats of the moral decay of the
Revolutionists, and the situation developed is as gripping as
any of Henry Bernstein's famous second acts. A former nobleman
is suspected of treachery by his fellow officers, and a pretext
readily found to kill him. At the last moment one of his
comrades discovers that he is innocent; however, in order to
conceal the treachery of a successful Revolutionary general, he
is sacrificed. _Le Triomphe de la Raison_ is similar in theme.

No attempt at dramatic reform, no theory, no ideal--whatever
its eventual worth--ought to obscure the fact that all of
M. Rolland's plays are unsuccessful from the viewpoint of
production. Good reading they undoubtedly make; literature
they assuredly are, but they have not pleased audiences for
consecutive days, weeks, and months. This does not of necessity
damn them, but it should cause us to ask whether or not they
belong to that class of hybrids, the closet-drama. M. Rolland's
first mistake was in writing plays for a hypothetical and
practically nonexistent public. The first edition of _Le
Théâtre du Peuple_ concludes with these words: "Do you want a
people's art? Then begin by having a people!" France is in many
ways an aristocratic country with an aristocratic art; it is but
natural, therefore, that all reform should be slower than in
younger countries; and M. Rolland in his impatience attempted
the impossible. In trying to avoid what was conventional in the
French drama, he restricted himself to a more or less formless
medium, and the people who saw his plays missed what they were
accustomed to see: a well-defined story.

What success would have attended his innovations in another
country it is hard to say; what success will attend him if he
perseveres, seems easier to predict. The past five years have
witnessed a profound change in French thought and art, and
perhaps Romain Rolland will once more find his faith justified
in a new France where the people shall have a theater of their
own. Meantime, his ideas have spread to other lands and there
borne the fruit he had hoped would flourish in his own beloved
France.

BARRETT H. CLARK.




THE FOURTEENTH OF JULY

_(LE 14 JUILLET_)


A Play in Three Acts

    Pour qu'une nation soit libre.
    il suffit qu'elle le veuille.
                     LA FAYETTE.
     11th July. 1789.

[_Le 14 Juillet_ was produced in Paris in 1902.]


_Dedicated to the People of Paris._




AUTHOR'S NOTE


The author has sought moral truth in this play rather than
anecdotic exactitude. He has seen fit to take greater liberty
with the action, which is developed in the poetry of popular
legend, than in _Danton._ In that play, he applied himself to
the development of the psychology of certain characters, for
the whole drama is concentrated in the souls of three or four
great men. It is otherwise with the present work: individuals
disappear in the great ocean of the people. If you wish to
represent a tempest, you must not describe each wave, but a
whole angry sea: an exact rendering of details is much less
important than the passionate sweeping truth of the whole. There
is something false and insulting to the intelligence in the
disproportionate place given nowadays to historic anecdotes,
tiny incidents, and the dust shaken out of the pages of history,
all of which is emphasized at the expense of the human side.
It is my ideal to resuscitate the forces of the past, reveal
once more the springs of action, and not to offer a cold and
denatured miniature to the curious who care more for externals
than for the soul of the hero. I have endeavored to make live
again the heroism and the faith of the nation in the throes of
the Revolution during the Republican epoch, in order that we, a
nation of greater maturity and more than ever conscious of the
great destiny that awaits us, may continue and finish the work
interrupted in 1794. If we are strong enough to realize this, we
are strong enough to do our best toward the accomplishment of
our task. The end of art is not dreams, but life. Action should
spring from the spectacle of action.

_June,_ 1901.



    CAST OF CHARACTERS


    LA CONTAT                              GONCHON
    LUCILE DUPLESSIS                       DE FLUE
    MARIE BOUJU, THE FRUIT-DEALER          BÉQUART
    FIRST WOMAN OF THE PEOPLE              ROBESPIERRE
    SECOND WOMAN OF THE PEOPLE             A MANIAC
    FIRST WOMAN                            A PORTER
    SECOND WOMAN                           A NOTARY
    THIRD WOMAN                            A FRENCH GUARD
    A YOUNG GIRL                           A STUDENT
    LITTLE JULIE                           A VAGABOND
    HOCHE                                  A SHOPKEEPER
    HULIN                                  FIRST NEWS-CRIER
    MARAT                                  SECOND NEWS-CRIER
    CAMILLE DESMOULINS                     AN ABBÉ
    VINTIMILLE                             FIRST BOURGEOIS
    DE LAUNEY                              SECOND BOURGEOIS
    THE MAN                                THIRD BOURGEOIS
                      FOURTH BOURGEOIS

The People: French Guards, Swiss Guards, Pensioners, Carpenters,
Workingmen, Children, etc.

SCENE: Paris from the 12th to the 14th July, 1789.

Act I. At the Palais-Royal, Sunday morning, 12th July.

Act II. The Faubourg Saint-Antoine, Monday night and Tuesday
morning, 13th-14th July.

Act III. The Bastille, Tuesday the 14th July, from four to seven
P.M.




ACT I


[_The Garden of the Palais-Royal, seen from the Cafe de Foy. It
is Sunday the 12th of July, 1789. At the back is the "Cirque";
at the right, a fountain, playing. Between the "Cirque" and the
promenades running round the Palais-Royal is a row of trees.
The shopkeepers stand before their shops, which are hung with
patriotic emblems: "At the Sign of the Great Necker," "At the
Sign of the National Assembly," etc. Women, with breasts,
shoulders, and arms bare, and wearing immense bouquets, walk
about among the crowd displaying their charms. Newsdealers
cry out the news; gambling-house keepers appear here and
there in dressing-gowns, escorted by men armed with clubs;
swindlers brazenly slip between groups of people with their
folding tabourets, stop for an instant, display a trick, bring
out sacks of silver, then quickly disappear into the surging
mass. The crowds are nervously shifting about, sitting at the
cafes, jumping up and around, and ready to start at the least
disturbance. The crowds gradually increase up to the end of
the act, until there is so little room left that the more
venturesome climb into the trees. People of all classes are
present: starving vagabonds, workingmen, bourgeois, aristocrats,
soldiers? priests, women, and children, some of whom play about
between the legs of the others_.]

NEWS-CRIERS. Great plot discovered! Famine, famine is at hand!
The murderers have come!

THE CROWD [_calling to the news-criers_]. Here! Sst!

A MAN OF THE PEOPLE [_anxiously, to a bourgeois, who is
reading_]. Well?

THE BOURGEOIS. My good fellow, they are coming! They're coming!
The Germans, the Swiss Guards! Paris is surrounded! They'll be
here any minute!

THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE. The King won't let them.

A VAGABOND. The King? He's with them at the camp of Sablons,
surrounded by Germans.

THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE. The King is a Frenchman.

THE BOURGEOIS. The King, yes, but not the Queen. The Austrian
woman hates us. Her brigand Marshal de Broglie has sworn to raze
Paris to the ground. We are caught between the cannon of the
Bastille and the troops of the Champ de Mars.

A STUDENT, They won't make a move. Monsieur Necker is at
Versailles; he will take care of us.

THE BOURGEOIS. Yes, so long as he remains Minister, we must not
lose our faith in him.

THE VAGABOND. But who says he still is? They've dismissed him.

ALL [_protesting_]. No, no, he's still Minister,--The
newspaper says he will remain Minister.--Good! If Monsieur
Necker weren't there, everything would be lost.

WOMEN [_promenading about_]. No business today! They are
all quite mad. They think of nothing but Versailles.--The
little fellow who was with me just now spoke of nothing but
Necker.--Say, is it true that that damned Austrian threw our
deputies into prison?

THE SWINDLERS [_mysteriously shaking their bags of silver under
the noses of the passers-by_]. Fine Sunday morning! Ten o'clock
and the garden is full! What will it be soon?--Fine show and a
small crop! They're here to get the latest news.--Oh, if you
only know how to go about it--!

GONCHON [_to the shopkeepers_]. Now, you fellows, stir
yourselves, stir yourselves! Business isn't everything. Of
course, business must be carried on, but we must be good
patriots, too. Keep your eyes open. I warn you, things are
beginning to happen!

A SHOPKEEPER. Do you know something, Monsieur Gonchon?

GONCHON. Careful. Grain is coming. Every one at his post. When
the moment comes, give it to those idiots, and howl all together.

A SHOPKEEPER. Long live the Nation!

GONCHON [_hitting him_]. Shut up, you fool. "Long live the Due
d'Orléans!" Then, if you like, both.

CAMILLE DESMOULINS [_who has just come from a
gambling-den--excited, laughing and stammering_]. Plucked!
They've cleaned me!--I knew it: I said to myself, "Camille,
you're going to get plucked." Now you're satisfied! It's done.
Well, I don't have it to do over again. I always foresee
the stupid things I am going to do. Thank God, I don't lack
a single--anyway, I've killed two hours. What news from
Versailles?--Oh, the rascal! They are thick as thieves at a
fair. The gambling-dens advertise, "You come in to pass the
time." You've got to occupy your hands and the rest! That is why
cards and women were invented. They can relieve you of useless
money. Now my pockets weigh nothing at all! Who wants to see a
brand-new purse? Oh, there's not a piece left.

WOMEN [_mocking him_]. "They stir you up, up, up, they'll stir
you up."

CAMILLE DESMOULINS. You bats of Venus, you're very proud,
indeed, to have swindled a poor devil like me! But, Good God,
he's not angry with you. "I'd lose it again if I had it to lose."

AN OLD BOURGEOIS. The gambler's purse has no strings.

GONCHON. Young man, I see you are in trouble. To oblige you, I
will lend you three écus on that chain.

DESMOULINS. Generous Gonchon, do you want to strip me naked
like St. John? Leave that to the ladies: they will do very well
without your assistance.

GONCHON. You little guttersnipe, do you know whom you are
addressing?

DESMOULINS. Gonchon--merely Gonchon! You are a jeweler, usurer,
vendor of lemonade, and keeper of a brothel. You are everything:
Gonchon, king of the gambling-den keepers.

GONCHON. What do you mean by your "gambling-dens"? I have merely
founded clubs where, under the pretext of enjoying themselves
by honest and natural means, men may gather and discuss methods
of reforming the State. They are assemblies of free citizens,
patriots--

DESMOULINS. Where does the _Patrie_ come in?

GONCHON. The Society of the Men of Nature--

DESMOULINS. Women of Nature!

GONCHON. A very bad joke. If you haven't enough shame to respect
a respectable man, you might at least respect the sign beneath
the egis of which stands my house.

DESMOULINS [_without looking_]. What sign? "The Forty Thieves"?

GONCHON [_furiously_]. "The Great Necker"!

DESMOULINS. That is rather hard on him, Gonchon. [_He looks at
the sign._] What is on the other side?

GONCHON. Nothing.

DESMOULINS. I see another picture.

GONCHON. The Duc d'Orléans--two sides of the same head.

DESMOULINS. The front and the back! [_The bystanders laugh._
GONCHON, _with his associates, advances upon_ DESMOULINS.]
Very well! I advise you not to drive me to crush you with my
Pretorian Guard! Do you want a certificate of citizenship?
Oh, Janus Gonchon, I make you a present of it. You give bread
to every sneak in Paris, and take it from the honest people,
so that they have only one desire: to go and fight. _Audax et
edax._ Long live the Revolution!

GONCHON. I forgive you, because it wouldn't do to duel with the
enemy at our gates, but I'll meet you soon before the men of
Versailles.

DESMOULINS. Are they really coming?

GONCHON. Ah, you turn pale?--Yes, the struggle is at hand. The
mercenaries from Lorraine and Flanders are in the Plain of
Grenelle, the artillery at Saint-Denis; the German cavalry at
the Ecole militaire. The Marshal, with all his aides-de-camp, is
giving orders for war at Versailles. They are going to attack
tonight.

A WOMAN. Good God, what will becomes of us?

A BOURGEOIS. The bandits! They treat us like enemies!

A WORKINGMAN [_to_ GONCHON]. How do you know that? The road to
Versailles is cut off. They've stationed cannon at the Pont de
Sèvres. No one can pass.

GONCHON. Suspicious, eh? I'll make the first man who doubts my
patriotism swallow my fist. Don't you know Gonchon?

THE WORKINGMAN. We don't suspect you.--Don't get excited.--We've
too much to do to get into a quarrel with you. We only asked you
where you got your information?

GONCHON. You haven't the right to ask me. I know what I know. I
have a way of knowing.

ANOTHER WORKINGMAN [_to the First_]. Let him alone; he's all
right.

A BOURGEOIS. Lord, what shall we do?

A STUDENT. TO the gates! Everybody to the gates! Don't let them
in!

A BOURGEOIS. As if they could stop them! Poor people like
ourselves, without arms! What do they know of war! Can they keep
out the best troops of the kingdom?

ANOTHER. They're in already! And there's the Bastille; it's like
a cancer--incurable!

A WORKINGMAN. The vile monster! Who will free us?

A STUDENT. They've already made a company of Swiss Guards
retreat today.

ANOTHER. Their cannon are in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine.

A WORKINGMAN. Can't do a thing while we have this bit in our
mouths. We've got to take it out first.

A BOURGEOIS. How?

A WORKINGMAN. I don't know how, but it's got to be done.

ALL [_seriously and incredulously_]. Take the Bastille? [_They
turn to one another_.]

NEWS-CRIERS [_in the distance_]. Latest news! Desperate struggle!

A MAN [_shabby and pale, with the air of a maniac_]. We haven't
anything to fear from the soldiers. They won't attack.

A STUDENT. What!

THE MANIAC. They won't attack. They've got a simpler plan:
they'll just blockade us. They'll starve us out.

A WORKINGMAN. Well, if they do it for very long, we'll take the
road. We've lost a whole day waiting for bread at the bakeries.

A WOMAN. You can't get grain.

THE MANIAC. It won't arrive tomorrow.

A BOURGEOIS. But what are they doing with it?

THE MANIAC. I know: they've thrown it into the quarries of
Senlis and Chantilly to let it rot, and keep us from eating it.

THE BOURGEOIS [_incredulously_]. Nonsense!

THE MANIAC. It's true!

A WOMAN. It is true. In Champagne the cavalry ruined the wheat
crop in order to starve us.

THE MANIAC. Worse than that! They poison the bread they give us:
it burns your throat and your insides. Twenty people died of it
in my part of the city. The order came from Versailles. They
want to kill us like rats.

DESMOULINS. Absurd. No king wants to murder his people. Only a
Nero would do that, and our king is not a Nero.

THE MANIAC [_mysteriously_]. I know what the matter is: there
are too many people, and they've given orders to depopulate the
country.

DESMOULINS. You're sick, my friend, you need attention.

A WORKINGMAN. There's truth in what he says, though. The Queen
would be glad to see us all dead.

DESMOULINS. Why so?

THE WORKINGMAN. She's an Austrian. The Austrians have always
been enemies of France. She married our king in order to injure
us. We can't help being nervous so long as she is here.

THE OTHERS. He's right.--Out of France with the Austrian!

LA CONTAT [_in the midst of the Crowd_]. Why?

THE CROWD. What?--What do you mean?

LA CONTAT [_showing herself_]. Yes, why? Are you mad to say such
things about the most charming of women?

THE CROWD. Who dares say anything good of the Austrian
here?--Good Lord, why, it's an insult to us!

DESMOULINS [_to_ LA CONTAT]. Don't say another word. You'd
better get out and not answer them.

LA CONTAT. I am in no hurry.

DESMOULINS. They're gathering strength from all sides.

LA CONTAT. So much the better!

A VAGABOND. What did you say, aristocrat? What did you say?

LA CONTAT [_brushing him aside_]. Don't sniff at me. I said,
Long live the Queen!

THE CROWD [_exasperated_]. By God!

A CLERK. There's a girl who needs a good thrashing.

LA CONTAT. There's a face that needn't wait for one! [_She slaps
him._]

THE CLERK. Help! [_Some laugh, others shout._]

THE CROWD [_gathering round_]. Come and see!--What's the
matter?--An aristocrat assaulting a patriot--Into the river!

DESMOULINS. Citizens, it's only a joke.

THE CROWD [_furiously_]. To the river!

HULIN [_bullying the Crowd],_ Here! [_He stands before_ LA
CONTAT.] You know me, comrades, I am Hulin. You saw me at work
the other day: I smashed in the gate of the Abbey to save our
friends the French Guards, who were imprisoned. I'll smash in
the head of the first man who comes a step nearer. Respect the
women, I tell you! If you want to fight, there's no lack of
enemies. Go and find them.

THE CROWD. He's right.--Bravo!--No, he isn't!--She insulted
us!--She's got to apologize! On her knees, the aristocrat!--Make
her cry Down with the Queen!

LA CONTAT. I won't cry anything. [_To_ DESMOULINS.] Help me to
get up here. [_She stands on a table_.] If you bully me any more
I'll cry Down with Necker! [_Cries from the Crowd._] I'm not
afraid of you. Do you think you can frighten me because you're a
mob, and your hundred mouths are yapping at me? I have only one,
but I can make myself heard. I'm used to talking to the people.
I face you every night: I am Mademoiselle Contat.

THE CROWD. Contat of the Théâtre-Français!--The
Théâtre-Français!--Oh, let's see her!--Silence!

LA CONTAT. So you don't like the Queen? Do you want her sent
away? Would you like to exile every pretty woman from France?
You have only to say the word: we'll pack up and go. See what
will happen without us. You really make me laugh, calling me an
aristocrat! I'm the daughter of a herring-dealer, who kept shop
just under the Châtelet. I work like the rest of you. I am for
Necker just as you are. I'm for the Assembly, but I don't like
to be bullied, and I really think if you took it into your
heads to try to make me cry Long live Comedy, I would cry Down
with Moliere! You may think whatever you like: there's no law
against stupidity, but then there's no law against those who
still have a little common sense. I like the Queen, and I am not
afraid to say so.

A STUDENT. Of course: they both have the Comte d'Artois for a
lover!

TWO WORKINGMEN. What a lie!--She can certainly talk!

DESMOULINS. Citizens, we cannot ask a queen to speak against
royalty. Here is the true queen! The others are make-believe
royalty, whose only function is to bear dauphins. Once the
little one is born, they have nothing else to do. They live at
our expense, and they are costly luxuries. It would be best to
send this Austrian fowl back to her coop, from which she was
brought at great cost--as if we lacked women in France to bear
children! But the queens of the theater! Ah, they are intended
to give happiness to the people. Every hour of their life is
devoted to our service. Every bit of them is devoted to our
pleasure; they belong to us, they are our national property. By
Venus of the Beautiful Cheeks, let us defend her, and all shout:
Long live the Queen, the true Queen, La Contat! [_Laughter and
applause_.]

THE CROWD. Long live Queen Contat!

LA CONTAT. Thank you. [_To_ DESMOULINS.] Give me your arm;
you're nicer than the others.--Have you feasted your eyes
enough? Very well, then let me by. If you want to see me again,
you know the way to the Theater.--What is your name?

DESMOULINS. Camille Desmoulins.--How imprudent of you! I told
you--weren't you afraid?

LA CONTAT. Of what?

DESMOULINS. They nearly killed you.

LA CONTAT. The idea! They shout, of course, but they never do
anything.

DESMOULINS. You are blind. They are right who say that to
despise danger is merely to be unaware of it.

THE CROWD. The little lady has warmth in her eyes!--Elsewhere,
too!

A WORKINGMAN. That's all very well, Mademoiselle, but it's not
the thing to set yourself against the poor like us, and side
with the people who are exploiting us!

THE MANIAC. Lord, she's a monopolist!

LA CONTAT. What! A monopolist!

THE MANIAC. Look at your wig.

LA CONTAT. Well?

THE MANIAC. All that powder! There's enough flour on the necks
of the idle rich to feed the poor of Paris!

THE WORKINGMAN [_to_ LA CONTAT]. Never mind him; he's crazy. If
you have a good heart, Mademoiselle--and I can see in your eyes
that you have--how can you defend the cut-throats who want to
destroy us?

LA CONTAT. Destroy you, my friend? Who told you that?

A STUDENT. Don't you know? Here's the latest letter from the
Austrian's man, the Jesuit Marshal, the old assassin, the ass
decorated with amulets, relics, and medals: de Broglie! Do you
know what he says?

CROWD. Read! Read!

THE STUDENT. They have conspired. They want to break up our
States-General, take away our deputies and throw them into
prison, expel our Necker, sell Lorraine to the Emperor for money
to pay their soldiers, bombard Paris and kill the inhabitants.
The plot is scheduled for tonight.

GONCHON. Did you hear that? Isn't that enough, or do you want
still more to stir you up? Good God, are we to let them stick us
like pigs? God Almighty, to arms! To arms!--Luckily, we have a
protector; he's watching over us: Long live Orléans!

GONCHON'S FOLLOWERS. Long live Orléans!

THE CROWD. To arms! Let's march against them!

MARAT [_rising from the Crowd, and standing on a chair. He
is a small man, and appears nervous and deeply agitated. He
stands tip-toe, and then speaks with all his power_]. Stop!
You poor wretches, where are you going? Don't you see that
the cut-throats are only waiting for an insurrection in Paris
to swoop down upon the city? Don't listen to such perfidious
advice. That is only a ruse to destroy you. Yes, you, you who
excite the people, you who pretend to be a patriot,--who says
you are not an agent of despotism, whose business it is to
provoke the good citizens and deliver them into the hands of the
hordes of Versailles? Who are you? Where do you come from? Who
will guarantee you? _I_ don't know you.

GONCHON. Well, I don't know _you._

MARAT. If you don't know me, you are a scoundrel. I am known
wherever there is virtue and poverty. I spend my nights taking
care of the sick, and my days taking care of the people. My name
is Marat.

GONCHON. I don't know you.

MARAT. If you don't, you will before long, traitor! Oh,
credulous people, absurd people, open your eyes. Do you realize
where you are? What, do you gather here to prepare your struggle
for liberty? Look, look about you! This is the gathering-place
of all the exploiters, all the idle classes, swindlers,
thieves, prostitutes, disguised spies, the instruments of the
aristocracy! [_Howls, protestations, and the like, from, one
part of the Crowd, which cries: "Down with him!" and bare their
fists._]

DESMOULINS. Bravo, Marat! Struck the nail on the head!

LA CONTAT. Who is that dirty little fellow with such beautiful
eyes?

DESMOULINS. A doctor-journalist.

ANOTHER PART OF THE CROWD. Go on! [_They applaud._]

MARAT. I care nothing for the howling of these traitors, these
accomplices of famine and servitude! They rob you of what money
you have left; they drain your strength with their women, and
your good sense with liquor! Fools! And you put yourselves in
their clutches, and blurt out your secrets to them! You give
yourselves into the hands of the enemy. Behind each pillar,
at the corner of each cafe, beside you, at your table, a spy
listens to you, watches you, takes down what you say, and
prepares your destruction. You who want to be free, leave this
sink of vice! Before entering the supreme struggle, begin by
counting your forces. Where are your weapons? You have none.
Forge your pikes, I tell you, make your muskets! Where are your
friends? You have none. Your own neighbor betrays you. Perhaps
the man you shake hands with, is delivering you into the hands
of the enemy. And you yourselves, are you sure of yourselves?
You are at war with corruption, and you are corrupted. [_Howls
from the Crowd._] You protest? If the aristocracy offered you
gold and food, do you dare swear that you would not become
aristocrats yourselves? You cannot silence me with your
protestations. You will hear the truth. You are too accustomed
to flatterers who court your favor and betray you. You are vain,
proud, frivolous: you have neither strength, character, nor
virtue. You waste your strength in talk. You are effeminate,
vacillating, will-less; you tremble at the sight of a musket--

CROWD. That'll do!--Enough!

MARAT. You shout "Enough"! I, too, and even louder: Enough of
vice, enough of stupidity, enough of cowardice! Band yourselves
together, strike from your midst all who are false to the cause,
purify your minds, and gird your loins. Oh, my fellow-citizens,
I tell you these truths a little harshly, perhaps, but it is
because I love you!

LA CONTAT. See! He's crying!

MARAT. They give you opium, but I pour burning liquor on your
bleeding wounds, and I will continue to do so until you realize
your rights and your duties, until you are free, until you are
happy. Yes, in spite of your frivolousness, you will be happy,
you will be happy, or I shall cease to exist! [_He ends, his
cheeks streaming with tears, his voice broken with sobs._]

LA CONTAT. His cheeks are running with tears! How funny he is!

THE CROWD [_half laughing, the other half applauding_] There's
a real friend of the people! Long live Marat! [_They surround
him, put him on their shoulders and, in spite of his struggles,
carry him about._] HULIN [_catching sight of a little girl who
is looking at_ MARAT, _her eyes full of tears_]. "What's the
trouble, little one? You're crying, too? [_The Little Girl keeps
her eyes fixed on_ MARAT, _whose bearers have now allowed him,
to alight. She runs to him._]

LITTLE JULIE [_to_ MARAT, _her hands clasped_]. Don't cry! Don't
cry!

MARAT [_looking at her_]. What is it, little one?

JULIE. Don't be unhappy, please! We'll be better, I promise, we
won't be cowards any more. We won't lie; we'll be good, I swear!
[_The Crowd laughs._ HULIN _motions those near him to be silent,
and not interrupt the Little Girl._ MARAT, _who is seated,
assumes a different expression as he listens to her. His face
brightens, and he looks tenderly at the child, and takes her
hands in his._]

MARAT. Why do you cry?

JULIE. Because you cry.

MARAT. Do you know me?

JULIE. When I was sick, you took care of me.

MARAT [_draws her tenderly toward him, and looks into her
eyes, smoothing her hair back from her face._] Yes, your name
is Julie. Your mother is a washerwoman. You had measles last
winter. You were afraid. You cried as you lay in your little
bed, because you didn't want to die. [_She turns her head away.
He takes the child's head and presses it to his breast as he
smiles._] Don't be ashamed. So, you understood me, eh? You are
with me? Do you know what I should like?

JULIE. Yes, and I want it, too--[_The rest of her sentence is
lost, as she hesitates._]

MARAT. What?

JULIE [_raising her head and speaking with an air of conviction
that causes the bystanders to smile_]. Liberty.

MARAT. What would you do with it?

JULIE. Give it.

MARAT. To whom?

JULIE. To the poor people who are in prison.

MARAT. Where?

JULIE. There--in the big prison. They're alone all the time,
and people forget them. [_The attitude of the Crowd changes.
It has become serious; some frown and do not look at their
neighbors. They stare at the ground, and appear to be speaking
to themselves._]

MARAT. How do you know that, little one?

JULIE. I know--I've been told. I often think about them, at
night.

MARAT [_smoothing her hair_]. But you must sleep at night.

JULIE [_after a few moments' pause, takes_ MARAT'S _hands and
says with passion_], We will free them, won't we?

MARAT. But how?

JULIE. Go there all together.

THE CROWD [_laughing_]. Ha! It's so easy! [_The Little Girl
raises her eyes, and sees the circle of curious onlookers
staring at her. She is frightened and hides her head in her arm,
which rests on_ HULIN'S _table._]

LA CONTAT. Isn't she dear!

MARAT [_looking at her_]. Holy virtue of childhood, pure spark
of goodness, what a comfort you are! How dark would the world
be without children's eyes! [_He goes gravely toward the child,
takes her hand, which hangs limp, and kisses her._]

A WOMAN OF THE PEOPLE [_arriving on the scene_]. Julie! Are you
here! What are you doing with all these people?

DESMOULINS. She was addressing the crowd. [_Laughter._]

THE MOTHER. And she so frightened! What's got into her? [_She
goes to_ JULIE, _but the moment she touches her, the little one
runs away without a word, in childish rage._]

THE CROWD [_laughing and applauding_]. Run away, little
one! [_Loud laughter is heard at the other end of the
Garden_.]--Come here! Come along!--What is it? They are ducking
a countess!

LA CONTAT. Ducking a countess?

THE CROWD. She insulted the people! They're ducking her in the
fountain!

LA CONTAT [_on_ DESMOULINS' _arm, laughing_]. Let's run! How
amusing!

DESMOULINS. The most amusing performance in Europe!

LA CONTAT. Insolent! What about the Comédie? [_They go out
laughing. The Crowd surges out._ MARAT _and_ HULIN _are
down-stage alone;_ MARAT _stands, while_ HULIN _sits at a cafe
table. The back of the stage is crowded; some are standing on
chairs, watching to see what is happening in the Garden. People
walk about under the galleries beyond_ MARAT _and_ HULIN.]

MARAT [_pointing toward the Crowd_]. Actors! They are not
seeking liberty; they prefer plays! Today, when their very
lives are in danger, they think of nothing but performing
for each other. I want nothing to do with such people! Their
insurrections are nothing but absurd antics. I don't want to see
any more of them. Oh, to live shut up in a cave, hear nothing of
the noise outside, to be free from the vileness of the world!
[_He sits down, his head between his hands._]

HULIN [_tranquilly smoking, with a look of irony, says to_
MARAT]. Come, Monsieur Marat, you mustn't be discouraged. It's
not worth it. They are only big children playing. You know them
as well as I do: they don't mean anything by that. Why take it
so tragically?

MARAT [_raising his head, says with determination_]. Who are you?

HULIN. I come from your country--Neuchâtel in Switzerland. Don't
you remember me? I know you very well. I saw you when you were a
child--at Boudry.

MARAT. So you are Hulin, Augustin Hulin?

HULIN. Right!

MARAT. What are you doing here? You were a clock-maker in Geneva.

HULIN. I led a quiet life there. But I was counting without my
brother, who began to speculate. He became imbroiled in some
underhanded scheme, signed certain papers--. Naturally, he took
it into his head to die, and left his wife and a child of three
for me to take care of. I sold my shop to pay his debts, and
came to Paris, where I was taken into the service of the Marquis
de Vintimille.

MARAT. Then I'm not surprised at your cowardly words. You are a
servant.

HULIN. What if I am?

MARAT. Are you not ashamed to serve another man?

HULIN. I see no shame in it. Each of us serves, in one way or
another. Are you not a doctor, Monsieur Marat? You spend your
days examining people's wounds, and dressing them as well as you
can. You go to bed very late, and you get up at night when your
patients call you. Are you not then a servant?

MARAT. I serve no master: I serve humanity. But you are the
valet of a corrupt man, a miserable aristocrat.

HULIN. I don't serve him because he is corrupt. You don't ask
of your patients whether they are good or bad; they are men,
poor devils like you and me. When they need help, you must give
it and not stop to consider. Like many another, my master is
corrupted by wealth. He cannot help himself: he needs a score of
people to serve him. Now, I have three times as much strength as
I need, and I don't know what use to make of it. Occasionally, I
feel I would like to break something just to ease my feelings.
If that idiot needs my power, I am willing to sell it to him. We
are then quits. I do him good, and myself, too.

MARAT. You also sell him your free soul, your conscience.

HULIN. Who says anything about that? I defy any one to take that
from me.

MARAT. And yet you submit. You don't tell all you think.

HULIN. What need I say? I know what I think. It's all very well
for those who don't know to cry it aloud from the house-tops! I
don't think for others; I think for myself.

MARAT. Nothing that is in you belongs to you. You do not belong
to yourself; you are a part of every one. You owe your strength
to others, your will-power, your intelligence--no matter how
little you possess.

HULIN. Will-power and intelligence are not currency that one may
give. Work done for others is work ill done. I have made myself
free. Let the others do likewise!

MARAT. There, in those words, I recognize my odious compatriots!
Simply because Nature has given them six feet of body and the
muscles of an animal, they think they have a right to despise
those who are weak and ill. And when after they have reaped
their harvests and worked in their fields, they sit down
satisfied before their own doors, smoking a vile pipe the nasty
smoke of which calms their tiny consciences, they think they
have done their duty, and tell their less fortunate brothers who
ask for help to "go and do likewise."

HULIN [_quietly_]. How well you know me! You have described me
perfectly. [_He smiles to himself_.]

HOCHE [_who comes in. He wears the uniform of a corporal of the
French Guards. He carries some clothes over his arm._ To MARAT].
Don't believe him, citizen. He libels himself. He never refuses
the outstretched hand of misfortune. Only last week, he took
command of us and freed the French Guards who were imprisoned in
the Abbey by the aristocrats.

HULIN [_without turning his head, extends his hand over his
shoulder_]. Ah, it's you, Hoche? Who has asked for your advice?
You're talking nonsense! I was telling you not long ago that
sometimes I feel I have too much strength, and then I knock in a
door, or demolish a wall. And, of course, when I see a drowning
man, I offer him a helping hand. I don't reason about those
things. But I don't lie in wait for people who are going to
drown, nor do I throw them into the water--like these people who
start revolutions--just in order to fish them out afterward.

MARAT. You are ashamed of the good you do. I hate these people
who brag of their vices. [_He turns his back._] What are you
carrying there?

HOCHE. Some waistcoats that I embroidered; I'm trying to sell
them.

MARAT. Pretty work for a soldier! Do you mend clothes?

HOCHE. It's as good a trade as tearing them.

MARAT. Don't you blush to steal women's business? So that is
what you are doing? You think of your business, you hoard your
gold, when Paris is about to swim in blood!

HOCHE [_quietly, and with a touch of disdain_]. Oh, we have time
enough. Everything in due time.

MARAT. Your heart is cold, your pulse is slow. You are no
patriot. [_To_ HULIN.] And as for you, you are worse than if
you really did what you brag about! You had a decent healthy
character, which you are wilfully perverting.--Oh, Liberty,
these are your defenders. Indifferent to the dangers that beset
you, they will do nothing to combat them! I at least will not
abandon you, I alone. I shall watch over the people. I will save
them in spite of themselves. [_He goes out._]

HULIN [_watching him go, and laughing_]. Our gay associate! He
sees everything through pink spectacles. He's a doctor from my
country. One feels immediately that he is used to commanding
people. He hasn't enough to do in his own business, he must
needs treat all humanity.

HOCHE [_following_ MARAT _with his eyes, and with a mixture
of pity and interest_]. An honest man. The woes of humanity
weigh heavy on his shoulders; they unhinge his reason and his
judgment. He is sick with virtue.

HULIN. Where did you know him?

HOCHE. I've read his books.

HULIN. You must have time to waste. Where did you get hold of
them?

HOCHE. I bought them with the money I received from these
waistcoats--for which he reproached me.

HULIN [_looking at him_]. Let me see. What's the matter? Have
you been fighting again?

HOCHE. Yes.

HULIN. Barbarian! Where did you get that?

HOCHE. In the Place Louis XV. I was walking past. The arrogance
of those Germans, camping here in our own Paris, got on my
nerves. I could not help laughing at them. They fell upon me in
a body, but the people there got me away from them. I made a
mess of one or two, however.

HULIN. Indeed! That will cost you dear.

HOCHE. Bah! Do me a favor, Hulin. Bead this letter for me.

HULIN. To whom is it addressed?

HOCHE. To the King.

HULIN. Are you writing to the King?

HOCHE. Why shouldn't I? He is a son of Adam, like me. If I can
give him some good advice, why shouldn't I? And why shouldn't he
follow it?

HULIN [_jokingly_]. And what have you to say to the King?

HOCHE. I tell him to send his troops away from Paris, and to
come himself to the city and start the revolution. [HULIN
_laughs uproariously._ HOCHE _smiles._] Your reasons are
excellent. Thank you for your advice, but that is not what I
want.

HULIN. What, then?

HOCHE [_embarrassed_]. The--the style, you see. And the
spelling--I'm not quite sure.

HULIN. Do you imagine he is going to read it?

HOCHE. That makes no difference.

HULIN. I'll see to it, then.

HOCHE. How fortunate you are to have an education! Work as I
will now, I can never make up for lost time.

HULIN. Are you really so simple as to think this letter will be
read?

HOCHE [_good-humoredly_]. To tell the truth, I don't think it
will. And yet it would be very easy for all those fellows who
run the government of Europe, to apply just a little common
sense, ordinary everyday sense! So much the worse for them! If
they don't, it will be done without them!

HULIN. Instead of trying to reform the world, you'd do much
better to get yourself out of the fix you're in now. You are
going to be reported--perhaps you have been already. Do you know
what will be waiting for you when you return to the barracks?

HOCHE. Yes, but do you know what is waiting for the barracks
when I return to them?

HULIN. What?

HOCHE. You'll see.

HULIN. Now what are you plotting? Don't get excited. Don't you
think there's enough disorder as it is?

HOCHE. When order is injustice, disorder is the beginning of
justice.

HULIN. Justice! Justice consists in _not_ demanding of things
what they cannot give. You can't make over the world; you must
accept it as it is. Why demand the impossible?

HOCHE. Poor Hulin, do you know everything that is impossible?

HULIN. What do you mean? Let the people do merely what they can
do, and you will see whether or not the world can be made over!

HULIN [_his hand on_ HOCHE'S _shoulder_]. Ah, you are ambitious.
You dream of dominating the people!

HOCHE. You ignorant colossus! Fine ambition, that! Do you think
I have the spirit of a corporal? [_He looks at his uniform_.]

HULIN. Disgusted, eh? What's the matter with you? You seem very
happy today. Are they going to make you a sergeant?

HOCHE [_shrugging his shoulders_]. Happiness is in the air.

HULIN. You're not hard to please. There is famine. Imminent
massacre. Your people are about to be destroyed. And you, what
are you going to do? You will have to march against those you
love, or else be killed with your friends.

HOCHE [_smiling_]. Very well, then.

HULIN. You think it very well? The thunderbolt is above you;
everything is ready to crumble.... Roll, thunder! Truth, burn
the night!

HULIN. I am not afraid of the storm. Everything I have told you,
comrade, doesn't make me any more afraid. I am not afraid for my
own skin. But I don't see even the first rain-drop. If your eyes
are better than mine, show me! And wherever there is a good blow
needed, be assured I shall be ready. Lead me, show me the road;
what must I do?

HOCHE. There is no settled plan. Watch and see what happens.
When the storm comes, hold fast and run with it. Meantime, let
us proceed as usual--and sell our waistcoats. [_The Crowd again
inundates the stage. Cries and laughter are heard. An Urchin of
four or five is carried on the shoulders of a huge Porter._ LA
CONTAT, DESMOULINS, _and the rest follow them, laughing._]

THE URCHIN [_screaming_]. Down with the aristos, the
aristocracks, the aristaustrians!

HULIN. Now what are they playing at? Ah, their favorite
amusement: abusing the aristocrats.

THE PORTER. Attention, Voice of the People! What shall we
condemn them to? Hey, there, Monsieur, don't you hear me,
Leonidas? What'll we do to Artois?

THE URCHIN. The pillory!

THE PORTER. And Polignac?

THE URCHIN. A flogging!

THE PORTER. And Condé?

THE URCHIN. The gallows!

THE PORTER. And the Queen?

THE URCHIN. To the--! [_The Crowd bursts into loud laughter,
cheering the Urchin, who cries aloud, inflated by his success.
The Porter continues on his way with the boy._]

LA CONTAT. The dear child! He makes me die laughing.

DESMOULINS. Let's follow them. Bravo, terror of the
aristos!--Messieurs, young Leonidas has forgotten one of our
friends, Monsieur de Vintimille, Marquis de Castelnau.

HULIN [_to_ HOCHE]. Listen, he's speaking of my master.

DESMOULINS. We surely owe him something. The Marshal has just
appointed him guard over the Bastille, with M. de Launey, and he
has promised that within two days, we shall go and ask pardon
of him, barefooted and with ropes round our necks. I propose
that one of us make a present of his rope to that friend of the
people.

THE CROWD. Burn him! He lives near! Burn his house--his
furniture--his wife--his children!

VINTIMILLE [_appearing in the midst of the Crowd, cold and
ironic_]. Messieurs--

LA CONTAT. God save us!

HULIN. Hoche! [_He takes hold of_ HOCHE'S _arm._]

HOCHE. What's the matter?

HULIN. It's he!

HOCHE. Who?

HULIN. Vintimille.

VINTIMILLE. Messieurs, M. de Vintimille's upholsterer asks
permission to speak.--

THE CROWD. Hear the upholsterer!

VINTIMILLE. Messieurs, you are quite right in wishing to burn
that blackguard aristocrat, who makes game of you, despises you,
and who goes about saying that dogs ought to be whipped when
they show their teeth. Burn, Messieurs, by all means burn, but
I warn you, take care that the flame of your just fury does not
scorch you, and demolish what is yours along with what is his.
Let me ask you first of all, Messieurs, whether it is right to
ruin M. de Vintimille and those who ruin him--his creditors,
that is? At least allow me to beg you to spare the furniture,
which belongs to me, and for which the scoundrel has not paid a
son.

CROWD. Take back your furniture!

VINTIMILLE. I am encouraged, Messieurs, by the success of my
request, to make another, this time on behalf of the architect
of the house. He has been no more successful than I in
extracting écus from the pocket of M. de Vintimille; and he asks
you to consider what harm you would do him in destroying his
only security?

CROWD. Save the house!

VINTIMILLE. And as for his wife, Messieurs--why burn what
belongs to you? His wife is of the people. The Court, the
city, the clergy, the middle-classes, have often appreciated
her splendid qualities. She possesses a liberal mind, and
she recognizes no privileges: the three orders are equal in
her eyes. In her person she realizes the perfect union of the
nation. Let us do honor to so rare a virtue. Messieurs, let us
show mercy for Madame.

DESMOULINS. Mercy for Notre Dame!

THE CROWD [_laughing_]. Yes, yes, mercy for Madame!

VINTIMILLE. Really, Messieurs, I am taking advantage--

THE CROWD. No, no!

VINTIMILLE. Finally, Messieurs, if you burned M. de Vintimille's
children, would you not tremble to vie with our tragediennes?

THE CROWD [_laughing_]. Long live the children! Ha, ha!

VINTIMILLE [in _a changed tone_]. As for him, burn him,
Messieurs, burn him, burn him. And, let me tell you, if you
don't burn him, he will burn you! [_He steps down from the
chair, and disappears into the Crowd, who laugh and shout, and
applaud him._]

LA CONTAT [_going quickly to_ VINTIMILLE]. Run quickly! They
might recognize you!

VINTIMILLE. Hello, Contat, were you there? What are you doing in
such vile company?

LA CONTAT. Don't make fun of the dogs until you are well out of
the village.

VINTIMILLE. Oh, not every barking dog bites. Come!

LA CONTAT. Later.

VINTIMILLE. I shall meet you at the Bastille.

LA CONTAT. Very well: at the Bastille. [VINTIMILLE _goes out._]

HOCHE. The rascal! What effrontery!

HULIN. A mixture of courage and nasty vileness.

HOCHE. Often to be observed in our "betters."

HULIN. This one made his fortune by marrying one of the late
king's mistresses; and the same man wins honor at Crefeld and
Rosbach.

AN OLD WOMAN SHOPKEEPER. What do you mean with your talk all
the time of burning and hanging and stirring things up? What'll
it bring you? I know well enough you'll not do a blessed thing
about it. Then why talk so much? Will it make your soup taste
better if you cook a few aristocrats? They'll fun off with all
their money and we'll be more miserable than ever. You see,
you've got to take things as they come, and not believe those
liars that tell you you can change things by shouting. D'ye know
what I think? We're wasting our time here. Nothing's going to
happen, nothing _can_ happen. You're threatened with famine,
war--the whole Apocalypse. I tell you, it's all invented by the
newspapers that haven't anything else to print, and by spies who
want to stir things up. There's just a misunderstanding with
the king, but it'll be all right if we go about our business.
We have a good king: he's promised to keep our good M. Necker,
who's going to give us a Constitution. Why don't you believe it?
Isn't that good common sense? Why isn't it, eh? I believe what
they say, and I was just as foolish as you: I wasted four hours
here. I'm going now and sell my turnips.

THE CROWD [_approvingly_]. She's right.--You're all right,
mother. Let's go home.

HULIN. What have you to say to that?

HOCHE [_with a smile_]. She reminds me of my old aunt. She
talked about patience the moment she set to beating me.

HULIN. I think she talked good common sense.

HOCHE. I ask nothing better than to be able to believe her; and
I find it so natural that reason should prevail in her mind that
if I listened to my own counsel, I should even allow my enemies
to make reason triumph; but, you see, experience has too often
disabused me. All I have to do is to open my eyes; I see Gonchon
and his band closing shop. They do nothing without a motive,
mind you, and I am very much afraid that this sudden quiet is
only the lull before the storm. At base, no one believes that
this calm is natural; they all stayed, even the old lady. They
try to delude themselves, but they can't. They have all caught
the fever. Listen to the voice of that crowd! They don't shout,
but hear the murmurs! Like the rustling of leaves. The breeze
before the rain. [_He seizes_ HULIN'S _hand._] See! Look!
Hulin--here, here--[_A great confused murmur comes from the Crowd
at the back of the Garden, and then bursts forth like a clap of
thunder._]

A MAN [_out of breath, his hat gone, his clothing in disorder,
runs in, and cries out in terror._] Necker is exiled!

THE CROWD [_excitedly, hurrying to the Man_] What! What!
Necker!--It's a lie!

THE MAN [_shouting_]. Necker is banished! He's gone, gone!

THE CROWD [_howling_]. Kill him! He's a spy from Versailles!
Kill him!

THE MAN [_terror-stricken, as he attempts to free himself._]
What are you doing? You don't understand! I say that Necker--

THE CROWD. To the fountain! The informer! Drown him!

THE MAN [_howling_]. Me?

HOCHE. Let's save him, Hulin!

HULIN. You'd have to strike down twenty to save one. [_They
try in vain to break through the Crowd, which bears off the
unfortunate Man._ ROBESPIERRE _then rises from the Crowd and
stands on a table. He makes a gesture indicating that he wants
silence._]

HOCHE. Who is that thin little fellow who's trying to talk?

DESMOULINS. That is Robespierre, Deputy from Arras.

HOCHE. Shout, Hulin, and make them keep still!

HULIN. Listen! Listen to Citizen Robespierre! [_At first_
ROBESPIERRE _trembles. He is not heard amid the confusion. Some
cry, "Louder!_"]

DESMOULINS. Speak, Robespierre.

HULIN. Don't be afraid. [ROBESPIERRE _looks at him with a timid
and disdainful smile._]

DESMOULINS. He's not used to speaking.

HOCHE. Silence, comrades!

ROBESPIERRE [_composing himself_]. Citizens, I am Deputy to the
Third Estate. I have come from Versailles. That man spoke the
truth: Necker has been exiled. The power is now in the hands of
the nation's enemies. De Broglie, Breteuil, Foulon: Carnage,
Rapine, and Famine, are now the ministers. This means war. I
have cast my lot with you.

THE CROWD [_terrified],_ We're lost!

DESMOULINS. What shall we do?

ROBESPIERRE. Let us know how to die.

HOCHE [_with a shrug_]. Lawyer!

HULIN. Speak to them, Citizen Deputy.

ROBESPIERRE. What is the use of talk? Let each one consult his
own conscience.

HOCHE. They are mad with terror. If they're not made to do
something, they are lost. [ROBESPIERRE _takes manuscripts and
printers' proofs from his pocket_.]

HULIN. What's he going to read? Don't read! One really human
word is worth a thousand from those papers!

ROBESPIERRE [_opens out his papers, and reads in a quiet, but
cutting tone_]. "Declaration of Rights."

HOCHE. Listen!

ROBESPIERRE. "Declaration of Rights, proposed to the National
Assembly, yesterday, Saturday July 11: The National Assembly
proclaims abroad to the Universe and under the eye of the
Supreme Being, the following rights of man and citizen:
Nature has made men free and equal--" [_A thunder of applause,
which drowns out the rest of the sentence_.]

"Every man is born with inalienable and indefeasible rights:
liberty of thought, the care of his honor and his life, the
complete freedom of his person, the pursuit of happiness, and
resistance to oppression." [_The applause is redoubled_.]

HOCHE [_drawing his saber_]. Resistance to oppression! [_Others
follow his example, and in a moment the Crowd bristle with
arms._]

ROBESPIERRE. "Oppression exists against the social order, when
even a single member of it is oppressed. There exists oppression
against each and every member of the social order, when the
whole is oppressed."

GONCHON. Are they going on with this? They must be got out of
the way. If the army comes, they ought to go somewhere else and
get killed! [_He speaks to his associates._]

ROBESPIERRE. "The Nation is sovereign." [_A shout is heard. The
Crowd are terrified and listen in fear and trembling._]

HOCHE. Hulin! The storm at last!

A VOICE [_terrified_]. They're coming! They're coming! The
cavalry!

ONE OF GONCHON'S MEN [_in a strident voice_]. Run for your
lives! [_Great confusion and shouting._]

HULIN [_leaping upon the man who just shouted, and striking
him on the head_]. Good God! [_To_ ROBESPIERRE.] Continue!
[ROBESPIERRE _tries to go on, but his voice fails him.._ HOCHE
_jumps up on the table beside_ ROBESPIERRE, _and reads with
enthusiasm, which stirs the Crowd._]

HOCHE. "The Nation is sovereign, and the government is its
work.--When the government violates the rights of the nation,
insurrection in that nation becomes the most sacred of
duties.--Those who make war upon a people in order to arrest
the progress of its liberty, ought to be attacked by all, not
as ordinary enemies, but as rebel slaves who have lifted a hand
against the Sovereign of the World, which is Mankind." [_Amid
the wild acclamations,_ DESMOULINS, _hair waving in the wind and
eyes aflame, jumps up on the table from which_ HOCHE _has just
stepped down._]

DESMOULINS. Liberty, liberty! It is now flying just above our
heads. It bears me along with its sacred whirlwind. On to
victory! Let us march with the wind of her wings! The day of
bondage has passed--passed. Stand up, and let us send back the
thunderbolt against the scoundrels who have the army! Against
the King! [_The Crowd shouts:_ "_Against the King!_"] Look
at me, spies! You are hidden here, I know. It is I, Camille
Desmoulins, who incite Paris to revolt! I fear nothing: no
matter what happens, they will never catch me alive. [_He
displays a pistol which he has taken from his pocket_.] The only
catastrophe I fear is to see France enslaved! But we shan't
see that! It will be free with us, or die with us. Yes, like
Virginius we will stab her with our own hands, rather than allow
her to be violated by tyrants. Brothers, we will be free! We are
already free! Against the Bastilles of stone we will offer our
breasts, the unconquerable fortresses of Liberty! Look! The very
heavens open, the gods are on our side. The sun tears open the
clouds. See, the leaves on the trees tremble for joy! Oh, leaves
that quiver with the life-blood of a people that is now awaking
to life, be our rallying emblem, our pledge of victory; you are
the color of hope, of the sea, of young and free Nature! [_He
breaks off a small branch from a chestnut tree.] In hoc signo
vinces._ Liberty! Liberty!

THE PEOPLE. Liberty! [_They crowd about_ DESMOULINS, _embracing
and kissing him._]

LA CONTAT [_putting leaves in her hair_]. Oh, young Liberty!
Bloom in my hair and flourish in my heart! [_She throws handfuls
of leaves to the people._] Friends, deck yourselves with the
cockades of summer! [_The Crowd strip the trees of their
leaves._]

THE OLD WOMAN SHOPKEEPER. Against the King! He was right! You
must go to the King!--On to Versailles, my children!

HULIN [_pointing to the_ OLD WOMAN _and_ LA CONTAT]. Now _they_
are more excited than the rest!

HOCHE. You'll have a hard time stopping them!

THE PEOPLE. To the Champ de Mars! Before the people of
Versailles! We'll show them!--- Scoundrels! They thought they
could down the people of Paris!

THE OLD WOMAN. I'll have their hides! I'll show those nasty
Germans who's master!

DESMOULINS. They have banished our Necker. Now we banish them!
We want Necker to remain We will show the world what we want.

THE PEOPLE. Let's parade in honor of Necker!--Here's his
portrait, in Curtius' shop, among the wax figures. Let's carry
it in triumph!--The shop's closed!--Break it in!

GONCHON [_to his followers_]. Let's take advantage of the
occasion!

A FOLLOWER OF GONCHON. Monsieur Gonchon! They're stealing
everything!

GONCHON. Nevermind! You do the same!

THE SHOPKEEPER. But they're coming into my shop!

GONCHON. Can't keep them out. [_He enters the shop and shouts
with the rest of the Crowd. Those outside run here and there.
In a moment, swords, sticks, pistols, and hatchets are seen
flourishing in the air._]

THE PEOPLE. Easy, now! No disorder, comrades!--Hey, there,
run away to school, lad! This is no child's play! This must be
serious! We must inspire the tyrants with the sacred terror
of the nation. [_A bust of Necker is carried out of the shop,
hugged close to the breast of the athletic Porter. The Crowd
gather around him._] Off with your hats! Here is our defender,
our father! Cover him with crêpe! The _Patrie_ is in mourning!
[GONCHON _and his followers come forth from the shop with the
bust of the Due d'Orléans. They assume the same attitudes of
solemn dignity as the others. The People pay no attention to
them._]

HULIN. What's that?

HOCHE. Our friend Gonchon's patron, the Citizen d'Orléans.

HULIN. I'm going to break in his head, and those of his bearers.

HOCHE [_smiling_]. No, no, let them be. Let them compromise
themselves.

HULIN. Don't you know him?

HOCHE. An Orléans? He who knows one, knows them all. He's a
vicious vermin, who has caught hold of the robes of Liberty, and
tries to harm her. He needs a slap, and he will get it. Let him
alone.

HULIN. But what if he take away our liberty?

HOCHE. That misshapen brat? He'd better take care that she
doesn't take away his head! [GONCHON _and his followers cover
d'Orléans' head with crêpe. A procession then farms, in absurdly
solemn order. Silence. All at once, the_ OLD WOMAN SHOPKEEPER
_comes in heating a drum. A formidable shout arises_.]

THE PEOPLE. Forward! [_The procession starts. First comes the
drummer, followed by Necker's bust, which the Porter carries
on his head. He is surrounded by men armed with sticks and
hatchets_-_young men, elegantly attired in silks, wearing
jewels and watches, and armed with cudgels and swords; French
Guards with drawn sabers; women, first among whom is_ LA
CONTAT, _clinging to_ DESMOULINS' _arm. Then comes_ GONCHON,
_who carries Orléans' bust, followed by the shopkeepers of the
Palais-Royal. Then the rest of the Crowd. A great silence,
broken now and then by the low hum of the vast crowd. In the
distance, shouting is heard; it grows nearer and nearer, and
finally passes through the whole line like a tremor of passion.
Then silence for a moment_.]

HOCHE [_to_ HULIN, _pointing at the People_]. Well, Hulin, are
you convinced now?

HULIN. Absurd. That disorderly mob! Attack an army? They're all
going to be massacred. There's no sense to it. [_He follows the
procession_.]

HOCHE. Where are you going?

HULIN. With them, of course.

HOCHE. Old comrade, your instinct is better than your head.

HULIN. You see that, do you? Do you know where those blind
people are going?

HOCHE. Don't bother about understanding. They know: they see for
you.

HULIN. Who?

HOCHE. The blind. [_The lugubrious roll of the drums is heard in
the distance. The People march out slowly. Silence_.]




ACT II

[_.Monday night, July 13-14. It is two or three o'clock in the
morning._

_The scene is a street in Paris, in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine.
At the back, towering above the house-tops, stands the great
bulk of the Bastille, the turrets of which, engulfed in the
black night, soar up into the sky, and seem to strain higher
and higher as dawn approaches. To the right, at the corner of a
street, is_ LUCILE'S _house. A convolvulus twines itself about
the balcony support, and clambers along the wall. The street
is lighted by candles, placed on the window-sills. Sounds from
blacksmith shops--hammers pounding on forges, are heard, and
from time to time the tocsin of a church, or occasionally a
far-off musket-shot. Workingmen are constructing a barricade of
wood and stone at the street corner, under_ LUCILE'S _window._]

A MASON. Only a few more stones now.

A WORKINGMAN [_with his bed on his back_]. Here, use this. It's
my bed.

THE MASON. Are you sleeping here?

THE WORKINGMAN. I will before long, with a bullet in me.

THE MASON. You have a sense of humor.

THE WORKINGMAN. If the brigands pass here, we won't need
anything. Our beds are made elsewhere.

A CARPENTER. Help me stretch this cord.

AN APPRENTICE. What for?

THE CARPENTER. To trip the horses.

A PRINTER. Hey, Camuset?

ANOTHER. Yes?

THE PRINTER. Listen.

THE OTHER. What?

THE PRINTER. Don't you hear?

THE OTHER. I hear anvils. They're making pikes in all the
blacksmith shops.

THE PRINTER. No, not that. There--[_He points to the ground_.]

THE OTHER. There?

THE PRINTER. Yes, under the ground. [_He lies down, with his ear
to the ground_.]

THE OTHER. You're dreaming!

THE WORKINGMAN [_lying down_]. Sounds like mining.

THE OTHER. Good Lord, they're going to blow us up!

THE CARPENTER [_incredulously_]. Nonsense!

THE WORKINGMAN [_still on the ground_]. They've hidden millions
of pounds of powder there.

THE OTHER WORKINGMAN. That's why we can't find any.

THE CARPENTER. Do you think an army can go about underground
like rats?

THE WORKINGMAN [_still on the ground_]. They've got underground
passages leading from the Bastille to Vincennes.

THE CARPENTER. Fairy tales!

THE OTHER WORKINGMAN [_rising_]. I'll have a look in the cellar,
anyway. Are you coming with me, Camuset? [_They both go into a
house._]

THE CARPENTER [_laughing_]. In the cellar? Ha, ha! They're
looking for a pretext to wet their whistles! Now, let's finish
our work.

THE MASON [_looking behind him as he works_]. Good God!

THE CARPENTER. What's wrong?

THE MASON [_looking toward the Bastille_], That--that! Every
time I look at that thing, it weighs down on my back--that
Bastille! It catches in my throat.

THE CARPENTER. One looks under ground, and the other in the air.
Don't look around; go on with your work.

THE MASON. Makes no difference: I feel it. Like as if some
one was standing behind me, with his fist raised ready to hit
me.--Good God!

THE VOICE OF A BOURGEOIS. He is right: we are watched by cannon.
What good is all this going to do us? In a flash it could knock
that all down like a house of cards.

CARPENTER. Oh, no.

THE MASON [_pointing toward the Bastille_], You damned monster!
When are we going to get rid of you!

THE CARPENTER. Soon.

OTHERS. You think so?--How?

THE CARPENTER. I don't know, but it's so. Courage, now! It's a
long lane that has no turning. [_They set to work again._]

THE APPRENTICE. Meantime, we can't see a thing.

THE CARPENTER [_shouting toward the houses_]. Hey, up there! You
women, look to your candles! We've got to see tonight!

A WOMAN [_at a window, re-lighting candles_]. How is everything
getting along?

THE CARPENTER. Well, more than one will leave his carcass here
before they get past.

THE WOMAN. Are they coming soon?

THE CARPENTER. They say Grenelle is running with blood. You can
hear shots from the Vaugirard section.

THE OLD BOURGEOIS. They are waiting for daylight before entering.

THE MASON. What time is it?

THE WOMAN. Three. Listen, the cocks are crowing.

THE MASON [_wiping his brow with his sleeve_]. Got to hurry!
Lord, how hot it is!

THE CARPENTER. So much the better.

THE OLD BOURGEOIS. I can't do another stroke.

THE CARPENTER. Rest a little, Monsieur. Nobody need work any
more than he can.

THE OLD BOURGEOIS [_bringing a paving-block_]. I want to put
this in place, though.

THE CARPENTER. Take it easier. If you can't gallop, trot.

THE WOMAN, Have you got your muskets yet?

THE CARPENTER. They keep putting us off at the Hötel de Ville. A
few hundred bourgeois there take everything.

THE MASON. Never mind. We have knives, and sticks and stones.
Anything is good to kill with.

THE WOMAN. I've got a lot of tiles, broken bottles, and
glass here in my room. Everything's near the window--dishes,
furniture, everything. If they pass this way, I'll smash them!

ANOTHER WOMAN [_at her window_]. My kettle's been on the fire
since dinner. The water's hot enough to boil paving-stones. Let
them come! I'll boil them!

A VAGABOND [_with a gun, speaking to a Bourgeois_]. Give me some
money.

THE BOURGEOIS. No begging here.

THE VAGABOND. I'm not asking for bread, though I am starving.
But I have a musket, and not a son to buy powder with. Give me
some money.

ANOTHER VAGABOND [_a little drunk_]. I've got money, much as you
like! [_He pulls a handful of money from his pocket_.]

FIRST VAGABOND. Where did you get that?

SECOND VAGABOND. I took it from the Lazarists when they pillaged
the convent.

FIRST VAGABOND [_seizing the other by the throat_]. Do you want
to dishonor the people, you pig?

SECOND VAGABOND [_trying to break away_]. What's matter? Are you
crazy?

FIRST VAGABOND [_shaking him_]. Empty your pockets!

SECOND VAGABOND. But I--

FIRST VAGABOND [_emptying his pockets_]. Empty your pockets, you
thief!

SECOND VAGABOND. Haven't we the right to rob the aristos any
more, eh?

THE OTHERS. Hang him! Hang him!--Hang him on the sign-board!--A
flogging is enough!--Ask pardon of the people!--Good!--Now, get
out! [_The Vagabond runs away._]

FIRST VAGABOND [_setting to work_]. He ought to have been
hanged--for an example. There will be others like him. To be
exposed to such nastiness--keep company with thieves! It's nasty.

CAMILLE DESMOULINS [_entering, in his usual absent-minded idle
way_]. A spanking will be enough for you. [_They all laugh and
set to work again._]

THE PEOPLE. Well, let's finish this.

DESMOULINS [_looking at the house and the workers_]. My Lucile
is there. I've just been to see her. The house was empty. They
told me the family went out to dinner with relatives in the
Faubourg Saint-Antoine. They've been blockaded!--Well, I should
think so! A splendid fortification! Scarp and counter-scarp,
everything perfect. They are besieging the house. But, my
friends, we have to demolish the Bastille, and not construct
another like it. I don't know what your enemies will think, but
it is in any case dangerous to your friends: I've just gotten
my feet tangled up in your strings, and I almost stayed where I
was.--This cask won't stand. You must put back the paving-blocks.

THE CARPENTER. Do you work as well as you talk?

DESMOULINS [_gaily, as he takes up a block_]. I can work, too.
[_From the top of the barricade, where he now stands, he can
touch the window of the house. A light is seen moving inside._
DESMOULINS _looks at it._] She is there!

THE OLD BOURGEOIS. Provost Flesselles is a traitor. He pretends
to be one of us, but he's in communication with Versailles.

THE MASON. He's the one who organized the Bourgeois Militia; it
pretends to defend us, but it tries to tie our hands. They're
all Judases, ready to sell us.

THE CARPENTER. That only teaches us not to depend on any one but
ourselves. But I've known that for a long while. [_During the
above,_ CAMILLE _lightly taps the window, and calls "Lucile!_"
_The light disappears, and the window opens._ LUCILE'S _pretty
face, with her lovely teeth and winning smile, appear at the
window. Each puts his fingers to his mouth, a warning to be
careful. They converse by means of lovers' signs. Each time the
workers false their heads from the barricade and look in her
direction, Lucile quickly shuts the window. But two workingmen
catch sight of her._]

A WORKINGMAN [_pointing to_ DESMOULINS]. What's he doing anyway?

SECOND WORKINGMAN. The little fellow's in love. Don't bother him!

FIRST WORKINGMAN. He'll fight all the better for it. The rooster
will defend his hen. [_They continue working, from time to
time glancing up good-naturedly at the lovers. But they always
observe caution, in order not to interrupt them._]

LUCILE [_in an undertone_]. What are you doing there?

DESMOULINS. It's a fort to defend you. [_They look at each other
and smile._]

LUCILE. I can't stay any longer. My people are here.

DESMOULINS. Just one moment!

LUCILE. Later. When every one has gone. [LUCILE _listens._]
They're calling me. Wait. [_She blows a kiss at him and
disappears._]

THE MASON [_looking at the barricade_]. There, that's done--and
well done, I may say.

THE CARPENTER [_slapping_ DESMOULINS _on the shoulder_]. Don't
work too hard: you'll come down with pleurisy.

DESMOULINS. Each one has his work, comrade. After all, this
barricade here is the result of my talk.

THE MASON. What are you talking about?

THE CARPENTER. Do you work with your voice?

DESMOULINS. Was neither, of you at the Palais-Royal yesterday?

THE CROWD. The Palais-Royal?--Listen to that!--Are you the
little fellow who called us to arms, and gave us our cockades?
Are you Monsieur Desmoulins? Wonderful speech!--How well you
spoke! I cried! Fine little fellow!--Monsieur Desmoulins, let me
shake hands with you!--Long live Monsieur Desmoulins! Long live
our little Camille!

GONCHON [_enters, in the uniform of a Captain of the Bourgeois
Militia, followed by his patrol._] What the devil are you doing
there? What's all this talking! You're disturbing the peace!
Make way, there! Go back home!

THE PEOPLE. There's that damned Bourgeois Guard again!--Down
with them!--Disturb the peace? That's good!--We're defending
Paris!

GONCHON. That's not your affair.

THE PEOPLE [_indignantly_]. Not our affair?

GONCHON [_with vehemence_]. That's not your affair. That's our
business, and ours alone. We are the Permanent Committee on
defense. Damn you, get out of here!

DESMOULINS [_coming close to him_]. Why, it's Gonchon!

GONCHON [_stumbling_]. Ten thousand devils! For God's sake, what
sons of dogs have put up that thing, torn up the street, and
stopped traffic! Knock that down, do you hear!

THE PEOPLE [_furiously_]. Knock down our barricade? Try it!

THE CARPENTER. Listen to me, Captain, and attend to what I say.
We'll agree to go away and not question the Committee's orders,
even though they're given by fools. There must be discipline in
war-time; we're willing to submit, but if you touch one stone of
our fortification, we'll smash the faces of you and the rest of
your monkeys.

THE PEOPLE. Tear down our barricade?

GONCHON. Who said anything about tearing it down? Are we masons?
We have something better to do. Make way now!

THE MASON [_in a menacing tone_]. We'll go, but you understand?

GONCHON [_with aplomb],_ I said no one would touch it. No
back-talk, now! [_The workers disperse._ DESMOULINS _lags
behind._] Didn't you hear, you?

DESMOULINS. Don't you allow any privileges to your friends,
Gonchon?

GONCHON. Oh, it's you, you damned spouter! Arrest that fellow!

ROBESPIERRE [_entering_]. Sacrilege! Who dares lift a hand
against the founder of Liberty?

DESMOULINS. Ah, Robespierre! Thanks.

GONCHON [_releasing_ DESMOULINS--_aside],_ A Deputy! The devil!
[_Aloud._] Very well. You see, it is my duty to keep order, and
I will keep it in spite of everything.

ROBESPIERRE. Come with me, Camille. Our friends are meeting in
this house tonight. [_He points to the house down-stagey left._]

DESMOULINS [_aside]._ I can see Lucile's window from here!
[_They go to the house, at the door of which, in an obscure
entrance, a man is on guard. He is in his shirt sleeves, has
bare legs, and carries a musket._]

THE MAN. Who are you?

ROBESPIERRE. Robespierre.

THE MAN. I don't know you.

ROBESPIERRE. Deputy from Arras.

THE MAN. Show your card.

DESMOULINS. Desmoulins.

THE MAN. The little fellow with the cockade? Pass, comrade.

DESMOULINS [_pointing to_ ROBESPIERRE]. He is with me.

THE MAN. Pass, you, too, citizen Robert Pierre.

DESMOULINS [_fatuously_]. Admire the power of eloquence, my
friend! [ROBESPIERRE _looks at him with a bitter smile, sighs,
and follows him without a word_.]

GONCHON [_going to_ THE MAN]. What's going on here?

THE MAN. Make way!

GONCHON. What's that, you rascal? What are you doing here?

THE MAN [_emphatically_]. I am watching over the nation--over
the thoughts of the nation.

GONCHON. What are you talking about? Have you any papers? Who
stationed you here?

THE MAN. I.

GONCHON. Go home!

THE MAN. I am home. My home is the street. I have no home.
You go home yourself. Get off my side-walk! [_He makes a step
toward_ GONCHON _with a threat_.]

GONCHON. Ah! No quarreling, now. I refuse to waste my time
squabbling with a drunkard. Now, I shall continue on my rounds.
These cursed vagabonds!

And these barricades--they spring up out of the ground, like
mushrooms; and the streets are full of these fellows! They think
of nothing but fighting! If they were let alone, there would be
no king tomorrow! [_He goes out with his men._]

THE MAN. Look at those nasty scoundrels, those blue toads, those
idiotic fools! Just because they're titled, they think they
can make laws for free men! Bourgeois! The moment four of them
gather together, they form committees and spoil good paper with
their rules and regulations! "Show your papers!" As if we had to
have their permission, their signatures, and the rest of it,
to defend ourselves when we're attacked! Let every one protect
himself! It's shameful to think a man has to let some one else
defend him! They tried to make us give up our muskets, and throw
us into prison. Can't do that! And those other fools, who think
they're being betrayed, and at the first injunction, throw up
a barricade out of respect for the constituted authorities and
the moneyed classes! They're used to serving, and I suppose
they can't get over their old habits in a day. Luckily, there
are other wandering dogs like me, who haven't any home, and
respect nothing. Well, I'll stay here and keep guard. By God,
they won't take our Paris! Never mind if I haven't a thing to
my name, it belongs to us all, and we're going to hold on to
it. Yesterday, I didn't have any idea of all this. What was
this city to me, where I hadn't a blessed hole to crawl into
when it rained, or a place to get a crust of bread? What did
I care about it? What did I care about any one's happiness or
sorrow? But now everything's changed. I've got a part to play; I
feel that everything belongs just a little to me: their houses,
their money, and their thoughts--I must watch over them; they
are working for me. Everybody is equal, equal and free. God, I
always felt that, but I couldn't say it. Free! I'm a vagabond,
I'm hungry, but I don't care: I'm free. Free! It makes my chest
swell, it does! I'm a king. I could walk over the world. [_He
becomes excited as he talks, striding back and forth._] It's
like as if I was drunk; my head's turned--though I haven't drunk
a drop. What is it? It's glory!

HULIN [_coming from the house_]. I was stifling in there. I must
get out.

THE MAN. Eh, Hulin, what are they doing?

HULIN. Talking, talking. The damned gossips. They're never at
a loss for something to say. Desmoulins is making jokes and
spouting Latin. Robespierre, with his long face, declares he'll
sacrifice himself. They're calling everything into question:
laws, the social contract, reason, the origin of the world. One
is making war on God, and the other on Nature. As to real war
plans, how to protect themselves against danger, not a word!
Their counsel is like that in Paris: when it rains, why let it
rain!--Devil take these phrasemakers!

THE MAN. Don't blame them. It's a fine thing to be able to
speak. I tell you, there are words he uses that catch you
way-down inside. They make the shivers run up your spine. They
make you cry, they'd make you even kill your father; and they
make you feel as strong as the whole world; make you feel like
the good God Himself. Each man has his own work to do. They do
the thinking for us; we've got to do our part for them.

HULIN. What do you want to do? Look. [_He indicates the
Bastille._]

THE MAN. Lights on the left tower. They're not sleeping any more
than we, up there. They're fixing up their cannon.

HULIN. What do you intend to do with them? You can't resist them.

THE MAN. That remains to be seen.

HULIN. What do you mean?

THE MAN. I mean, that remains to be seen. Two small make one
great.

HULIN. You are an optimist.

THE MAN. It's my character.

HULIN. It doesn't seem to have agreed with you, however.

THE MAN [_good-naturedly_]. But I am naturally an optimist. Luck
and I are not close relatives. As long as I can remember, I
never got anything I wanted. [_Laughing._] Good Lord, I've had
bad luck enough in my life! Everything isn't pleasure; life is a
mixture. But I don't care: I'm always hoping, and sometimes I'm
wrong. This time, Hulin, something good's come to me. The wind
has shifted, and luck is with us.

HULIN [_chaffingly_]. Luck? You'd better ask it to warm you up a
bit first.

THE MAN [_looking at his naked feet_]. I'd rather wear these
shoes than the King's. I'd go this way to Vienna or Berlin, if
necessary, to teach those kings a lesson.

HULIN. Haven't you enough to do here?

THE MAN. That won't last forever, When we're through here, and
have cleaned up Paris and France, why not go the lot of us,
arm-in-arm, soldiers, bourgeois, Tom, Dick, and Harry, and clean
up Europe? We aren't selfish: we don't want all the fun for
ourselves. You know, every time I learn something new, I want
to tell it to others. Ever since these things began to stir in
me--Liberty, and all this damned fine stuff--I feel I've just
got to tell it to everybody, and spout it everywhere. God, if
the others are like me, we'll do great things. I can already see
the ground trembling under our feet, and Europe boiling like
wine in a vat. People are falling on our necks. It's like little
brooks rushing down to meet the river. We're a great river,
washing everything clean.

HULIN. Say, are you sick?

THE MAN. I? I'm as well as a cabbage.

HULIN. And yet you dream?

THE MAN. All the time. It's good, too. If you dream enough, you
end by getting something of what you're dreaming about. Hey,
Hulin, what do you say? Won't it be a fine march? Aren't you
coming with us?

HULIN. As soon as you've taken Vienna and Berlin, I'll keep
watch over them.

THE MAN. Don't joke. Who knows?

HULIN. Anything can happen--

THE MAN. Anything you wish for happens.

HULIN. Meantime I'd like to know what's going to happen right
now.

THE MAN. That's hard to tell. How are we going about it? We'll
see. Sufficient unto the hour is the work thereof.

HULIN. These French devils are all alike. They think of what may
happen in a hundred years, and not of the next day.

THE MAN. Perhaps. But then others will think of us in a hundred
years.

HULIN. Much good that you!

THE MAN. My bones thrill already! What troubles me is that in
history they won't know my name.

HULIN. You're vain!

THE MAN. Well, I love glory.

HULIN. It's a fine thing, of course. The only trouble is that
you can't enjoy it until you're dead. A good pipe is better.
[VINTIMILLE _enters right._]

VINTIMILLE. The streets are empty. Two vagabonds talking about
glory. A little mound of broken furniture, put there by a lot of
epileptics. So this is the great revolution! A patrol of guards
is enough to put the rabble in its place. What are they waiting
for at Versailles?

THE MAN [_getting up quickly and going to_ VINTIMILLE]. What's
he want?

VINTIMILLE [_ironically, as he glances at_ THE MAN]. Is this a
new uniform of the Archers? Get out of here, old man!

THE MAN. Who are you? Where are you going at this hour?

VINTIMILLE [_handing him a paper_]. Can you read?

THE MAN. Papers? Of course, I can read. [_To_ HULIN.] You read
them. What is it?

HULIN [_after having read_]. A pass. It's all right. Signed
by the Committee of the Hötel de Ville. Countersigned by the
Captain of the Bourgeois Militia, Gonchon.

THE MAN. Good joke! Anybody can buy those. [_He grumblingly
allows_ VINTIMILLE _to pass._]

VINTIMILLE. Of course! Everything can be bought. [_As he turns
to go, he throws a coin at_ THE MAN.]

THE MAN [_on the alert_]. What! What's that?

VINTIMILLE [_without turning_]. You see. Take it and keep your
mouth shut.

THE MAN [_running to_ VINTIMILLE _and blocking his way_]. So
you're an aristocrat? You're trying to bribe me?

HULIN [_interposing_]. Don't, comrade, don't. I know him very
well. [_He goes to_ VINTIMILLE.]

VINTIMILLE [_casually_]. Why, it's--

HULIN. Hulin.

VINTIMILLE. Of course. [_A moment's silence. They look at each
other._]

HULIN [_to_ THE MAN]. Let him pass.

THE MAN [_furiously--shouting_]. He wanted to bribe me--he
wanted to buy my conscience!

VINTIMILLE. Your conscience? What should I do with it? The idea!
I pay for favors done me. Quick! Take it.

THE MAN. I'm not doing favors! I'm doing my duty.

VINTIMILLE. Then it's to pay you for doing your duty. What do I
care?

THE MAN. You don't pay people for doing their duty. I am free!

VINTIMILLE. Your duty and your liberty won't feed you. I refuse
to argue. Hurry up, now; money is always good, no matter how one
gets it. Don't stand there like that; you know you want it. I
know you'll end by taking it. I suppose you want more, eh? How
much do you want, free man?

THE MAN [_who has several times been on the point of taking the
money, jumps upon_ VINTIMILLE. HULIN _pulls him away_]. Let me
go, Hulin! Let me go!

HULIN. Stop it!

THE MAN. I've got to kill him!

VINTIMILLE. What's this!

THE MAN [_held back by_ HULIN, _says to_ VINTIMILLE]. Get out!
Why did you come here, anyway? I was happy, I didn't realize
how poor I was. I was free, master of everything. You remind me
that I'm hungry, that I haven't a thing, that I don't belong to
myself, that a filthy scoundrel can be my master by means of a
little money that makes a slave of me because I need it. You've
spoiled all my happiness. Get out!

VINTIMILLE. What a to-do for so little! Who gives a damn about
your scruples? I'm not asking anything of you. Take it!

THE MAN. I'd rather starve.--You give it to me, Hulin.
[VINTIMILLE _gives the money to_ HULIN, _who drops his hand. The
money falls to the ground, and_ THE MAN _picks it up._]

HULIN. Where are you going?

THE MAN. Get drunk--and forget.

VINTIMILLE. Forget what?

THE MAN. That I'm not free. Dirty scoundrel! [_He goes out_.]

VINTIMILLE. The pest! There's nothing quite so bad as a rascal
like that who develops his self-respect, and is without means to
preserve it. Good evening, my boy, and thank you.

HULIN. Thank you. I didn't mention your name, because you'd
never have escaped alive. It would have been disloyal of me,
and I am an honest man. Anyway, I dislike violence, and I don't
believe in revolution. But I am not one of you, and I don't care
to bring harm to my comrades. What are you doing here?

VINTIMILLE. You are inquisitive!

HULIN. I beg your pardon, but you are playing with death. Do you
realize how people hate you?

VINTIMILLE. I have just been to see my mistress. Shall I change
my habits for the sake of two or three madmen?

HULIN. There are more than you imagine.

VINTIMILLE. So much the better. The more numerous and insolent
they are, the better, say I.

HULIN. Better for whom?

VINTIMILLE. For us. Our age is rotten with sentimentality. You
don't dare do a thing. One dare not give an order for fear of
offending this damned liberty of the populace--and shedding a
few drops of blood. This effeminacy is the cause of all the
disorders of the kingdom. The only cure for so much evil is more
evil. A good uprising is what we need. That will be a splendid
reason and pretext for putting them in their place. We are
ready. We can do it in a day, and we won't be troubled again for
a good fifty years with these insane ravings of philosophers and
cheap lawyers.

HULIN. So then, a revolution would do that for you? You don't
object to the people having a grand butchery? A few crimes, eh?

VINTIMILLE. Why not? Something that will create quite a
disturbance.

HULIN. What if they began with you?

VINTIMILLE. The idea!

HULIN. Do you know what I'd like to do this instant?

VINTIMILLE. No.

HULIN. Don't provoke me!

VINTIMILLE. But you wouldn't do anything, my friend. You are an
honest man!

HULIN. What do you know about that? I said I was; I was boasting.

VINTIMILLE. No, no, but you are now. Even if you had said
nothing, I could have seen it in your face.

HULIN. Is that a reason why I shouldn't inform on you if I like.

VINTIMILLE. Certainly. You must pay for your honesty by
sacrifice. What would you think of yourself, Hulin, if you
betrayed me? Would you not lose forever that invaluable
possession: your self-esteem? It's not so easy as you think to
go against your conscience. As you say, you are an honest man.
Good-by. [_He goes._]

HULIN. He's making game of me. He knows me.--It's true, those
villains will always have the better of us honest people,
because they're used to giving orders, and we are not. Then
why remain honest, if it's all a fraud? Because we can't do
otherwise. Well, it's better so. I couldn't breathe if I were
as morally rotten and nasty as they are! I know they'll get
the better of us. The day is at hand. But it would have been
wonderful to win. They're going to crush us! [_He shrugs his
shoulders_.] And--after? [_In the distance is heard the joyous
voice of_ HOCHE, _answered by the acclamations of the Crowd.
Windows are thrown wide open, and people lean out to see._
DESMOULINS, ROBESPIERRE, _and their friends come 'forth from the
cafe where they have been meeting_.]

HOCHE [_enters laughing, and shows his comrades the
fortifications_]. Look at this. What Vauban built it, eh? Fine
fellows! I could kiss you all! What work they must have put into
it! And why? Against whom? Your friends? The enemy will never
come. Don't worry.

THE PEOPLE. Long live the French Guards!

[MARAT _runs to_ HOCHE, _and bars his way with outstretched
arms_.]

MARAT. Stop, soldier! Not another step. [_The Crowd, astonished,
press around them to see._]

DESMOULINS. What's the matter with him? Has he lost his head?

HULIN. Yes, long ago!

MARAT. Surrender your saber! Every one give up his arms!

DESMOULINS. He'll cut himself.

THE FRENCH GUARDS. What's that!--Give up my saber?--I'll give it
to you in the belly!

THE PEOPLE. Kill him!

HOCHE. Silence! Let me explain. I know him.--Let me go, friend!

MARAT [_standing on the tips of his toes to take_ HOCHE _by the
collar_]. Give up your saber!

HOCHE [_quietly freeing himself, and taking hold of_ MARAT, _who
squirms_]. What are you going to do with it, son?

MARAT. Keep you from thrusting it into the heart of Liberty.

HOCHE. Do you suspect those who have come to shed their blood
for the people?

MARAT. Who guarantees your loyalty? Why should we have
confidence in unknown soldiers?

THE FRENCH GUARDS. Break his head, Hoche! [HOCHE _quiets them
with a gesture, looks smilingly at_ MARAT, _and releases him_.]
He is right. Why have confidence in us? He has never seen us
at work. [MARAT, _with not a word to say, suddenly assumes an
attitude of silent impassiveness_.] Good Lord, it is hard to let
yourself be accused when you're risking death for those birds!

HOCHE. Why, he doesn't know us. That makes no difference.
[_Good-naturedly_.] But you're mistaken. Marat, you have done
well to take such precautions for the people. [_To the People_.]
We'll understand each other in a moment. A glance will prove
that we are all good fellows, and believe in one another. But
he is wise and has given us a lesson in prudence: this is
war-time, and you have the right to demand an account from every
one. No one can be excepted.

THE PEOPLE. We know you, Hoche, you're a friend!

HOCHE. Be careful with your friends. [_Smiling_]. That doesn't
refer to me. Your uncertain position does not make many friends
for you, and what few you have, are not dangerous. But when you
become powerful, you will see them flock to you; then you must
keep your eyes open.

THE FRENCH GUARDS. That's good advice.--Be prudent, that's
right! Trust no one!

HOCHE [_laughing_]. When two eyes please me, I ask nothing
more. But I'm a fool, and that's my affair. You have to save
the world. Don't imitate me. We are only a few hundred French
Guards. Our officers, who know our sympathies for the people,
tried to send us to Saint-Denis, away from you. But we left
our barracks and now we offer our sabers to you. In order to
reassure Marat, divide yourselves into groups of ten or twenty;
then each group takes its place in a people's battalion. Then
you will be our masters, and we can lead you and train you. Will
you come with me, Marat? We can each learn something from the
other. You'll see that there are still brave men; and perhaps
you will teach me to hunt down traitors--though I think your
labor will be lost. [MARAT, _whose eyes have been glued on_
HOCHE, _goes to him and offers his hand._]

MARAT. I was mistaken.

HOCHE [_takes his hand and smiles_]. How tiresome it must be to
suspect people! I'd rather die.

MARAT [_sighing_]. So would I. But as you said just now, it is
not for us, but for the nation.

HOCHE. Continue to keep a sharp watch over the people. I don't
envy you: my task is much easier.

MARAT [_looking at_ HOCHE]. Oh, Nature, if the eyes and voice of
this man lie, there is no honesty! Soldier, I have offended you
before every one. And before every one, I ask your pardon.

HOCHE. But you didn't offend me. No one knows better than I
what a military chief is, and what dangers beset the cause of
Liberty. Military discipline makes every man a slave; men cannot
like it: we abhor it as much as you do. We have ourselves just
broken the blind power that was in our hands. Open your arms
to us, make room for us at your tables, give us back our lost
liberty, our cramped consciences, our right to be men like you,
your equals and your brothers. Soldiers, become again part of
the People. And you, People, all of you, become the Army; defend
yourselves, defend us, and defend our souls, which are being
attacked. Give us your hands, embrace us, let us be but one
heart. You are all of you our friends. All of us for all of us!

THE PEOPLE _and the_ SOLDIERS [_in an ecstasy of fraternal
enthusiasm, laughing, crying, embracing one another_]. Yes,
for you, for you! Our brothers the people! Our soldier
brothers!--For all who suffer! For the oppressed!--For all
mankind! [_The enthusiasm waxes into a pandemonium, and is
increased with cries and cheers from the windows of the
neighboring houses_.]

HULIN. Hurrah! Hoche! At last, some one who dispels the sadness!

HOCHE [_amiably, to the people who acclaim him from the
windows_]. What are you doing there at home? Why shut yourselves
in on a beautiful July night like this? Man is sad when he is
alone. It is the fetid air of the cellar that breeds suspicion
and doubt. Come forth from your houses; you've been shut up too
long. You must live now in the open streets. Come out and watch
the sun rise. The enslaved city now breathes freely; the cool
winds from the prairies are blowing over the houses and the
streets that are blocked by our armies; they bring us the salute
from the friendly countryside. The grain is ripe, come and reap
it.

LA CONTAT. What a splendid fellow! He breathes joy and
happiness. [_She goes toward_ HOCHE.]

HOCHE. Ah, there you are, you flower-girl of Liberty! Madame
Royalist, who stripped the trees of the Palais-Royal and threw
cockades to the people. I knew you would come. Do you at last
believe in our cause?

LA CONTAT. I believe in anything you say. With _a face like
yours_--[_she points, to his face_] I could always be converted.
[_The People laugh._]

HOCHE [_laughing_]. I'm not surprised. I always knew I had an
apostolic temperament. Well, take your place, then. We won't
refuse any one. Take a pike: a girl like you ought to defend
herself.

LA CONTAT. Oh, oh, don't enroll me so quickly! I look on, I
applaud, and I find the piece interesting, but I'm not playing
this evening.

HOCHE. So you think it's merely interesting? You think it is
play? Look at this poor devil, his bones sticking out of his
blouse, and this woman nursing her child. Is it amusing to see
them starve? You think it a good comedy to see these people,
without bread, without a future, thinking only of humanity, and
of eternal justice? Don't you think it's at least as serious as
a Corneille tragedy?

LA CONTAT. That, too, is only a play.

HOCHE. Nothing is play. Everything is serious. Cinna and
Nicomède exist, just as I do.

LA CONTAT. You are strange! Actors and authors construct
make-believe things, which you accept as gospel!

HOCHE. You're mistaken, it isn't make-believe for you: you don't
know yourself.

LA CONTAT. You make me laugh! Do _you_ know me?

HOCHE. I've seen you on the stage.

LA CONTAT. And do you imagine I _feel_ what I act?

HOCHE. You can't deny it: your instinct makes you feel. A power
is never an illusion; it carries you along. I know better than
you what it does to you.

LA CONTAT. What?

HOCHE. What is strong goes with what is strong. You will be one
of us.

LA CONTAT. I don't think so.

HOCHE. What difference? There are only two parties in the
world: the healthy and the sick. What is healthy goes with life.
Life is with us. Come!

LA CONTAT. With you--willingly.

HOCHE. So you won't decide! Very well, we'll see later on, if we
have time to think.

LA CONTAT. There is always time for love.

HOCHE. You've been made to think that too often. Do you think
our revolution is going to be merely some gallant little story?
Ah, you little women! During the fifty years you have been
governing France, and had everything brought you, done for you,
did it never enter your heads that there might be something more
important than your dainty selves? Play is over and done with,
Madame. This is a serious game, in which the stake is the world
itself. Make way for the men! If you dare, follow us to battle,
help us, share our faith, but, by God, don't dare try to shake
it. You count for very little beside it. I'm not angry, Contat!
I have no time for a flirtation, and as for my heart, it already
belongs to some one else.

LA CONTAT. To whom?

HOCHE. To Liberty.

LA CONTAT. I'd like to know what she looks like.

HOCHE. She is a little like you, I imagine. Very healthy,
well-built, blonde, passionate, audacious, but rouged like
yourself, with beauty-spots--ironic, too; but she _does,_
instead of making fun of those who do; and instead of making
double-meaning phrases, she breathes words of devotion and
fraternity. I am her lover. When you are like her, I will love
you. That is all I have to say.

LA CONTAT. I like her, and I will have you. Now, to battle!
[_She snatches a musket from one of the People, and declaims
with great warmth, a few lines from "Cinna":_]

    "Thou need'st fear no success which shames thy name!
    For good and evil both are for thy glory,
    And though the plot's reveal'd and thou dost die,
    Thy honor's still intact. Think but of Brutus
    And valiant Cassius, are their names obscured?
    Did these two heroes perish with their plots?
    Are they not honored with the greatest Romans?
       .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
    Go, follow them, where honor bids you tread!"

[_She rushes into the arms of the People, who wildly applaud
her._]

HOCHE. Splendid! Let Corneille be our guide! Wave the torch of
heroism before our eyes!

HULIN. Where are you going?

HOCHE. Where are we going? [_He raises his eyes, and looks at
the house of little_ JULIE _who, partly dressed, leans out the
window, excited and joyous_.] Ask that little woman. I want her
to give the answer which is in all our hearts. You innocent
little one, be our voice, and tell us where we are going?

JULIE [_leaning far out of the window, but kept from falling by
her mother,--shouting at the top of her voice_]. To the Bastille!

THE PEOPLE. To the Bastille! [_The Crowd is at the highest pitch
of excitement. They gather into little groups--workingmen,
bourgeois, students, and women._] The Bastille! The Bastille!
Break the yoke! At last! Down with that stupid mass! Monument
of our defeat and degradation! The tomb, of those who dare
speak the truth!--Voltaire's prison!--Mirabeau's prison!--The
prison of Liberty! Let's breathe!--Monster, you will fall! We'll
pull down every stone of you! Down with the murderer! Coward
--Cut-throat! [_They shake their fists at the Bastille, and
shout until they are hoarse._ HULIN, ROBESPIERRE, _and_ MARAT
_wildly wave their arms, and try to make themselves heard above
the clamor. It is seen that they disapprove of what the People
are doing, but their voices are drowned out._]

HULIN [_at last making himself heard_]. You're mad, mad, I tell
you! We'll only break ourselves against that mountain!

MARAT [his _arms crossed_]. I really marvel at you! Giving
yourselves all this trouble to free a handful of aristocrats!
Don't you know that there are only a few rich men in there? It's
a luxurious prison, made especially for them. Let them mind
their own affairs. That doesn't concern you.

HOCHE. Every sort of injustice concerns us. Our Revolution is
not a family matter. If we are not rich enough to have relations
in the Bastille, we can at least adopt the rich people who
are as unfortunate as we. Every man who suffers unjustly is a
brother.

MARAT. You are right.

THE PEOPLE. We want the Bastille!

HULIN. But, you fools, how are you going to take it? We have no
weapons, and they have!

HOCHE. Of course. Let us take the weapons, then. [_Confusion at
the back of the stage._]

A WORKINGMAN [_running in_]. I've just come from the Left Bank.
They're all on the move: in the Place Maubert, La Basoche,
La Montagne Sainte-Geneviève. They're marching against the
Invalides to seize the weapons there--thousands of muskets! The
French Guards, monks, women, students, a whole army. The King's
Attorney and the Curé de Saint-Etienne-du-Mont are marching at
their head.

HOCHE. You were asking for weapons, Hulin. There they are.

HULIN. You can't take the Bastille with a few hundred old
arquebuses, or even a few good cannon from the Invalides. You
might as well try to split a rock open with a knife.

HOCHE. No, the Bastille can't be taken with cannon, but it will
be taken.

HULIN. How?

HOCHE. The Bastille must fall, and fall it will. The gods are
with us.

HULIN [_with a shrug_]. What gods?

HOCHE. Justice, Reason. Bastille, you will fall!

THE PEOPLE. You will fall!

HULIN. I'd rather see a few real allies. I don't believe in it.
Never mind, it shall never be said that any one got ahead of me.
I'll even be the first to march against it. Perhaps you know
better than I what must be done, but I'll do it. So, you want to
attack the Bastille, you fools? Forward!

HOCHE. By God, you can do anything simply by saying it's
possible! [GONCHON _returns with his patrol._]

GONCHON. Still here! The damned vermin! Chase them from one
place and they go to another. So this is how you obey me? Didn't
I command you to go home? [_Taking a man by the collar_.] You
heard me! I know you, you were here before! You rascal, I've had
enough of you, and I'm going to arrest you. I'll arrest you all.
It's our business to maintain order. Every citizen abroad at
night without a passport is open to suspicion.

HOCHE [_laughing_]. The beast wants to cheat the people!

MARAT. Who is this traitor who pretends to speak for the People?
By what right does his odious voice give orders to the Nation? I
know that big fellow, with a face like Silenus, puffy from long
indulgence, and sweating from debauchery. Does this monopolist
believe he has a monopoly over our Revolution? Can he lord it
over us as he does over his Palais-Royal orgies? Get out, or I
will arrest you in the name of the Sovereign People!

GONCHON [_stammering_], I--I am the representative of power. I
have been appointed by the Central Committee.

THE PEOPLE. We are the power! We appoint the Central Committee!
You obey us!

MARAT [_with an air of ferocity which is at bottom nothing more
than a sinister buffoonery, assumed to terrify_ GONCHON]. We
must be careful with these traitors, who associate with the
people only in order to betray them. Hoche has well said that
if we are not on the lookout, we shall be overpowered. I think
that in order to distinguish those who are the valets of the
aristocrats from the others, we ought to cut off their ears, or
rather their thumbs. It is a prudent and indispensable measure.
[_The People laugh._]

GONCHON [_tremblingly, to_ HOCHE]. Soldier, it is your business
to support the law--

HOCHE. That's your business. They won't hurt you. Go ahead, we
shall follow.

GONCHON. Follow me? Where?

HOCHE. To the Bastille.

GONCHON. What!

HOCHE. Of course. We are going to take the Bastille. Are you
not defending the people, you Bourgeois Militia? Then take you
places in the front ranks. Fall in, and don't stop to argue.
You don't seemed pleased with the prospect? [_Speaking into_
GONCHON'S _ear._] I know your tricks, old man; you are in
communication with the Due d'Orléans. Now, not a word, and march
straight ahead. I am keeping my eye on you, and I have only to
say the word to Marat. It's not day yet, and you might light the
way for us, hanging from one of those lamp-posts!

GONCHON. Let me go home!

HOCHE. Choose: be hanged or take the Bastille.

GONCHON [_quickly_]. Take the Bastille! [_The People laugh._]

HOCHE. Brave man! And now, the people will not allow the
Montagne Sainte-Geneviève to outwit us. Let Saint-Antoine not
remain idle while Saint-Jacques does her share! Ring your bells,
beat your drums, and call out the citizens. [_To the Electors
and Deputies._] You, citizens, guard the Hötel de Ville, and see
that no treachery is done. Take charge of the bourgeois! Now,
we'll gag the beast. [_Points to the Bastille. Little_ JULIE
_has meanwhile come from the house with her mother, and stands
in the doorway. She then stands on a post to see better, and
looks at_ HOCHE _in silent and passionate admiration._ HOCHE
_looks at her and smiles_.] Well, little one, do you want to
come, too? Consumed with envy, aren't you? [_She holds out her
trembling arms to him, nodding, but says nothing._] Then come!
[_He takes her on his shoulder._]

THE MOTHER. You're mad! Put her down! You're not going to take
her into the fight?

HOCHE. She is sending us into the fight! She is our
standard-bearer!

THE MOTHER. Don't take her from me!

HOCHE. You come, too, mother! No one should stay at home today.
The snail must come forth from its shell. The whole city is
freed from prison today. We leave nothing behind. This isn't an
army at war, it is an invasion.

THE MOTHER. Indeed, it is. If we must die, it's better to die
all together.

HOCHE. Die? Nonsense. You don't die when you expect death! [_The
sky begins to brighten behind the houses and the solid mass of
the Bastille._] At last! Day is breaking. The new day, the dawn
of Liberty!

JULIE [_who, seated on_ HOCHE'S _shoulders, has been all smiles,
excited and quiet, and with a finger to her lips, begins
singing one of the national songs of the day]:_

    "Oh, come, Thou god of Liberty
    And fill our souls this day--"

HOCHE [_laughing_]. Do you hear the little sparrow? [_The People
laugh._] Come, then, with light hearts. Let us march ahead of
the sun! [_He takes up_ JULIE'S _song, and begins marching. All
the People join in the song. A little flute carries the air.
Shouts and enthusiastic cheering resound; bells ring._ GONCHON
_and his trembling Militia are urged on by the jeering crowd,
among which_ LA CONTAT _and_ HULIN _are distinguished. Men and
women come forth from, the houses and join the throng. A tempest
of joy. As the People file off,_ DESMOULINS, _following them a
way, returns, quickly mounts the barricade, goes to_ LUCILE'S
_window, and looks in. During the rest of the act, the noise of
the crowd is heard in the distance. A few people continue to
come from the houses, but they pay no attention to the lovers._]

CAMILLE [_in an undertone_]. Lucile! [_The window softly opens,
and_ LUCILE _appears, then puts her arm about_ CAMILLE'S _neck._]

LUCILE. Camille! [_They kiss._]

CAMILLE. You were there!

LUCILE. Sh! They're sleeping in the next room. I was hidden in
there. I stayed all the while. I heard and saw everything.

CAMILLE. Didn't you go to bed at all?

LUCILE. How could I sleep with all that noise? Oh, Camille, how
they cheered you!

CAMILLE [_pleased_]. Did you hear them?

LUCILE. The windows shook with it. I smiled to myself in my
corner. I wanted to shout, too. I couldn't, so I just stood up
on a chair--guess what I did?

CAMILLE. How can I guess?

LUCILE. Guess--if you love me. If you didn't feel anything, then
you don't love me. What did I send you?

CAMILLE. Kisses.

LUCILE. You do love me! Yes, I did. Whole basketfuls. Some of
them went to those who were cheering you. How they cheered! How
famous you've become, my Camille, in one day! Last week, your
Lucile was the only person who knew you, who realized how great
you were. But today, a whole people--

CAMILLE. Listen! [_They hear the joyful cries of the People._]

LUCILE. That's all your work.

CAMILLE. I can't believe it myself.

LUCILE. Just by what you said! How did you do it? They told me
every one was mad with excitement. I wish I had been there!

CAMILLE. I really don't know what I said. I felt as if I
were lifted up into the air. I heard my own voice and saw my
gestures exactly as if they belonged to some one else. Every one
cried--and I cried with the rest. Then after I finished, they
carried me on their shoulders. I never saw anything like it.

LUCILE. My great man, my Patru, my Demosthenes! And you were
able to speak before that great crowd? Weren't you at all
nervous? Didn't you forget what you were going to say? You
didn't do as you--sometimes do--?

CAMILLE. What?

LUCILE. You know--like--like a bottle that's too full--and the
water can't come out--? [_She_ laughs.]

CAMILLE. That's unkind of you! And you show your little teeth
like a cat.

LUCILE [laughing]. No, no, you know I love you; I love you just
as you are. Don't be angry. I see your faults, I even look
for them, but I love them. I love your stammering, and I even
imitate you. [_They laugh._]

CAMILLE. Just see what one day has done to these people I What
can't we expect of them now! Oh, my Lucile, what wonderful
things we shall do together! Now it's started, the thunderbolt
is launched; what joy to see it strike here and there, and lay
low the tyrants--prejudice, injustice, laws! At last, we are
going to smash these maggots, who with their idiotic grins,
set themselves up against everything, prevent our thinking,
breathing, our very existence! We are going to clean house,
and burn the old rags. No more masters, no more shackles! How,
amusing it all is!

LUCILE. We will rule Paris now?

CAMILLE. We will: Reason will.

LUCILE. Hear their shouting. It makes me afraid.

CAMILLE. That is the result of my words.

LUCILE. Do you think they'll always listen to you?

CAMILLE. They listened to me before they knew me; what power I
must have now that they adore me! They are good people, and
when they are at last rid of all the evils that are bearing down
on them, everything will be easy and joyous. Oh, Lucile, I am
too happy! It's all come so suddenly. No, I'm not _too_ happy;
that is impossible. But I feel a little intoxicated, after being
so miserable.

LUCILE. Poor Camille! Were you so very unhappy?

CAMILLE. Yes, I have had a hard time, and for so long--six
years. Without money, without friends, without even hope. I
was disowned by my own people, I had to engage in the lowest
professions, and turn my hand to anything to earn a few
sous--and often not getting them after all. More than once I
went to bed without supper. But I don't want to tell you that.
Later on--It was wrong of me.

LUCILE. Is it possible? Heavens, why didn't you come to--?

CAMILLE. You would, I know, have divided your bread with me!
That wasn't the worst, Lucile. I could do without supper, but to
doubt myself, to see no future before me! And then, the sight of
you, with your dear yellow curls and brown eyes, in the window
opposite mine. How I followed you, at a distance, through the
Luxembourg Gardens, admiring your grace, your movements! Ah,
my dear little Lucile, you often made me forget my misery, and
sometimes made it seem heavier. You were so far from me! How
could I hope that some day--? But that some day is here--now! It
can't escape me! I have you. I kiss your hands! For they have
brought me all the happiness in the world! The world that is
freed through me! How happy I am! [_They kiss, and for a moment
say nothing_.]

CAMILLE. You're crying?

LUCILE [_smiling'_]. So are you. [_The lights in the windows are
extinguished_.] The lights are out; see the dawn! [_The Crowd is
heard outside._]

CAMILLE [_after a moment's pause_]. Do you remember that old
English story we read together? About the two children in Verona
who were in love in that town?

LUCILE [_nodding_]. Why do you ask?

CAMILLE. I don't know. Who knows what the future holds in store
for us?

LUCILE [_putting her hand over his mouth_], Camille!

CAMILLE. Poor Lucile, do you think you would be strong enough,
if ill-fortune--?

LUCILE. Who knows? I might if it were necessary. But I'm afraid
for you; you will suffer terribly.

CAMILLE [_nervously_]. You say that as if you really thought it
might happen?

LUCILE [_smiling_]. You are weaker than I, my hero.

CAMILLE [_smiling_]. Perhaps. I need love. I can't live alone.

LUCILE. I'll never leave you.

CAMILLE. Never! No matter what happens, let us have everything
in common, and let nothing separate us, nothing keep us--[_A
moment of silence._ LUCILE _is motionless, her head resting on
his shoulder._] Are you asleep?

LUCILE [_raising her head_]. No. [_With a sigh._] God spare us
those trials!

CAMILLE [_with a skeptical smile_]. God?

LUCILE [_her cheek against the window, and one arm about_
CAMILLE'S _neck_]. Don't you believe in God?

CAMILLE. Not yet.

LUCILE. What do you mean?

CAMILLE. We are creating Him now. Tomorrow, if I can believe
in what my heart tells me, there will be a God: Man. [LUCILE
_closes her eyes and sleeps._ CAMILLE _says quietly_].
Lucile!--She's asleep.

ROBESPIERRE [_coming across the street and catching sight of_
CAMILLE]. You're still here?

CAMILLE. Sh!

ROBESPIERRE. You forget your duty. [CAMILLE _points to_
LUCILE.--ROBESPIERRE _lowers his voice and looks at_ LUCILE.]
Poor child! [_He stands still a moment, looking at the pair. The
sound of nearby drums awakens_ LUCILE. _She catches sight of_
ROBESPIERRE _and quickly jumps up._]

LUCILE. Oh!

CAMILLE. What's the matter, Lucile? He is our friend Maximilien.

ROBESPIERRE [_bows to_ LUCILE]. Didn't you recognize me?

LUCILE [_still trembling_]. You frightened me!

ROBESPIERRE. I beg your pardon.

CAMILLE. You're trembling.

LUCILE. I'm cold. Good-by, Camille. I'm so tired. I must go to
sleep. [CAMILLE _smiles at her and blows a kiss._ ROBESPIERRE
_bows. She disappears, after bowing to the men. The dawn has
come, and the shy behind the Bastille is richly colored. In
the midst of the far-off shouting are heard the first stray
fusillades_]

ROBESPIERRE [_turning toward the noise_]. Come, now. No more
love today. [_He goes out._]

CAMILLE [_descending from the barricade_]. No more love? What
then? Is it not love that now arouses this city, swelling every
breast, and sacrificing the vast harvest of humanity? Oh, my
love, you are not narrow and selfish, you bind me to these men
with stronger bonds. You are everything, you embrace the whole
world. It is not Lucile alone I love, but the universe. Through
your dear eyes, I love all who love, who suffer, who are happy,
who live, and who die. I love! I feel the sacred flame within
me! It colors the eastern sky above the Bastille. The last
shadows are gone, and this will go, too, this nightmare-shadow!
[_The Bastille, monstrous and black, stands forth against the
bright red shy. The voice of the cannon suddenly rends the
silence, and reverberates above the confusion of the people in
the distance, the fusillade, the bells, and the roll of the
drums._ CAMILLE _smiles, and faces the Bastille, putting his
finger to his nose._] The wolf howls, ha! Growl, show your
teeth! You are doomed! Since the King likes hunting, let us hunt
the King!




ACT III


[_Tuesday, July 14th. The Interior Court of the Bastille. To
the left are seen the bases of two enormous towers the tops of
which are invisible. Between them are thick masses of wall,
rising up like mountains of stone. Opposite is the gate and
the draw-bridge leading to the Government Court. To the right,
a one-story structure standing against the walls of the other
towers. As the curtain rises, the Pensioner_ BÉQUART _and his
companions are stationed in the Court, with three cannon._
VINTIMILLE, _commander of the Pensioners, is seated, bored
and indifferent. Swiss Guards enter now and then from the
draw-bridge with news of the revolt, which is now heard outside
the other gate leading to the Government Court. The rattle of
muskets, cries, and the beating of drums are heard without.
Occasional smoke clouds rise above the walls._]

DE LAUNEY [_Governor of the Bastille, enters from the other
court, nervous and agitated_]. Well, Monsieur de Vintimille, you
see? They are attacking!

VINTIMILLE [_with a touch of irony and weariness_]. Well,
Monsieur de Launey, let them attack. What is it to us? Unless
they have wings, like the Messieurs Montgolfier, I defy them to
make their way in.

THE PENSIONERS [_among themselves_]. Good God!

BÉQUART. Poor devils, they'll be ground to bits! Not one will be
left living. Those damned Swiss keep firing on them. It's wrong
to shoot down defenseless people like that! Especially when you
are in a fort behind good solid walls.

A PENSIONER. Tell me, why are they attacking us?

BÉQUART. Can't tell what's come over them at all. Not like it
used to be. Don't understand. They're all mad, this last month
especially. Well, anyway, it's too bad to treat them like that.
They're not bad. They're people like us.

PENSIONER. Well, it's the order. So much the worse. They had no
business doing it.

BÉQUART. Of course. And it's fine to hear that music! I never
thought I'd live to see another battle.

DE FLUE [_Commander of the Swiss Guards, entering from the other
court_]. Monsieur le Gouverneur, will you please burn the houses
in the neighborhood? They can shoot into the court from the
roofs.

DE LAUNEY. No, I can't burn private property. I have no right.

DE FLUE. War without incendiarism is like eel without mustard.
Very good of you to have these scruples! But when you make war,
you must stop at nothing, or else never begin.

DE LAUNEY. What do you think, Monsieur de Vintimille?

VINTIMILLE [_with a shrug_]. It makes no difference to me. Do as
you like. They'll never come in here. But if you care to profit
by the occasion to clean out the quarter, together with those
idiots who meet there, don't hesitate. Do as you like; it's a
matter of no importance.

DE LAUNEY. Let us wait; there is no immediate hurry. We have
plenty of men and ammunition; we are not yet reduced to
extremes. Are we, old Béquart?

BÉQUART. We're safe till the Last Judgment, Monsieur le
Gouverneur. I served under Monsieur de Chevert at Prague
forty-seven years ago. The Marshal de Belle-Isle stationed us
there. We were a handful in the enemy's country; we were short
of everything, and even the city was against us. They could
never have dislodged us. And here we have only a rabble of women
and shopkeepers, with solid walls between us, and the troops of
the Champ de Mars and Sèvres only a step away. We can smoke our
pipes and sit with crossed legs.

DE FLUE. The moment you think you're quiet, these frogs of
Parisians fly at your throat. Throw a few stones at them, and
you'll see them jump back in their pond soon enough.

DE LAUNEY. Don't anger them too much.

DE FLUE. Give the rascals an inch and they'll take a mile. Hang
the vagabond, or he will hang you.

BÉQUART. They're only poor devils, Monsieur de Flue. You mustn't
be too hard on them. They really don't realize what they are
doing.

DE FLUE. God, if they don't, I do! And that's enough.

DE LAUNEY. You are thinking only of the success of your battle,
Monsieur de Flue. It's another matter for me: I must think of
the consequences. The responsibility is on my shoulders. How do
I know what will please or displease the Court. How do I know
what it wishes me to do?

DE FLUE. Do you not know an enemy of the King when you see him?
Are we not here by order of His Majesty? If we are attacked, is
it not His Majesty who is attacked?

DE LAUNEY. No one can be quite sure; His Majesty is never quite
sure himself. His enemies one day are his friends the next. I
have either no orders at all, or else they are contradictory.
Some tell me to resist to the end; others tell me not to fire.
Provost Flesselles confided to me that he is with me and that
he is deceiving the people. He tells the people he is with them
and is betraying me. Whom is he betraying? How can I be assured
I am not displeasing the Court while I serve it, and know that
it is not laying the blame on me? If it wishes to do something,
has it not a thousand ways of doing so? Why does not Monsieur
de Breteuil, with his Champ de Mars troops, attack these
insurrectionists from the rear?

DE FLUE. Wonderful! What a time they would have!

VINTIMILLE [_to_ DE LAUNEY]. My dear fellow, yours be the
victory! You are always right. [_He goes to a corner and sits in
the shadow_.]

BÉQUART [_who brings him a chair_]. Monseigneur, you are never
quite your old sprightly self on days of battle.

VINTIMILLE. They weary me with their continual discussions.
[_Pointing to_ DE LAUNEY.] He never knows what he wants; he must
always consult every one, and get every one into embarrassing
predicaments. What am I doing with such a vacillating person?
They've given me a nasty task. There's no honor or pleasure to
be derived from these squabbles. It's the business of the police
to put down the people!

BÉQUART. It's not very pleasant to have to fire on the poor
devils.

VINTIMILLE. You're becoming sentimental! Well, it's the
fashion of the day, I suppose. Listen to the skunks out there!
Disgusting. What do they want?

BÉQUART. Bread.

VINTIMILLE. Do they imagine the Bastille is a bakery? There they
go again! They _are_ in earnest. They seem most anxious to live.
I wonder what interest they have in life? Their only pleasures
are sour wine and unwashed women!

BÉQUART. You know, Monseigneur, that no matter how little one
has to live for, one always clings to life.

VINTIMILLE. Oh, really? Speak for yourself!

BÉQUART. Oh, but you have everything to be desired.

VINTIMILLE. Do you envy me? Nothing in it, my boy.

BÉQUART. Nothing in it?

VINTIMILLE. Does that surprise you? You couldn't understand.
Nothing! It is just the July sun--it makes me pessimistic.

A Swiss GUARD [_entering from the other court--to_ DE LAUNEY].
Monseigneur, they are firing from the neighboring houses. Some
of them are perched on the roofs.

DE FLUE. Well, knock them off. It's only child's play for
marksmen like you. [_Outside,_ HOCHE _is heard singing the
refrain of the song sung in the Second Act_]:

    "Oh, come, thou God of Liberty,
    And fill our souls this day--"

Swiss GUARDS [_outside_]. Forward! To the Governor!

DE FLUE. What's the trouble?

Swiss GUARDS [_entering from the exterior court, driving in_
HOCHE, _with_ JULIE _ on his shoulders_.] Commander, we caught
this--just as he was jumping over the outer wall.

HOCHE [_setting_ JULIE _on the ground_]. There you are! And here
we are! I told you you would be the first to enter!

JULIE [_joining her hands ecstatically_]. The Bastille!

VINTIMILLE. I don't see the joke? [_They form a circle about the
newcomers_.]

HOCHE [_quietly_]. Commander, we are envoys. [_The Soldiers
laugh._]

DE LAUNEY. Strange envoys!

HOCHE. We have no choice. We've been signaling to you, but you
refused to see us. We jumped over the wall; that was the only
way to reach you.

JULIE [_going to the Swiss Guards_]. Here they are!

Swiss GUARDS. What do you want, little brat?

JULIE. Are you the prisoners?

Swiss GUARDS [_laughing_]. Prisoners? No, we guard the prisoners.

HOCHE. You are not so very much mistaken. They, too, are
prisoners, and more to be pitied than the others. They have lost
even the desire for liberty.

DE LAUNEY. Who is this child?

HOCHE. Our good genius. She begged me to take her with me. I
carried her on my back.

VINTIMILLE. Are you out of your head to expose the child to such
danger?

HOCHE. Why should she not share our risks? She is sure to die
if we die. Don't pretend to pity her; your cannon have no such
scruples.

VINTIMILLE [_with his accustomed coldness and irony_]. A
soldier! A petty officer who has deserted! So this is the envoy
they send us? Capital! Well, shoot him. That will end his
mission.

DE LAUNEY. One moment. It might be well to find out what they
want.

VINTIMILLE. They have nothing to ask for.

DE FLUE. You don't parley with insurrectionists.

DE LAUNEY. Well, let us see: it costs nothing.

VINTIMILLE. Ridiculous. If we allowed them to discuss matters we
might seem to be accepting them as equals.

DE LAUNEY. What shameless aberration led you to accept this
mission?

HOCHE. The idea of serving both my friends and you.

VINTIMILLE. Do you realize what you have done? Do you know what
a traitor is?

HOCHE. Yes, Monseigneur. He who takes up arms against his people.

VINTIMILLE [_turns his back with a shrug_]. Fool!

HOCHE. I beg your pardon, I did not intend to insult you. On
the contrary, I come as a friend. I was told I would be shot.
Possibly I shall, but really I should be surprised. I have come
to try to help you to arrange matters. But if I am shot, well,
you know the proverbs "A fine death compensates for a whole
life."

DE LAUNEY. What is your message?

HOCHE [_presenting a letter_]. From the Permanent Committee of
the Hôtel de Ville. [DE LAUNEY _takes the letter, stands to one
side, with two officers, reading it. The Pensioners hold_ JULIE
_on their knees._]

BÉQUART. Why did you take it into your head to come, little one?
Do you know some one here?

JULIE. I know a great many.

BÉQUART. Where?

JULIE. In the prison.

BÉQUART. You have nice acquaintances! Who? Relatives?

JULIE. No.

BÉQUART. What are their names?

JULIE. I don't know.

BÉQUART. You don't know? What do they look like?

JULIE. I couldn't say.

BÉQUART. Are you making fun of us?

JULIE. No, no, I know them very well: I've seen them. Only, I
can't say--

BÉQUART. Tell us.

JULIE. Mamma lives in the Rue Saint-Antoine, near here. The
carriages that go to the prison pass our house at night. I get
up and see them--I see nearly all. But sometimes I miss them,
and when I wake up, they've already passed.

BÉQUART. Why did you want to see them?

JULIE. Because they suffer.

BÉQUART. It's not very pleasant to see people who suffer. Why do
you want to see them?

JULIE [_naively_]. Because it makes me sad.

A PENSIONER [_laughing_]. There's a reason for you!

BÉQUART. Shut up! You fool!

THE PENSIONER [_angry at first_]. Fool? [_He reflects a moment,
scratching his head._] True, though!

JULIE [_who sits down and plays with a cannon_]. You're not
going to fire on us, are you? [_They do not answer._] Tell me
you won't. Please. I like you. You must like me.

BÉQUART [_hissing her_]. Good little thing!

DE LAUNEY [_shrugs his shoulders, after reading the letter_].
This is unheard-of! Messieurs, this strange message which has
been delivered to me by some committee of tramps--this--this
Permanent Committee, asks me to divide the guard of the Bastille
between the rest of our own troops and the people! [_The
Soldiers laugh, the officers rage._]

VINTIMILLE. Charming proposal!

HOCHE [_to_ DE LAUNEY]. Listen to me, Monseigneur. You can
prevent the carnage. We hold nothing against you personally,
but against this mass of stone, which has for centuries weighed
heavy on the people of Paris. Blind power is no less shameful to
those who impose it than for those against whom it is directed.
It is disgusting to every one who reasons. You who are more
intelligent than we, ought to feel that and suffer more than
we. Help us, do not fight against us. Reason, for which we are
fighting, is as much your own as ours. Give up this prison of
your own accord; don't force us to capture it.

VINTIMILLE. There he is spouting about reason and conscience.
These Rousseau monkeys. [_To_ DE FLUE.] My compliments! You made
us a pretty present!

DE FLUE. What present?

VINTIMILLE. Your Jean-Jacques. You might at least have kept him
in Switzerland.

DE FLUE. We would have been glad to dispense with him ourselves.

DE LAUNEY [_to_ HOCHE]. You are crazy. Did you ever hear of the
stronger relinquishing their arms, from sheer good-heartedness,
to the weaker?

HOCHE. You are not the stronger.

DE LAUNEY. Do you think these brave men, these twenty cannon,
twenty chests of bullets, and thousands of rounds of ammunition,
are nothing?

HOCHE. You may kill a few hundred men. But what will that avail
you? They will return thousands strong.

DE LAUNEY. We shall be re-inforced.

HOCHE. You will not be re-inforced. You might have been, but
you were not. A king cannot murder his people; it would be not
only murder but suicide. I tell you, you will be overcome.
You display your artillery; you are used to the old-fashioned
warfare, but you do not know the way we fight. You do not know
what a freed nation is. War is only a game for you, because
your hearts are not in it. Since Malplaquet, no one has taken
an interest in the _Patrie._ You were friends of the enemy you
fought, and were glad of the success of the King of Prussia.
Victory is not a necessity for you. But we have no choice:
we must conquer. [_To the Pensioners_.] Comrades, I know you
well, and I respect you; you are fine old fellows. But when you
fought, you were merely obeying orders; you do not know what
it means to fight for yourself. [_To_ BÉQUART.] You yourself,
Father Béquart--we all love you and admire your bravery--when
you were at Prague, shut up with the enemy, you only defended
your skin. We are fighting for our souls, and the souls of
our sons and all the rest who will come after us. Do you hear
the crowd outside? They are only a small part of our forces.
Millions, all mankind to come, fight in our ranks, and make up
that formidable and invisible mass which wins battles.

DE FLUE. You make me tired. We'll sweep those invisible masses
off the earth with a few cannon-shots.

HOCHE. Do not fire. If you do, you are lost. A people is not a
regular army; you can't let it loose without dire consequences.

VINTIMILLE [_to himself, as he looks at_ HOCHE]. Strange men!
How came our France to breed such creatures? They are Germans.
Germans? No. I have known Prussians more French than this one.
Who has wrought this change?

HOCHE. Remember, there is still chance for coming to an
understanding; in a short while, that chance will be lost. The
moment you draw blood, it will be too late.

DE FLUE. You had better give this advice to your friends.

HOCHE [_with a shrug, to_ JULIE]. Come, little pigeon, they
refuse your olive branch. [_He takes_ JULIE _on his shoulder_.]

DE LAUNEY [_to_ HOCHE]. Nothing can conquer the Bastille. It may
be surrendered, but never taken.

HOCHE. It will be surrendered.

DE LAUNEY. And who will surrender it?

HOCHE. Your evil conscience! [HOCHE _goes out with_ JULIE, _amid
a general silence. No one thinks of stopping him._]

VINTIMILLE [_reflectively_]. Our evil conscience!

DE LAUNEY [_suddenly_]. Well! Why did we let him go?

DE FLUE. He is still in the court.

DE LAUNEY. Run after him and stop him!

BÉQUART. Monseigneur, it is impossible.

THE PENSIONERS [_grunting assent_]. He's an envoy.

DE LAUNEY. Impossible, you rascal! Envoy from whom?

BÉQUART [_gravely_]. The people.

DE FLUE [_to the Swiss Guards_]. Arrest him!

BÉQUART _and the_ PENSIONERS [_to the Swiss Guards_]. No,
comrades, not that! Don't arrest him!

A Swiss GUARD [_trying to_ pass]. That was the command.

BÉQUART _and the_ PENSIONERS. Don't you dare go, or you'll have
us to deal with!

VINTIMILLE [_watching them, aside_]. Ah, ha! [_Aloud._] Good!
[_To_ DE LAUNEY.] Don't insist.

A Swiss GUARD [_entering from the exterior court, to_ DE
LAUNEY]. Monseigneur, there is an immense crowd coming out of
the Rue Saint-Antoine. They have taken the Invalides, and are
dragging along twenty cannon.

DE FLUE. The devil! But we must decide now, or everything will
be spoiled. Let us rout the band, or they will defeat us.
[_Great clouds of smoke roll up above the outer walls._]

DE LAUNEY. What is that smoke?

A Swiss GUARD. They've fired the outlying buildings.

DE LAUNEY. Scoundrels! So they want a pitiless warfare? They
shall have it.

DE FLUE. Shall we fire?

DE LAUNEY. Wait--

DE FLUE. For what, in the name of God?

DE LAUNEY [_with a questioning look at_ VINTIMILLE]. Monsieur de
Vintimille.

VINTIMILLE [_rather scornfully_]. I told you what I thought. Do
as you like. One word of advice: whatever you decide on, don't
change it.

DE LAUNEY. You have a free hand, Monsieur de Flue. Give it to
them! [DE LAUNEY, DE FLUE, _and the Swiss Guards go out into the
other court._]

VINTIMILLE [_meditates with an ironical smile. A few steps
from him, the Pensioners are guarding the cannon._] Our evil
conscience! The corporal thinks he has a right to a conscience!
He's richer than I. Conscience! It is neither good nor bad.
It simply does not exist. Honor, yes. Honor? Under the late
King, honor consisted in scheming for him to take one's wife
or sister--provided they were presentable--for a mistress, or
else in marrying the titled courtesan--honor! And now to have
it barked at by this brothel-whelp. Let us not trouble honor.
Really, I don't know why I am fighting here. Loyalty? Fidelity
to the King? We are too used to clear thinking to be deceived by
empty phrases. I have not believed in the King for many a long
year. Well, then? [_He shrugs his shoulders._] Habit, manners,
fashion? We know we are wrong, we do not believe in what we
are doing, and yet we must go through it to the end and behave
correctly, elegantly, in order to conceal the utter uselessness
of our existence. [_Great confusion outside. The Swiss Guards
suddenly rush back with_ DE FLUE _and_ DE LAUNEY _from the
exterior court._]

THE SWISS GUARDS. They are coming!

VINTIMILLE. What! Who are coming? The people? Impossible!

DE FLUE [_without troubling to answer_]. Quick! Up with the
draw-bridge! God Almighty!

DE LAUNEY. To the cannon! [_The Swiss Guards quickly raise the
draw-bridge. The Pensioners roll the cannon into place opposite
the gate. Immediately after, the Crowd is heard shouting and
muttering like an angry sea, just outside._]

VINTIMILLE [_stupefied_]. Are they in! Really?

DE FLUE [_puffing_]. Just in time! The damned rascals!
[_To_ VINTIMILLE.] Would you believe they could have torn
down the outer draw-bridge? You know the perfumer's house
next to the outer gate? I told you, we ought to have burned
all those houses! There were three or four of them on the
roof--carpenters, masons--well, they scaled that wall like
monkeys and got to the roof of the guard-house. No one was
watching the place. They got to the gate, broke the chains, and
the bridge fell right into the midst of the crowd, knocking
a dozen of them flat. You should have seen them scramble and
shout! The nasty scoundrels! [_The confusion among soldiers and
officers has up to the present concealed a group of Swiss Guards
some distance away, who bring in a woman prisoner_.]

Swiss GUARDS [_with_ LA CONTAT _in their midst._] We've made a
good capture.

VINTIMILLE [_bowing_]. Why, it's you, Contat? You come to the
rendezvous, I see! A silver helmet over your blonde hair, musket
in hand; why, you look like the goddess of Liberty herself. So
you were curious to come and see for yourself? You will be safe
here, and may look around without danger. [_He extends his hand
to her, but she hesitates to take it._] You won't shake hands?
We were good friends not very long ago. Are we not still? [_She
decides to shake hands._] Well, what's the matter? You look at
me with those great eyes of yours, and you don't say a word? Are
you afraid?

LA CONTAT. I--I beg your pardon. I hardly know where I am, and I
am not sure whether to consider you as a friend or an enemy.

VINTIMILLE. An enemy? But why? Really, were you fighting us?

LA CONTAT. You know, it's not in my character to be a spectator;
I must always play important parts. [_She shows her musket,
which a Pensioner takes from her at a sign from_ VINTIMILLE.]

VINTIMILLE. You were tired of playing comedy, and you decided
to turn to drama. But do you realize, my dear, that your little
escapade has put you in danger of spending a few months in
Fort-l'Evêque?

LA CONTAT. I risked far more than that.

VINTIMILLE. But you were not in earnest, Contat? You one of
these brawlers? [_He scrutinizes her from head to foot._] No
rouge, no beauty-spots. Your hands black--face streaming with
perspiration--your hair wet, sticking to your cheeks. You're
breathing hard. Muddy to the knees! Covered with filth and
powder! What's happened to you? Why, I know you well, and I am
sure you never liked that filthy rabble any more than I.

LA CONTAT. No, I didn't.

VINTIMILLE. A love-affair, then? Is he in that crowd?

LA CONTAT. I thought it was that at first. But there is
something else.

VINTIMILLE. What?

LA CONTAT. I do not know. I couldn't tell you exactly why I am
fighting: but I felt it not long ago, I was ready to cut your
throat.

VINTIMILLE [_laughing_]. You always liked to exaggerate.

LA CONTAT. I am not joking now.

VINTIMILLE. But, Contat, you are a woman of sense; you don't do
things without a reason?

LA CONTAT. I have a reason, but I can't explain it now. A few
moments ago it was so powerful, so clear to me. The feelings of
those people thrill me, like the roll of thunder. Now that I am
separated from them, I don't know, I don't know what--

VINTIMILLE. You were mad. Confess it.

LA CONTAT. No, no: I am sure they are right.

VINTIMILLE. Right to rebel against the King, kill people, and
die for a nothing?

LA CONTAT. They are not dying for nothing.

VINTIMILLE. No, of course not: for Monsieur d'Orléans' écus!

LA CONTAT. My dear, you're the same as ever: you always minimize
one's motives.

VINTIMILLE. Money is not a small motive to vagabonds who have
none. Can you give me a better motive?

LA CONTAT. Liberty.

VINTIMILLE. What is that?

LA CONTAT. I don't like your ironical smile. When you look at me
that way, I don't know what to say. Even if I did, I shouldn't
say it. It would be useless: you could never understand. You
may at least listen, and watch.

THE PEOPLE [_outside_]. We want the Bastille!

VINTIMILLE [_coldly_]. Yes, it's curious, very curious.

DE LAUNEY [_in consternation_]. What the devil is urging those
idiots on?

THE PENSIONERS [_looking with mingled interest and
sympathy through the loop-holes in the gate_]. Women
--Priests!--Bourgeois!--Soldiers!--There, there's that little
girl on Hulin's shoulders.--She's kicking her feet like a little
devil!

DE FLUE [_talking to the Swiss Guards_], Good. They're caught
in a trap now, between the walls. We can get at them from the
towers.

DE LAUNEY. Clear the court! Smash them! [DE FLUE _and the Guards
run into the Bastille through the gate leading to the towers._]

BÉQUART _and the_ PENSIONERS [_murmuring_]. It's going to be a
butchery!--They're hardly armed. And those children--!

THE PEOPLE. We want the Bastille! [LA CONTAT _and_ VINTIMILLE
_have not followed_ DE FLUE'S _and_ DE LAUNEY'S _conversation._
LA CONTAT'S _attention is wholly occupied with the People, as
she listens to their shouting._]

LA CONTAT [_shouting to the people outside_]. Courage! I am the
first to take it! [_The beat of drums is now heard._]

BÉQUART _and the_ PENSIONERS [_looking out_]. They want to
parley again: they're waving handkerchiefs, signaling to us.

VINTIMILLE [_also looking out_]. The Attorney is leading them.

DE LAUNEY. Let's see what they want.

VINTIMILLE. Cease firing! [_The Pensioners throw down their
muskets. The drums are heard heating near the moat._ VINTIMILLE
_and some of the Pensioners go up to the right of the gate
toward an opening in the wall from which they can overlook the
assailants._ VINTIMILLE _addresses the people._] What do you
want? [_At the same moment a volley is fired from the upper part
of the towers._ VINTIMILLE _turns._] What the devil are they
doing?

THE PENSIONERS _and_ DE LAUNEY [_astonished_]. The Swiss Guards
are firing!--Stop them! Stop them! [_Some run to the tower gate
and disappear._]

VINTIMILLE [_having descended again into the court_]. Too late!
Pretty piece of work they've done! Listen to those cries! They
aimed well. They think we fired from a secret hiding-place.
[_The People howl with rage._ VINTIMILLE _turns and sees_ LA
CONTAT, _who has come up behind him and looks at him with
hatred in her eyes._] What's the trouble, Contat? [_She does
not answer, but suddenly seizes_ VINTIMILLE'S _sword, snatches
it from the scabbard, and attempts to stab him. The Pensioners
seize her hands and hold her in spite of her heroic struggle
to free herself._] So you wanted to kill me! [LA CONTAT _nods.
She keeps her eyes fixed on him, and to the end of scene cannot
utter a word, but trembles convulsively, panting like a beast._]
You aren't sane. What's happened? I have done nothing to you.
You know they acted contrary to orders. You yourself saw--Don't
you recognize me, Contat? [_She nods_.] Do you really hate me?
[_She nods as before_.] Speak to me? Won't you say a word? [_He
attempts to touch her, but she pulls back, and struggles again
with the soldiers, who hold her hands. She then falls back in
a sort of epileptic fit, screaming and moaning. They carry
her off. Her cries are still heard. Outside, the People are
screaming_.]

DE LAUNEY [_in consternation_]. She's like a wild animal. You
would not recognize her.

VINTIMILLE. She is not herself. Something strange and new is
in her: the poison of that mob. It's too disgusting. I can't
understand it. It's like a wind of bestiality blown from the
monstrous part of humanity. [_The Swiss Guards descend from the
towers with_ DE FLUE.]

DE LAUNEY [_very much excited, goes to meet_ DE FLUE]. What have
you done? What have you done?

DE FLUE [_fuming_]. By God, I did what you told me to do! You
ordered me to smash them, and I have smashed them. It seems
you've changed your mind, and you want peace. What the devil do
you want me to do?

DE LAUNEY. We're lost now.

DE FLUE. Lost? [_He shrugs his shoulders, and motions to his
Guards to roll the cannon into position_.]

BÉQUART _and the_ PENSIONERS. What are you doing?

THE SWISS GUARDS. Three volleys and the court will be empty.

BÉQUART _and the_ PENSIONERS. You're not going to fire?

THE SWISS GUARDS. Why not?

BÉQUART. Into the mob? It would be nothing but massacre!

THE SWISS GUARDS. What's that to us?

BÉQUART. They are our relatives, Frenchmen like the rest of us.
Put that cannon back, and don't dare fire.

THE SWISS GUARDS. Get out of our way. Let us pass! [_They knock_
BÉQUART _out of the way._]

THE PENSIONERS. Damned Germans! [_They cross bayonets_.]

THE SWISS GUARDS. Knock them down! These battered scarecrows!
They can't frighten us!

BÉQUART. If you advance, I'll fire. [_He takes aim._ VINTIMILLE
_and_ DE FLUE _stand between them._]

DE FLUE. Down with your weapons! Down, by God! [_He beats them
with his cane._]

VINTIMILLE. Snarling dogs!

DE LAUNEY [_at his wits' end_]. They too are in revolt! They
won't fight now! All is lost! [_He rushes toward the citadel and
tries to enter._]

VINTIMILLE [_stopping him_]. Where are you going?

DE LAUNEY [_in desperation_]. To die! But they will die with us!

VINTIMILLE. What are you going to do?

DE LAUNEY. To the basements! Tons of powder! Set it off!

THE PENSIONERS. Don't do that!

DE LAUNEY. I will!

VINTIMILLE. And blow up a large part of Paris? What heroism!
It's too ridiculous. You really couldn't do that unless you
believed in something! Ridiculous to do it for no reason at all.
You mustn't upset the table just because you lose.

DE LAUNEY. But what can I do?

THE PENSIONERS. Surrender.

DE LAUNEY. Never! The King confided the Bastille to me. I shall
never surrender! [_He again tries to go, but the Pensioners
seize him._]

THE PENSIONERS [_to_ VINTIMILLE]. Monseigneur, you command us!

VINTIMILLE [_coldly_]. Monsieur le Gouverneur is not well.
Conduct him to his apartments, and take care of him.

DE LAUNEY [_struggling_]. Traitors! Cowards! [_They carry him
off._]

VINTIMILLE [_aside_]. I was an idiot to get dragged into this!
Nothing to do now. I must draw my next card with equanimity.
[_Aloud._] Monsieur de Flue?

DE FLUE. What is it?

VINTIMILLE. Let us draw up our capitulation papers.

DE FLUE. Papers? No, thanks, I'll have nothing to do with them.
[_He turns his back._ VINTIMILLE _writes, leaning against a
cannon._]

A Swiss GUARD [_to_ DE FLUE]. They will massacre us.

DE FLUE [_phlegmatically_]. Possibly. [_He sits down on a drum
and lights his pipe._]

THE SWISS GUARDS [_wiping their faces_]. Damned heat! Can't
we have something to drink? [_A Guard gets a pitcher of
water, which is passed around. The Guards are together at the
left, with their officer; they are indifferent and bored. The
Pensioners, opposite, stand about the cannon where_ VINTIMILLE
_is writing. They watch with respect every movement he makes._
BÉQUART _holds the inkstand for him._ VINTIMILLE _reads in a
low voice to_ BÉQUART _what he has written,_ BÉQUART _nodding
approval. His comrades repeat the words among themselves,
likewise nodding_.]

THE PENSIONERS [_with mingled irony and approval_]. The lamb has
captured the wolf.

VINTIMILLE. I demand their promise that no one shall be harmed.

BÉQUART. It costs us nothing to ask.

VINTIMILLE [_smiling_]. It costs nothing to promise. [_He goes
to_ DE FLUE.] Will you sign?

DE FLUE [_as he signs_]. Fine way to fight!--Well, it's not my
affair.

VINTIMILLE. The difficulty is not in writing, but in making them
read what we write. [_The Pensioners, approaching the gate, are
greeted by musket-shots._]

THE PENSIONERS. They're desperate. They won't let any one come
near.

BÉQUART. Give me the love-missive.

THE PENSIONERS. You'll get killed, Béquart.

BÉQUART. What do I care? I'm not capitulating in order to save
myself.

THE SWISS GUARDS. Why, then?

THE PENSIONERS [_pointing to the People_]. To save them! [_Among
themselves, scornfully._] They don't understand a thing!
[BÉQUART _advances to the gate.--The Pensioners shout to him_.]
How will you give it to them?

BÉQUART [_pointing to his pike_]. On the end of this spit.

VINTIMILLE [_turning toward the towers_]. Hoist the white flag!

THE PENSIONERS [_shouting_]. Up there, hey! The flag! [_The gate
opens._ BÉQUART _goes up toward the opening in the wall, right
of the draw-bridge._]

BÉQUART [_waving his arms and crying_]. Capitulation! [_He is
received by a veritable tempest of shouts and musket-shots. He
totters, and shouts out in fury as he shakes his fist at the
crowd._] Pigs! It's for your sake! For you!

THE PENSIONERS [_crowding about the draw-bridge, and shouting
outside_]. Don't fire! Don't fire! [_Outside the people are
heard shouting,_ "_Don't fire!_" _then,_ "_Surrender!" This cry
increases, and finally voices are heard in heated discussion.
After a moment, there is silence._] Hoche and Hulin are making
them put down their muskets. They understand. They are stopping.
They are coming up to the moat.

BÉQUART [_leaning out far over the wall, with the letter at the
end of his pike_]. Hurry! I haven't time to wait.

THE PENSIONERS [_still looking outside_]. Hulin's bringing
a plank. He's throwing it across the moat. Some one's
crossing--he's lost his balance! He's falling! No, he's safe now.

BÉQUART [_panting for breath_]. Hurry up! Hurry!

THE PENSIONERS. He's touching the pike. He has the paper.

BÉQUART [_standing upright_]. There! [_Looking at the People_.]
Pigs! [_He raises his arms and shouts._] Long live the Nation!
[_He falls back, struck by a bullet_.]

THE PENSIONERS. Pigs! They've killed him! [_Two of them go to_
BÉQUART'S _body, and bring it down to the center of the stage,
laying it at_ VINTIMILLE'S _feet._]

VINTIMILLE [_looking at the body with a mixture of irony and
sympathy_]. Honor? To what end?

THE PENSIONERS. Listen! [_Outside is heard the shout of the
People accepting the conditions, and the Pensioners repeat:_]
Accepted!

VINTIMILLE [_with indifference_]. Inform Monsieur le Gouverneur.

THE PENSIONERS. Monseigneur, he's gone crazy: he's broken all
the furniture in his room. He cries like a baby.

VINTIMILLE [_with a shrug_]. Well, I shall take his place to the
end. [_To himself, with a touch of ironic bitterness._] I never
thought I should one day have the honor of giving up the royalty
of France with these four-century-old walls into the hands
of the lawyers. A beautiful duty! To think I should come to
this! Well, nothing matters; everything passes, and everything
ends. Death settles all accounts. Now we'll give them a little
comedy--with the grand manner at the last. [_Aloud._] Fall in!
Form in line! [_The garrison falls into rank; the Pensioners
on the right, the Swiss Guards, left._ DE FLUE _is standing,
while_ VINTIMILLE _rises, using his cane to support himself._]
Butt-ends of your muskets in the air! Messieurs, I think I ought
to inform you that in spite of the precautions I have taken,
there will be some surprises when the enemy makes its entrance.
You know they are not a disciplined army. But if they show any
lack of military manners, that is no excuse for our behaving
likewise. And you, Swiss Guards, in the name of the King, I
thank, you for your obedience. You deserve more credit than
the others. [_He turns his back on the Pensioners and smiles a
little._] As to you, we understand each other. [_The Pensioners
murmur approval._]

DE FLUE [_phlegmatically_]. War is war! [_A Pensioner whistles:_
"_Où peut-on être mieux qu'au sein de sa famille?_"]

VINTIMILLE [_turning toward him, and, with a disdainful
gesture_]. You need not trouble to show your glee! It's
indecent, my friend.

THE PENSIONER. Monseigneur, I couldn't help it.

VINTIMILLE. Why, you are positively proud to be beaten!

THE PENSIONER [_warmly_]. We are not beaten! They would never
have taken the Bastille unless we had wished them to. [_His
comrades murmur approval._]

VINTIMILLE. Do you mean to say that it is we who have taken the
Bastile?--

PENSIONER. There is some truth in it.

VINTIMILLE. Well--! To your post! [_After a pause._] Open the
gate. Lower the draw-bridge. [_Some of the men open the gate
and slowly lower the draw-bridge. The People outside continue
their shouting._] Here, then, comes the new King, ha! [_The
draw-bridge is now down. A formidable clamor arises, as the
human flood pours in through the opened gate. Men and women,
armed with pikes, hatchets, and muskets, surge through. At their
head is_ GONCHON, _who is pushed forward, flourishing his saber
in the air._ HOCHE _and_ HULIN _make vain efforts to silence the
mob. There are cries of death and victory._ VINTIMILLE _takes
off his hat._] Messieurs, the rabble!

PENSIONERS [_suddenly swept away by their enthusiasm, wave their
hats_]. Long live Liberty!

VINTIMILLE. Messieurs, messieurs, have you no sense of shame?

PENSIONERS [_with waxing enthusiasm_]. Long live Liberty! [_They
throw away their muskets and rush into the arms of the People._]

VINTIMILLE [_with a shrug_]. Ah, human reason, how frail thou
art! Farewell, Monsieur de Vintimille. [_He breaks his sword._
GONCHON, _at his wits' end, pushed forward by the howling
mob--among whom is distinguished the_ OLD FRUIT-SELLER_--fall
upon_ VINTIMILLE, DE FLUE, _and their soldiers, dragging them
off the stage with shouts and curses._]

GONCHON. Rip them open!

THE OLD WOMAN. Dogs of aristocrats!

THE PEOPLE. Swiss pigs!--I know these fellows!--The old lame
ones!--The enemy! Kill them! They fired on us! [HOCHE _and_
HULIN, _who try to stop the People, are brushed aside by them
and thrown against a wall. In the midst of the hubbub,_ MARAT
_is seen._] Long live Marat!

MARAT. My children, what are you doing?

THE WOMEN. Kill! Kill!

MARAT. Kill them? What do you want? Would you eat them? [_Some
of the crowd laugh._]

HULIN. He knows how to handle them: amuse them!

HOCHE. Where is the little girl?

HULIN. The little girl? [HOCHE _runs out to look for_ JULIE.]

DESMOULINS [_jumping into their midst_]. Stop, comrades, you're
killing prisoners!

THE PEOPLE [_stopping_]. The prisoners?

DESMOULINS. The prisoners of the Bastille. Look at their
clothes. We have come to free them!

THE PEOPLE [_doubtfully_]. They're enemies!

HULIN. There are no more enemies.

JULIE [_on_ HOCHE'S _shoulders, carrying a branch, extends her
arms to the People, and shouts_]. Be merciful to our friends,
our friends the enemy.

THE PEOPLE [_laughing_]. Hear the little one!

HOCHE [_putting her down on a cannon, whence she dominates the
crowd_]. Shout, child: "All brothers, all friends."

JULIE. Brothers! Brothers!

THE PEOPLE. We are all brothers! She's right!

THE PENSIONERS. Long live the People!

THE PEOPLE. Long live the ancient glory!

THE PENSIONERS [_to_ JULIE]. You've saved us, little one!

THE PEOPLE. She conquered you, too, comrades. The little mite
took the Bastille.

MARAT. You are our good conscience!

THE PEOPLE. You are our little Liberty! [_They stretch out their
arms. The women blow hisses to her_.]

HOCHE [_clapping_ HULIN _on the shoulder_]. Well, Hulin? You
everlasting doubter, are you at last convinced?

HULIN [_wiping his eyes, but still a little obstinate_]. Yes,
although--[_Laughter from_ HOCHE _and the People drown out the
rest. He stops and laughs louder than the others. He looks about
him, and catching sight of a statue of the King in a niche by
the entrance to the court, he picks it up._] Down with you! Make
way for Liberty! [_He throws the statue down, then runs to_
JULIE, _picks her up and puts her in the niche._] The Bastille
fallen at last! I did it! We did it! We'll do a lot more,
too! Let's clean the stables of Augias, rid the earth of its
monsters, and strangle the lion of royalty. Our fists will lay
low all despotism! Comrades, we shall forge the Republic! We've
been held down too long, and now we're bursting our bonds! Roll
on, oh, torrent of the Revolution!

THE OLD FRUIT-SELLER [_astride a cannon, with a red kerchief
about her head_]. To the King! Here's my horse. I took him.
I'll hitch him to my little cart and we'll go to Versailles
to make a visit to big Louis! I've got a lot to say to him.
Lord, for centuries I've lived in misery, I've been so patient!
I'm choking; I must get rid of the feeling. I was a good old
animal! I thought I had to suffer, in order to enjoy riches.
Now at last I understand. I want to live, I want to live! I'm
sorry I'm so old. God Almighty, I want to make up for lost time!
Get up, old fellow, to the Court! [_The gun-carriage is pushed
forward by the People, and the old woman, in her helmet and
trappings, rides past in triumph._]

THE PEOPLE. On to the Court! On to Versailles! We've suffered
too long! We want to be happy! We'll be happy!

DESMOULINS [_carrying a green branch_]. The forest of Liberty
has sprung up from the stones. Green leaves wave in the wind.
The old heart of Paris will flower once again. Spring has come!

THE PEOPLE [_bursting with joy and pride, all wave branches, and
decorate themselves with green cockades, green ribbons, etc_].
Free! The Heavens are free! [_The sunset filters in through the
draw-bridge opening, and bathes in purple the inner court of the
Bastille and the People with their waving branches._]

HOCHE. Sun, you may sleep now, for we have not wasted our day.

LA CONTAT. Its dying rays paint the castle windows, the
branches, the heads and little Liberty, a glowing red.

HULIN. Heaven announces the war.

MARAT. Unlike Him who entered seventeen hundred years ago in the
midst of branches, this little child has not come to bring us
peace.

DESMOULINS. There is blood on our hands.

ROBESPIERRE [_with suppressed fanaticism_]. It is our own!

THE PEOPLE [_excited_]. It's mine!--It's mine!--We offer it to
you, Liberty!

DESMOULINS. To the devil with our lives! Great happiness must be
bought.

HOCHE. And we are ready to pay.

ROBESPIERRE [_as before_]. We will pay.

THE PEOPLE [_enthusiastically_]. We will pay! [_The People dance
and sing about the little figure of Liberty. Music._]

LA CONTAT. What joy to be one of you! To love and to suffer with
you! Give me your hands! Let us dance, and all be brothers!
Sing, for this is your festival, Oh, people of Paris!

MARAT. My dear people, you have suffered so long, you have
struggled so long in silence. So many centuries had to elapse
before this hour of joy! Liberty is yours. Guard well your
conquest.

DESMOULINS [_to the People_]. And now, finish what you have
begun. This Bastille has fallen, but there are others. On to
the fight! We must fight against the enemies of truth! Against
darkness! Mind will dominate brute force. The past is dead!
Death itself is dead!

HULIN [_to_ JULIE]. Our Liberty, our light, our love! How small
you are now! And how frail! Will you have the strength to resist
the tempests that lie ahead? Grow, grow, little plant, straight
up, and vigorous, and give happiness to the world with your
fragrance of the fields!

HOCHE [_saber in hand, climbs to an eminence at the foot of the
niche where Liberty stands_]. Be reassured, Liberty, you are
safe with us. We hold you fast. Woe be unto him who molests you!
You belong to us, and we belong to you. These spoils, these
trophies, are yours. [_The women strew Liberty with flowers.
The men then lower their pikes, banners, branches, and trophies
in her presence_.] But all this is not yet enough: we will give
you a deathless triumph. Daughter of the People of Paris, your
eyes shall inspire every enslaved nation. We will carry across
the universe the great banner of Equality. We will take your
chariot into the midst of battles, with the aid of our sabers,
our cannon, toward Love, toward the brotherhood of all mankind!
Brothers, my brothers! We are all brothers! We are all free!
Come, let us deliver the world! [_Swords, lances, branches,
handkerchiefs, hats, and arms wave madly, amid the uproar of
drums, trumpets, and shouting. The People dance about the figure
of Liberty._]




DANTON

A Play in Three Acts [_Danton_ was produced in Paris in 1900.]


_To My Father_



CAST OF CHARACTERS:

    ROBESPIERRE
    DANTON
    CAMILLE DESMOULINS
    VADIER
    BILLAUD-VARENNE
    SAINT-JUST
    HERMAN WESTERMANN
    HÉRAULT DE SÉCHELLES
    PHILIPPEAUX
    FABRE D'EGLANTINE
    FOUQUIER-TINVILLE
    LUCILE DESMOULINS
    ELÉONORE DUPLAY
    MADAME DUPLAY

The People, Jury, Gendarmes, etc.

SCENE: Paris, March and April, 1794.

    Act I. Desmoulins' home.
    Act II. Robespierre's room.
    Act III. The Revolutionary Tribunal.

[M. Rolland has suggested lines and "business" for The People in
footnotes throughout Act III, but as these are not an integral
part of the play and are intended rather as an aid to the
producer, I have not deemed it necessary to incorporate more
than half a dozen lines into the text.--THE TRANSLATOR.]_I_




ACT I


[_The home of_ CAMILLE DESMOULINS. _A middle-class sitting-room,
furnished in every style, and presenting a fantastic appearance.
The walls are hung with licentious engravings of the 18th
century. Over the fire-place is the bust of an ancient
philosopher. On the table is a small model of the Bastille.
A cradle stands in the corner. A window is open. Outside may
be seen the gray sky and the rain._ CAMILLE _and_ LUCILE,
_who holds her child in her arms, look out the window._
PHILIPPEAUX _strides back and forth, glancing out of the window
occasionally._ HÉRAULT DE SÉCHELLES, _seated in an arm-chair by
the fire, looks at his friends. The joyous shouting of the crowd
is heard outside_.]

LUCILE [_leaning out_]. There they are! There they are! They're
passing at the end of the street!

CAMILLE [_shouting_]. Good luck to you, Père Duchesne! Don't
forget your pipe!

HÉRAULT [_softly_]. Camille, my friend, don't show yourself.

CAMILLE. Come and see, our old friends, Hérault! Ronsin, the
general of the clubs; and Vincent, who wanted your head,
Philippeaux; and Hebert, the bully, who had supper every evening
at my expense; and the Prussian Cloots, the fair Anacharsis!
The last trip of the young Anacharsis! Mankind is in a fine fix
now: deprived of its orator! The guillotine is busy today.

LUCILE [_to the baby_]. Look, Horace, look at those naughty men!
And Commander Hanriot, galloping with his saber! Do you see,
darling?

PHILIPPEAUX. He's too zealous. He ought to be riding on the cart
himself.

CAMILLE. It's like a great festival; the people are gay.
[_Outside a clarinet is heard playing a grotesque air. The
People laugh._] What's that?

LUCILE. The little hunchback with the cart, playing his clarinet.

CAMILLE. Pleasant idea! [_They all laugh._] Why don't you look,
Hérault? Aren't you interested? You seem sad? What are you
thinking about? [_The uproar becomes fainter._]

HÉRAULT. I was thinking, Camille, that Anacharsis is
thirty-eight, and Hebert thirty-five--your age, Philippeaux;
and Vincent twenty-seven, six years younger than I--and you,
Desmoulins.

CAMILLE. True. [_He suddenly becomes serious, leaving the
window and coming to the center of the room. He stands still an
instant, his chin in his hand._]

LUCILE [_still at the window_]. How it rains! Too bad!

CAMILLE [_put out_]. Come away from the window, Lucile. You'll
catch cold.

LUCILE [_closing the window, comes into the room with the baby,
singing to herself:_]

    "Come quick, little shepherdess, gather your sheep:
       The rain is beginning to fall,
     And bring them back safe to the sheepfold again;
       Come quick, or you'll lose them all!"

CAMILLE. Lucile, Lucile, how can you sing that song! I never
hear it without thinking that the poet who wrote it is now
languishing in prison.

LUCILE. Fabre? That's so. Our poor Eglantine. They shut him up
in the Luxembourg, sick as he was! Oh, well, he'll come out.

HÉRAULT. _Pur troppo!_

LUCILE. Now what does that mean? Something naughty, I know.

PHILIPPEAUX. Something sad, and only too true.

LUCILE. Hush, you gloomy men! Fabre will be released, I tell
you. Are we not here to help him?

HÉRAULT. Danton himself could do nothing to save him.

LUCILE. Danton, perhaps. But when Camille takes his pen in hand,
and writes all he thinks, you'll see the jail gates open of
their own accord!

HÉRAULT. For whom?

LUCILE. For the tyrants!

HÉRAULT. Imprudent shepherdess, you had better keep an eye on
your sheep! "Bring them back safe to the sheepfold again!"
Remember your song. [_A servant enters and takes the baby from_
LUCILE; _then carries him out._ LUCILE _whispers to her, leaves
the room, and returns a moment later. During the entire scene
she walks about, busied with various domestic duties, and only
occasionally catches the drift of the following conversation_.]

CAMILLE. Lucile is right: we must make the effort. It is our
business to direct the Revolution which we have started. This
voice of mine has not yet lost its power over the crowd. It has
sent fanatics to the guillotine. We were never so strong as
today; let us follow up our success: the Luxembourg is no more
difficult to take than the Bastille. We laid low nine centuries
of monarchy, and we can easily deal with a handful of vagabonds,
who derive their power from us, and who use it in order to run
the Convention and France in their own way.

PHILIPPEAUX [_walking about agitatedly_]. The rascals! If
they only confined themselves to murder! But no, they had to
implicate Fabre in the _Compagnie des Indes_ business; invented
that impossible yarn: Jews and German bankers bribing our friend
in order to corrupt the Assembly! They know they are lying, but
they cannot satisfy their consciences until they vilify their
enemy before they kill him.

HÉRAULT. Our enemies are virtuous: and that is some consolation:
to have our throats cut in the name of principles.

CAMILLE. France hates hypocrisy. Let us beat the pedants and
thrash Basile!

PHILIPPEAUX. I have done my duty: let each do his. I dragged to
light the brigands of the Western Army, the military staff of
Saumur. I have a firm hold on their necks, and only the loss of
my own head will force me to release it. I have no illusions:
I know what it will cost to attack General Rossignol and his
band. The Committee is now lying in wait, but only in order to
catch me. I wonder what infamy they are going to saddle me with?
I'm all in a fever only to think of it. Let them chop my head if
they will, but they must not touch my honor!

HÉRAULT. I'm not so worried as you, Philippeaux. I already know
what pretext they have to suppress me. I am so unfortunate as
to think that while we may be the enemy of the governments of
all Europe, we need not therefore despise every one who does not
happen to be French. I had friends abroad, and I did not think
it was necessary to break with them, in order to give in to the
folly of Billaud-Varenne and others of his ilk. They entered my
house, forced the drawers of my desks, stole some letters of a
purely friendly nature. But that was enough, and of course I am
now a conspirator for the restoration of the King, and receive
money from Pitt.

CAMILLE. Are you sure of what you say?

HÉRAULT. Quite sure, Camille. My head is not worth a son.

CAMILLE. But you must hide.

HÉRAULT. There is no hiding-place in the world for a Republican.
Kings hound them, and the Republic sends them to the guillotine.

CAMILLE. You lack courage. We are the most popular men of the
Republic.

HÉRAULT. Lafayette was popular, too, and Pétion, and Roland.
Capet himself was popular. He who was a week ago the people's
idol is now dead. Who can flatter himself that he is beloved
of those brutes? At moments, you think you see in their
troubled eyes some faint reflection of your own thoughts. Whose
conscience, at least one day in a lifetime, is not in harmony
with the conscience of the masses? But that harmony cannot long
exist, and it is folly to try to keep it. The brain of the
people is a surging sea, alive with monsters and nightmares.

CAMILLE. What big words! We puff out our cheeks to say things
to the people, and we say them solemnly, in order that Europe
may believe in some mysterious power of which we are the
instruments. But I know the people; they have worked for me.
The ass in the fable says: "I cannot carry two saddles," but he
never for an instant doubts that he can carry any at all. We had
trouble enough to make the people start their Revolution; they
only did it in spite of themselves. We were the engineers, the
agents of that sublime movement; without us, it would not have
moved an inch. They did not demand a Republic; I led them to it.
I persuaded them that they wanted to be free, in order that they
might cherish their Liberty as their own achievement. That is
the only way to handle weak people. Convince them that they want
something they never thought of, and they invariably want it.

HÉRAULT. Take care, Camille; you are a child, and you are
playing with fire. You believe the people have followed you
because you were aiming at the same goal. They have passed you
by. Don't try to stop them. You can't take a bone from a hungry
dog.

CAMILLE. You have only to throw them another. Tell me, don't you
read my _Vieux Cordelier?_ Does not its voice resound throughout
the Republic?

LUCILE. Do you know how popular the last number was? He's had
letters from every one--and what weeping, and kisses, and
declarations of love! If I were jealous--! They implore him to
continue, and save the country.

HÉRAULT. How many of these friends would help him if he were
attacked?

CAMILLE. I need no one's help. My writing-desk is enough! This
David's sling [_pointing to his pen_] has just overthrown the
proud guillotine, the prince of blackguards. I've broken the
pipe of Père Duchesne, the famous pipe that like the trumpet of
Jericho, after it had thrice been smoked around a reputation,
made it fall of its own accord. From this pen went forth the
stroke that struck the cowardly Goliath in the head. I made his
own people hoot him. Did you notice the pipe-bowls about Père
Duchesne's cart just now? That was my idea. It has proved a
prodigious success. Why do you look at me?

HÉRAULT. An idea!

CAMILLE. What is it?

HÉRAULT. Do you sometimes think of death?

CAMILLE. Death? No, I don't like to. It's nasty.

HÉRAULT. Did you never think how awful it would be?

LUCILE. How horrible! Fine things to talk about!

HÉRAULT. You are a good, dear, lovable child, and yet you are
cruel--like a child.

CAMILLE [_excitedly_]. You really think me cruel?

LUCILE. See, he's crying this moment!

CAMILLE [_deeply stirred_]. True, he suffered. When I think of
his agony, his terror, waiting for the end--It must have been
atrocious! No matter how vile he was, he suffered like an honest
man--perhaps even more. Poor Hebert!

LUCILE [_her arms about_ CAMILLE'S _neck_]. My poor Bouli-Boula,
you're not going to feel so sorry for a villain who wanted to
send you to the guillotine?

CAMILLE [_angrily_]. Yes. Now, why are you attacking me this
way? _Si quis atra dente me petiverit, inultus ut flebo puer!_

LUCILE [_to_ HÉRAULT]. And you dare say my Camille is cruel!

HÉRAULT. I do, of course. Dear fellow! He is perhaps the
cruellest of us all.

CAMILLE. Don't say that, Hérault; I may end by believing you.

LUCILE [_to_ HÉRAULT, _shaking her finger at him_]. Say it's not
true: _you_ are the cruellest.

HÉRAULT. Well, no, it is not true: _you_ are the cruellest.

LUCILE. Very well. I don't mind that.

CAMILLE. What you say troubles me, Hérault. It is true, I have
done great evil, but I am not bad by nature. I have constituted
myself the prosecuting attorney for the lamp-post. I have no
idea what damnable impish instinct urges me on. It was due to me
that the Girondins are now rotting in the fields. My _Brissot
dévoilé_ led to the decapitating of thirty young, lovable,
generous men. They clung to life, as I do; they were made in
order to enjoy life, and be happy. They, too, had their dear
Luciles. Oh, Lucile, let us go away, far from this butchery
that is so terrible to others, and perhaps to ourselves! What
if we--you--our little Horace--? Oh, why can't I be a stranger
once more to all men? Where can I hide myself from the sight
of the world, with my wife and child and my books! _Ubi campi
Guisiaque!_

PHILIPPEAUX. You're in the cyclone, and you cannot escape.

HÉRAULT. Don't force him to remain in a struggle which he was
not intended for.

PHILIPPEAUX. But as he himself just said, we must do our duty.

HÉRAULT [_pointing to_ CAMILLE, _who kisses_ LUCILE]. Look at
him: does not Camille's duty seem to be the pursuit of happiness?

CAMILLE. True, I have a wonderful vocation for happiness. Some
people are made for suffering, but suffering disgusts me: I want
none of it.

LUCILE. Did I spoil your vocation?

CAMILLE. My Vesta, my little one! You are very much to blame!
You have made me too happy!

LUCILE. Coward! He pities himself.

CAMILLE. You see, I have lost all strength, all my faith.

LUCILE. How?

CAMILLE. I used to believe in the immortality of the soul.
When I saw the misery of the world, I said to myself that life
would be too absurd if virtue were not rewarded elsewhere. But
now I am happy, so sublimely happy that I truly believe I have
received my reward on earth. So you see, I have lost my proof of
immortality.

HÉRAULT. Never try to find it again.

CAMILLE. How simple it is to be happy! There are so few who know
how to be!

HÉRAULT. The simpler a thing is, the oftener it eludes us. It is
said that men wish to be happy. A great mistake! They wish to be
unhappy; they insist on it. Pharaohs and Sesostris, kings with
hawks' heads and tigers' claws; butchers of the Inquisition,
conquerors of Bastilles; wars that sow murder and rapine--that
is what they want. The obscurity of the mysteries is necessary
to belief; the absurdity of suffering, to love. But reason,
tolerance, love, happiness--bah! Give them that, and you insult
them!

CAMILLE. You are bitter. You must do good to men in spite of
themselves.

HÉRAULT. That is what everybody is doing nowadays, and the
result is nothing to boast of.

CAMILLE. Poor Republic! What have they done to You? Oh,
flowering fields, rejuvenated earth, clear air, and bright
light of the heavens, clear-eyed Reason has sent packing the
sorry superstitions and the ancient Gothic saints from fair
France. Young men and women dancing in the meadows, heroic
armies, fraternal feeling, impregnable wall against which the
armies of Europe in vain break their lances; joy of beauty,
noble Panathenaics, white-armed maidens, dressed in thin
flowing draperies; liberty to live, pleasure that throbs from
sheer joy of living. Fair Republic of Aspasia and the charming
Alcibiades--what has become of you? What are you now? You wear a
red cap, a dirty shirt; you have a hoarse voice, the fixed ideas
of a maniac, the pedantic manner of a schoolmaster!

HÉRAULT. You are an Athenian among barbarians.--Ovid among the
Scythians. You will never reform them.

CAMILLE. I shall at least try.

HÉRAULT. You are wasting your time--perhaps your life.

CAMILLE. What have I to fear?

HÉRAULT. Beware of Robespierre.

CAMILLE. I have known him since we were children: a friend may
say anything.

HÉRAULT. A disagreeable truth is more easily forgiven by an
enemy than a friend.

LUCILE. Stop! He must be a great man and save the _Patrie._
Whoever doesn't agree with me, will have none of my chocolate.

HÉRAULT [_smiling_]. I'll not say another word. [LUCILE _goes
out._]

PHILIPPEAUX. So you have decided to go ahead, Desmoulins?

CAMILLE. Yes.

PHILIPPEAUX. No truce, then! Press on, drive your quill without
mercy. The worst danger lies in this skirmishing warfare you are
carrying on. You are satisfied merely to goad them with your
arrows; that only gives them more power against you. Aim at the
heart, if you can, and complete the work at a stroke.

HÉRAULT. My friends, I do not approve of your plans, but if
you have made up your minds, you must, of course, have every
chance in your favor. If we intend to start warfare, Desmoulins'
pen--forgive me, Camille!--is not enough. The people do not
read. The success of the _Vieux Cordelier_ misleads you; it does
not reach the people; it has quite another public. You know very
well, Camille: you complained that one number was sold at twenty
sous. Aristocrats like us buy it. The people know only what the
club orators tell them, and they are not on your side. You may
write down to the people and try to use expressions you have
heard in the markets; you will never be one of the people. There
is only one way to influence them: have Danton talk to them.
His thunder alone can stir that vast chaos. Danton has only to
shake his mane, and the forum is in his power. But Danton does
nothing; he's asleep--away from Paris. He doesn't address the
Convention. No one knows what has become of him. Who has seen
him lately? Where is he? What is he doing? [_Enter_ DANTON _and_
WESTERMANN.]

DANTON. Danton swims in debauchery. Danton dallies with the
women. Danton's rest is like Hercules'! [DESMOULINS _runs to_
DANTON _and shakes hands with him, laughing._ WESTERMANN _stands
aside_, _preoccupied_.]

CAMILLE. Hercules still keeps his club, so long as there are
monsters to be killed.

DANTON. Don't speak of killing. It's too horrible. France reeks
with blood; the smell of dead flesh befouls the air. I just
crossed the Seine; the sun was setting, and the river was red.
It seemed to flow in waves of blood. If our rivers are so foul,
where shall we wash our hands? There are enough dead! Let us
build up the Republic. Let the harvests and men grow once more
and become a new _Patrie._ Let us love one another and cultivate
our fields.

CAMILLE. May some god give us the chance, Danton! We are
counting on you.

DANTON. What is it, my children?

PHILIPPEAUX. We need your help to fight.

DANTON. How can I help you? Must I always do everything? You are
all alike. Here is Westermann; he is a man; he has fought; he
has saved the _Patrie_ two or three times; and before he sits
down to supper, he cuts a man's throat as an appetizer. I must
aid him, too! Do you want me to ride a horse and carry a saber,
besides?

WESTERMANN. When it comes to fighting, I yield to no one. Take
me out to the battle-field; show me a company to rout, and see
how I acquit myself. But to have to speak, answer the mouthing
members of the Convention, frustrate the underhanded schemes of
that Committee of toads that are always plotting my ruin,--I
can't do it. I feel lost in that city; the whole pack snap at
me; I can't move; I must stand it and not even try to defend
myself. Are you going to let me be devoured alive, and not help
me? By God, I once fought for you; we have the same enemies. My
cause is your cause--yours, Danton--yours, Philippeaux, as you
very well know!

PHILIPPEAUX. I know, Westermann. It's because you attacked
Rossignol, Ronsin, and all the blackguards, as I did, who
dishonor the army. And the Jacobins are yelping after us. We
shan't desert you.

CAMILLE [_to_ DANTON]. We must do something. I offer my pen, and
Westermann his sword. Guide us, Danton. You know how to handle
the crowd, you understand the strategy of revolutions. Lead us;
we have another Tenth of August ahead.

DANTON. Later.

PHILIPPEAUX. You've disappeared from the arena; they are
forgetting you. Show yourself. What have you been doing these
many weeks, hidden in the country?

DANTON. I have been communing with mother earth, in order to
draw new strength from it, like Anteus.

PHILIPPEAUX. Rather you are looking for a pretext to retire from
the fray.

DANTON. I cannot lie: you speak the truth.

CAMILLE. What's the trouble?

DANTON. I am sick of humanity. I vomit men.

HÉRAULT. You are not so sick of women, it seems?

DANTON. The women at least are frank enough to be merely
themselves and nothing more. They are what we all are: animals.
They seek pleasure directly, and never lie to themselves and
cover up their instincts with the cloak of reason. I hate
the hypocrisy of the intelligence, the sanguinary idiocy of
these idealists, these dictators of impotence, who call the
natural needs corruption, and pretend to deny nature, in order
to flatter their own monstrous egotism and their mad desire
for destruction. Oh, if I could only be a brute, an honest
out-and-out brute, with the frank desire to love others so long
as they allow me a place in the sun!

CAMILLE. Yes, we fairly reek with hypocrisy.

DANTON. The most odious of hypocrisies: the hypocrisy of the
dagger. The virtuous guillotine!

PHILIPPEAUX. We have destroyed Capet, only in order that Talien,
Fouchet, and Collot d'Herbois might repeat their persecutions
and massacres as at Bordeaux and Lyon!

CAMILLE. These maniacs have established a new religion--an
obligatory and lay religion, giving the proconsuls a free hand
to hang, slash, and burn--all in the name of virtue.

DANTON. There is no danger in any state as great as that of the
men with principles. They don't try to do good, but to be in the
right; no suffering touches them. Their only morality, their
only political ideal, is to impose their ideas on others.

HÉRAULT [_reciting ironically_]:

    "A man of honor has a higher aim,
    His joy consists in giving joy to others!"

LUCILE [_entering, and continuing the quotation_]:

    "The gen'rous man is not so hard to please.
    He jogs along and spurs his fractious beast
    Without inquiring if the poor young thing
    Enjoys himself or not--"

HÉRAULT. Hm! You're well up in your authors!

LUCILE. What of it? Every one knows _La Pucelle._

DANTON. You are right, my dear. It is the breviary of good women.

HÉRAULT. Did you ever recite it to Robespierre?

LUCILE. I'd never dare.

CAMILLE. Did you ever see him when some one told a nasty story
in his presence? His brow contracts; he clasps his hands, he
makes faces like a monkey with the tooth-ache.

HÉRAULT. He inherits that from his father, and gets his hatred
of Voltaire from Rousseau.

LUCILE [_astonished_]. What! Is he Rousseau's son?

HÉRAULT [_jokingly_]. Didn't you know?

DANTON. Jesuit nonsense! He's more corrupt than the rest. He who
slinks off to have his pleasures, usually has very poor morals.

PHILIPPEAUX. Possibly, but if Robespierre loves pleasure he
hides it effectively; and he is right, Danton. You parade your
pleasures too much. You would sacrifice your fortune for a night
at the Palais-Royal.

DANTON. Because I prefer good fortune to bad.

PHILIPPEAUX. Meantime, you are compromising yourself. Public
opinion is quick to judge you. And what will posterity say when
it learns that Danton, on the eve of a decisive struggle for the
State, thought only of pleasure?

DANTON. I don't give a damn about public opinion; reputation is
nothing, and posterity a stinking cesspool!

PHILIPPEAUX. And virtue, Danton?

DANTON. Ask my wife whether mine satisfies her.

PHILIPPEAUX. You don't believe what you say. You libel yourself
and play into the hands of the enemy.

WESTERMANN [_bursts forth after attempting to restrain
himself_]. You damned gossips and braggarts! Some of them
declaim about their virtues, and some about their vices. You
can't do anything but talk. Your city is a nest of petty
lawyers. The enemy is threatening us. Danton, tell me, yes or
no, are you going to do anything?

DANTON. Don't bother me. I've given my life and my peace of mind
to save the Republic, but it doesn't deserve a single hour I
have sacrificed. I tell you, Danton has at last bought the right
to live for himself.

CAMILLE. Danton has not bought the right to be a Siéyès.

DANTON. Am I a draft-horse, condemned to turn the millstone till
I drop?

CAMILLE. You have entered a narrow pass surrounded by steep
precipices and you cannot turn back: you must go on. The enemy
are at hand; if you stop, they will push you over the side. They
are already lifting a hand and planning when and where to strike.

DANTON. I have only to turn and show them my mane, and they will
fall back in dismay.

WESTERMANN. Do it, then. What are you waiting for?

DANTON. Later.

PHILIPPEAUX. But your enemies are plotting. Billaud-Varenne is
saying things against you. Vadier is making jokes about your
quick demise. Reports of your arrest are circulating in Paris.

DANTON [_tenth a shrug_]. Nonsense! They wouldn't dare!

PHILIPPEAUX. Do you know what Vadier says? I hardly dare repeat
it. He said, "We'll soon gut that fat turbot."

DANTON [_enraged_]. Did Vadier say that? Well, tell that
blackguard that I'll eat his brain, and grind his skull to
powder! The moment I begin fighting for my life, I am worse than
a cannibal! [_He flies into a rage._]

WESTERMANN. At last! Now, come!

DANTON. Where?

WESTERMANN. Speak before the clubs, inspire the people,
overthrow the Committees, put down Robespierre.

DANTON. No.

PHILIPPEAUX. Why not?

DANTON. Later. I don't want to.

CAMILLE. You're injuring yourself, Danton.

WESTERMANN. It makes me rage when I see these good people afraid
to act. What fiendish poison is in the air, keeping you people,
whose heads are already in the noose, from moving a leg, from
fighting, or at least running away? I've done all I could.
I leave you; I'll find Robespierre, whom you are all afraid
of--Yes, you are, though you joke about it; your very fear
makes him strong--I'll tell him the truth, and he'll see for the
first time a man who dares resist him. I'll break the idol! [_He
goes out fuming_.]

PHILIPPEAUX. I'm coming with you, Westermann.

DANTON [_quietly, and with a touch of sarcasm_]. He will break
nothing. Robespierre will look at him--like that--and it will be
over. Poor fellow!

PHILIPPEAUX. Danton, Danton, where are you? Where is the athlete
of the Revolution?

DANTON. You are cowards. There is nothing to fear.

PHILIPPEAUX. _Quos vult perdere_--[_He goes out._ HÉRAULT
_rises, takes his hat, and prepares to leave._]

CAMILLE. Are you going, too, Hérault?

HÉRAULT. Camille, Westermann's style of waging war is not yours,
I know. The best thing you can do is to retire altogether. Let
them forget you. Why discuss it?

CAMILLE. I must satisfy my conscience.

HÉRAULT [_shrugs his shoulders, then kisses_ LUCILE'S _hand_].
Good-by, Lucile.

LUCILE. Good-by. I hope to see you soon again.

HÉRAULT [_with a smile_]. Does one ever know?

CAMILLE. Where are you going?

HÉRAULT. Rue Saint-Honoré.

DANTON. Are you too making a visit to Robespierre?

HÉRAULT. No: that is where I usually walk. I see the carts pass
by.

CAMILLE. I thought you disliked the spectacle?

HÉRAULT. It teaches me not to fear death. [_He goes out with_
LUCILE.]

DANTON [_following_ HÉRAULT _with his eyes_]. Poor devil, he's
nervous. He blames me for not doing anything. You, too, Camille,
would like to blame me; I can see it in your face. Go on, you
think me a coward? You think Danton sacrifices his friends for
the glory of his belly?

CAMILLE. Danton, why do you refuse?

DANTON. Children! Danton is not built like other men. Volcanic
passions stir within this breast, but they are always subject
to my will. My heart has tremendous needs, and my senses make
terrible demands on me; but the dominating head is there. [_He
touches his brow._]

CAMILLE. But what is your idea?

DANTON. To save the country. Save it at all cost from our
sacrilegious quarrels. Do you know the disease that is killing
the Republic? Mediocrity. Too many brains are thinking about the
State. No nation can stand a Mirabeau, a Brissot, a Vergniaud,
a Marat, a Danton, a Desmoulins, a Robespierre. One of these
geniuses could have gained the victory for Freedom. But all
together, they fight with each other, and France bleeds. I
took too prominent a part myself, though I must do myself the
justice of saying that I never fought a Frenchman unless my
life depended upon it, and even in the fury of the combat I did
everything in my power to save the defeated enemy. I do not
intend, for personal interest, to enter into a struggle with the
greatest man of the Republic--next to myself. I do not want
to depopulate France. I know Robespierre; I saw his beginning,
I watched him grow from day to day, through his tenacity, his
work, his faith in his ideas. His ambition grew, too, and
conquered the Assembly, and all of France. One man alone is a
menace to him: my popularity counterbalances his, and his morbid
vanity suffers. Often--I must give him credit for it--did he
attempt to stifle his instinctive envy. But the fatality of
events; jealousy, stronger than reason; my enemies who excited
him--everything draws us into the struggle. No matter what the
result, the Republic will be shaken to its foundations. Well,
it is my place to give an example of sacrifice. Let my ambition
sink before his! I have drunk deep of that bitter draught, and
it has left a bad taste in my mouth. Let Robespierre drain the
cup if he likes. I retire to my tent. I am less resentful than
Achilles, and I shall wait patiently until he offers me his hand.

CAMILLE. If one must sacrifice, why should it be you? Why not he?

DANTON [_with a shrug_]. Because I alone am capable. [_After a
moment's pause._] Because I am the stronger.

CAMILLE. And yet you hate Robespierre?

DANTON. I cannot harbor a thought of hatred. There is no hatred
in me. That is not a virtue (I don't know what that means), it
is only a matter of temperament.

CAMILLE. Aren't you afraid to leave the field free to your
enemy?

DANTON. Ah, I know him well: he can carry the play up to the
fourth act, but he is bound to ruin the denouement.

CAMILLE. Meantime, think what harm he can do! Your power is
the only balancing influence against this reign of terror and
violence. And what about your friends? Will you leave them to
the fate that threatens them?

DANTON. I am helping them by allowing my powers a respite. They
are now feeling the fear which I have inspired. Robespierre
will listen to me, as soon as his jealousy allows him a
breathing-spell. And my hands will be free the moment I am no
longer the representative of a party, but of all mankind. You
must treat men as you would children, allow them the toys they
want, in order to prevent their being lost together with you.

CAMILLE. You are too generous. Your renunciation will never be
understood. Robespierre will not believe in your sincerity. He
is suspicious and he will find some Machiavellian explanation
for it. You have every reason to fear that your enemies will
profit by your abdication to strike a blow at you.

DANTON. Danton does not abdicate: he is retiring temporarily
from the conflict; but he is nearby in case of danger. Don't
worry; all by myself, I am the strongest of them all; men like
me do not fear to be forgotten; all we have to do is to remain
quiet for a while in order that the people may notice what a
great difference is made by our absence. Why, I shall even
increase my popularity. Instead of disputing the power with
the Achæans, I allow that power to weigh heavy on their puny
shoulders.

CAMILLE. The first use they will make of it will be against you.
The whole pack of Vadier's men will be down upon you.

DANTON. I'll attend to them! I am used to fighting monsters.
When I was a child, I struggled with bulls. This broken nose of
mine, this torn lip, this battered face--it all bears marks of
their horns. One day I chased some wild pigs through the woods,
and they bit my stomach. I'm not afraid of Vadiers. And besides,
they are too afraid.

CAMILLE. But what if they did dare? They have recalled
Saint-Just from the army in order to reassure themselves. They
say they are waiting for his return to begin action.

DANTON. Well, if they push me too far, on their heads be it! I
have a thick skin, and I am not easily insulted, but the day I
throw myself upon them I shan't stop until the last one is laid
low. The dirty scoundrels! I could make a mouthful of the lot of
them! [LUCILE _runs into the room, goes to_ CAMILLE, _and says
in a frightened voice:_]

LUCILE. Robespierre! [_Enter_ ROBESPIERRE, _reserved and
impassive; he glances about quickly and cautiously, and makes no
other movement._]

CAMILLE [_cordially, but a little ironically, as he greets_
ROBESPIERRE]. My dear Maximilien, you come in the nick of time.
You have been uppermost in our conversation during the past hour.

DANTON [_embarrassed_]. How are you, Robespierre?

[_Undecided whether to offer his handy he waits for his rival to
make the first step._ ROBESPIERRE _does not reply, but shakes
hands formally with_ LUCILE _and_ CAMILLE, _and bows quickly
to_ DANTON. _He then sits down._ CAMILLE _and_ DANTON _remain
standing._ LUCILE _busies herself as before_.]

LUCILE. How kind of you to find time to come and visit us! And
you must be very busy! Sit closer to the fire. There's a fog
outside that chills you to the bone. And how are your dear
landlords and hosts, Citizens Duplay, and my little friend
Eléonore?

ROBESPIERRE. Very well, thank you, Lucile.--Camille, I have
something to discuss with you.

LUCILE. Shall I leave?

ROBESPIERRE. No, not you!

CAMILLE [_stopping_ DANTON, _who starts to go_]. Danton is a
partner in all my thoughts.

ROBESPIERRE. So they say. But I hesitated to believe it.

DANTON. Don't you like it?

ROBESPIERRE. I don't think so.

DANTON. Well, there is one thing that you can never prevent:
people loving Danton.

ROBESPIERRE. The word love is common, the reality rare.

DANTON [_with a sneer_]. It is said that there are certain men
who never know it.

ROBESPIERRE [_after a short pause, says coldly, his hands
twitching nervously_]. I have not come to discuss Danton's
debaucheries. Camille, in spite of my warnings, you insist
on following bad advice and giving in to your own foolish
impulses. Your pamphlet is sowing seeds of dissension all
over France. You are wasting your mind and destroying public
confidence in men who are necessary to the Republic. All the
reactionaries are making use of your sarcastic remarks and
directing them against the cause of Liberty. For a long time I
have combated the hatred you arouse, and twice I have saved you;
but I cannot continue forever. The State is alive with sedition;
and I have no sympathy for any will that is against the State.

CAMILLE [_hurt_]. Please spare yourself the trouble of thinking
of me. Your solicitude is touching, Maximilien, but I need no
one's help. I can defend myself, and I can walk alone.

ROBESPIERRE. You are vain. Don't try to answer me. Your
stupidity is your only excuse.

CAMILLE. I need no excuse. I have deserved well of the _Patrie._
I defend the Republic against the Republicans. I have spoken
freely, and I have spoken the truth. The moment it is not
good to speak every truth, there is no more Republic. The
Republicans' motto is like the wind blowing over the waves of
the sea: _Tollunt, sed attollunt!_ It agitates, but raises them
at the same time!

ROBESPIERRE. The Republic is not yet, Desmoulins. We are making
it. You cannot found liberty with liberty. Like Rome in troubled
times, the nation must be under a dictator who shall tear down
all obstacles, and conquer. It is ridiculous to maintain that
since Europe and every faction menaces the Republic, you have
the right to say everything, do everything, and with word and
deed, put weapons into the hands of the enemy.

CAMILLE. What weapons have I given the enemy? I have defended
the most sacred things in the world: fraternity, holy
equality--the heart and soul of Republican maxims, the _res
sacra miser;_ respect for misery, which is commanded by our
sublime Constitution. I have made men love liberty. I wished
to light up the eyes of all peoples with the radiant image of
happiness.

ROBESPIERRE. Happiness! There is the fatal word with which you
draw to you every form of selfishness and covetousness. Who does
not wish for happiness? We are not offering the happiness of
Persepolis to the people, but the happiness of Sparta. Happiness
is virtue. But you have abused the meaning, and awakened in
the minds of cowards a desire for that criminal happiness,
which consists in forgetting others, and in enjoying what is
unnecessary. A shameful conception! It would soon extinguish
the sacred flame of the Revolution! Let France learn to suffer,
let her be happy in suffering for the cause of freedom, in
sacrificing her comforts, her peace, her affections, for the
happiness of the whole world!

CAMILLE [_beginning politely but airily, and at the end becoming
clear, forceful, and decisive_]. Maximilien, as I listen to you,
I am reminded of a passage from Plato: "'When I listen to you,'
said the good general Laches, 'when I listen to a man who speaks
well of virtue, a man who is a real man of the people, worthy
of what he speaks of, I experience an ineffable pleasure. It
seems to me that he is the only musician who makes perfect
harmony; for his practice is in accord with his theory, not
according to the Jacobin or Genevese fashion, but the French,
which alone deserves the name of Republican harmony. When such a
man speaks to me, he fills me with joy, and no one doubts that
I am drunk with his talk. But he who sings of a virtue which he
practises not, cruelly afflicts me, and the better he appears to
speak, the greater aversion do I feel for music.'" [DESMOULINS
_turns his back on_ ROBESPIERRE, _who rises, without a word or
a gesture, and starts to go._ LUCILE, _who is concerned at the
turn in the conversation, and who keeps her eyes fastened on_
ROBESPIERRE, _takes his hand and tries to pass off the matter as
a joke._]

LUCILE [_pointing to_ CAMILLE]. He must always be contradicting,
the naughty boy! If you only knew how angry he makes me
sometimes! Dear Maximilien, you two are always the same. You
used to argue like that when you were at school in Arras.
[ROBESPIERRE, _with a glacial look, does not answer, but starts
for the door_.]

DANTON [_goes toward_ ROBESPIERRE_--with true sincerity_].
Robespierre, we are all three of us in the wrong. Let us be
men, submitting only to reason, and let us sacrifice our petty
quarrels for the good of the nation. See, I come to you, I offer
you my hand. Forgive my impatience.

ROBESPIERRE. Danton believes a word can make up for his insults.
It is easy for the offender to forget.

DANTON. Perhaps I do wrong in offering to be generous to my
enemies, but the Republic demands it. She needs my energy and
your virtue. If you dislike my energy, remember that I dislike
your virtue. We are quits. Do as I do, hold your nose and save
the nation.

ROBESPIERRE. I believe no man indispensable to the nation.

DANTON. Every envious man says that. According to that fine way
of reasoning the nation would soon be emasculated.

ROBESPIERRE. There is no power where confidence is lacking!

DANTON. So, you mistrust me? Do you really believe those
absurd stories about me? Those wild ravings invented by
Billaud-Varenne? Look at me. Have I the face of a hypocrite?
Hate me, if you will, but don't suspect me!

ROBESPIERRE. I judge men by their actions.

DANTON. Do you complain of my actions?

ROBESPIERRE. You boast that you feel no hatred--you don't hate
the enemies of the Republic, but yet that is what is destroying
the Republic. Pity for those hangdogs means cruelty toward the
victims. You see, this weakness has forced us to raze whole
cities; some day it may mean thirty years of civil war.

DANTON. But you see crime everywhere! It is sheer madness. If
you are sick, you must be taken care of, but don't make every
one take your medicine. The Republic is killing itself. It is
high time to put a stop to that absurd and ferocious Terror
which is consuming France. But if you don't hurry, if you refuse
to join us, you will soon be unable to stop it; it will burn
you with the rest--or before the rest. Can't you see that the
day Danton is not by, you will be the first to be struck down? I
am the one who is still protecting you from the fire.

ROBESPIERRE [_turning from_ DANTON]. May it consume me!

CAMILLE [_aside to_ DANTON]. You said too much, Danton; you
wounded his pride.

DANTON. In the name of the _Patrie,_ Robespierre, of this
_Patrie_ we both love so ardently, let us make peace for us all,
friends and enemies--so long as they love France! Let this love
wash clean all suspicion and all faults! Without it there is no
virtue. With it, no crime.

ROBESPIERRE. No _Patrie_ without virtue!

DANTON [_menacingly_]. Once more, I ask you to make peace.
You must realize what it costs me to make these advances. But
I swallow my pride, if I can help the Republic. Give me your
hand; free Fabre; reinstate Westermann; protect Hérault and
Philippeaux from the infuriated people.

ROBESPIERRE. It is my business to put down crime, not to govern
it.

DANTON [_restraining himself with the greatest difficulty_]. So
you want war, Robespierre? Think well.

ROBESPIERRE [_impassive as ever, turns his back on_ DANTON, _and
speaks to_ DESMOULINS]. Camille, I ask you for the last time:
will you cease your attacks on the Committee?

CAMILLE. Let it cease to deserve them!

ROBESPIERRE. Submit to the laws of the nation together with the
rest.

CAMILLE. I am a representative of the nation, and I have a right
to speak for her.

ROBESPIERRE. You owe it an example in obeying the law.

CAMILLE. We know only too well how those laws are made. We are
all lawyers, Robespierre; we know what masquerades beneath the
majesty of the law. I would laugh seeing us together here, if I
did not think of the tears that are shed at the comedy we now
play. We cost mankind too much. Virtue itself is not worth the
price we pay for it--and crime, all the more so.

ROBESPIERRE. He who could not accomplish this task had no
business undertaking it. But he who accepts, should march
straight ahead and say nothing, until he falls crushed with its
weight.

CAMILLE. I am willing to sacrifice myself, but not others.

ROBESPIERRE. Good-by.--And--remember Hérault.

CAMILLE. Why do you mention Hérault P

ROBESPIERRE. He is arrested.

DANTON _and_ CAMILLE. Arrested? He just left this house!

ROBESPIERRE. I know.

LUCILE. What has he done? Maximilien, what is his crime?

ROBESPIERRE. He kept a proscript in his house.

CAMILLE. He did his duty.

ROBESPIERRE. The Committee has done its duty.

DANTON [no _longer able to restrain himself_]. You damned
blackguard, do you want to cut the throats of us all? You lop
off the branches before attacking the heart. Let me tell you,
my roots extend way down into the earth, in the hearts of the
people of France. You will never pull them out except by killing
the Republic. My fall will carry the rest of you along, and the
vile vermin that are now gnawing at my feet will be the first
to go. Does my patience encourage you? Do the vermin run up my
body? I won't stand it much longer! The lion stretches himself!
You little rat, you don't know that I could crush you between
my fingers if I wished? Hurrah for war, if you want war! The
excitement of past conflicts is getting the better of me. My
voice has been silent for too long. Once more it will send the
nation to fight against the tyrants!

CAMILLE. We'll scale the new Tuileries. The _Vieux Cordelier_
will sound the battle-cry. [ROBESPIERRE _quietly goes to the
door._ LUCILE, _deeply troubled and unable to utter a word,
disappears for a moment into the next room, and comes back with
a baby._]

LUCILE. Maximilien! [ROBESPIERRE _turns, looks at the little
Horace, hesitates a moment, smiles, then takes the baby and sits
down. He kisses him, and looks at_ LUCILE _and_ CAMILLE. _Then,
without a word, he returns the baby to_ LUCILE, _and goes out.
The incident is played without visible emotion, except on the
part of_ LUCILE.]

CAMILLE. Poor Lucile! You're worried?

LUCILE. Oh, Camille, Camille, how imprudent of you!

CAMILLE. You made me nervous just now.

LUCILE. I'm sorry.

CAMILLE. One must say what one thinks. And then--[_With a
shrug._] Oh, I have nothing to fear: he really likes me, and he
will defend me.

LUCILE. Still, I'm afraid.

CAMILLE. He is more afraid than we: Danton's voice has proved
effective. He is one of those men who need to fear those
they love. Well, we must see our friends, and come to an
understanding. Let us lose no time. Come, Danton.

DANTON [_who sits, preoccupied_]. Yes. Where are we going?

CAMILLE. To join Philippeaux and Westermann, and save Hérault.

DANTON. Tomorrow--tomorrow.

CAMILLE. Tomorrow will be too late.

DANTON [_very sad--affectionately_]. Lucile, read me something;
sing to me; console me.

LUCILE. What is the matter with you? [_She stands behind him and
leans on his shoulder. He takes her hand and presses it to his
cheek._]

DANTON. Oh, Republic! Destroying herself! Destroying her own
handiwork. Victors or victims, what difference does it make?
Victims in either case!

CAMILLE. In either case, victors, crowned with Glory!

DANTON [rising--_violently_]. Come, then, and may the Republic
confound the world with the echo of her fall!




ACT II


[ROBESPIERRE'S _room in the Duplay house. There are two doors.
The walls are white and hare. There is a chestnut bedstead with
blue damask curtains with a white flower design. A simple desk.
A few straw-bottomed chairs. Some flowers in a glass on the
window-sill. Down-stage center is a small stove, with a chair on
one side and a stool on the other. The door on the left leads to
the Duplays' apartments. The window looks out on a courtyard in
which carpenters are working; they are heard hammering, planing,
and sawing._ ROBESPIERRE _sits alone at his desk._]

MADAME DUPLAY [_opening the door_]. Am I disturbing you,
Maximilien?

ROBESPIERRE [_with a friendly smile_]. No, Citizen Duplay. [_He
offers her his hand._]

MADAME DUPLAY. Always working! You never went to bed last night!

ROBESPIERRE. I was at the Committee.

MADAME DUPLAY. I heard you come in. It was after three. Couldn't
you rest this morning?

ROBESPIERRE. You know I never sleep very much; I have trained my
body to obey my head.

MADAME DUPLAY. You promised me you wouldn't sit up any more.
You're wearing yourself out; you'll get sick. And then what
would become of us?

ROBESPIERRE. My poor friends, you must get used to doing without
me. I shan't always be here, you know.

MADAME DUPLAY. You aren't thinking of leaving us?

ROBESPIERRE [_with sincerity and emphasis_]. No, but I shall
leave sooner than you expect.

MADAME DUPLAY. Oh, no; I insist on being the first to leave, and
I am in no hurry.

ROBESPIERRE [_with a smile_]. I should feel easier if I knew
others were not so dependent on me.

MADAME DUPLAY. Don't you care to have people like you?

ROBESPIERRE. France would be better off if every one thought
less of Robespierre and more of Liberty.

MADAME DUPLAY. But Liberty and Robespierre are one.

ROBESPIERRE. That is why I am so concerned about her. I fear for
her health.

MADAME DUPLAY [_going to the window_]. What noise they make in
the court! I know it must tire you. I told Duplay twenty times
to ask them not to begin so early and wake you up, but he said
you insisted that everything go on as usual.

ROBESPIERRE. He is right. That regular activity rests me. Work
is beneficial to others as well as to oneself. The noise is
refreshing to me. I have breathed such vitiated air all night!

MADAME DUPLAY. What work kept you up last night?

ROBESPIERRE. It was not the work, but the worry.

MADAME DUPLAY. You seem preoccupied--as if some great
catastrophe were about to happen.

ROBESPIERRE. Yes, a catastrophe.

MADAME DUPLAY. Can't you prevent it?

ROBESPIERRE. Oh, I must bring it about, on the contrary.

MADAME DUPLAY. Of course, I have no right to ask questions, but
you mustn't be sad today. We're having a festival. Le Bas and
Saint-Just came back from the army last night.

ROBESPIERRE. Saint-Just returned! Good: I need him.

MADAME DUPLAY. And I forgot to tell you: a general came here and
wanted to see you, General Westermann. He came before sunrise,
but I wouldn't let him in. He said he would come back in an
hour. Will you receive him?

ROBESPIERRE. I don't know.

MADAME DUPLAY. He waited a long time in the yard--in the rain.

ROBESPIERRE. Very well.

MADAME DUPLAY. What an awful night! I came in soaked to the skin.

ROBESPIERRE. Where were you?

MADAME DUPLAY. At the Markets. I was waiting in line since
midnight. They were pushing so! You had to keep your eyes open,
or some one would take your place! The moment they opened, every
one began to fight. I stood up for my rights, and I finally got
three eggs and a quarter pound of butter.

ROBESPIERRE. Three eggs for this household? Why, that's nothing
at all!

MADAME DUPLAY. One for Eléonore, one for Elisabeth, and one for
you--my three children!

ROBESPIERRE. Dear mother Duplay, you don't imagine I shall take
bread out of your mouth?

MADAME DUPLAY. You're not going to refuse! It was for you I went
to the Market. You're not well; you have a weak stomach. If you
could only eat meat! But you won't let us buy any!

ROBESPIERRE. Meat is very scarce, and it must be kept for
the soldiers and the sick. We have decreed a civil lent. My
colleagues and I must offer a good example of abstinence.

MADAME DUPLAY. Not everybody has your scruples.

ROBESPIERRE. I know: I have seen some of them indulge in
feasting amidst all this misery; it horrifies me. Every feast of
that kind deprives the country of at least thirty defenders.

MADAME DUPLAY. What misery! No more meat, no more poultry, no
more dairy products. The vegetables have been commandeered for
the army. And no more fuel. This is the second night that Duplay
has stood in line at the coal boat. He's just come in--without a
thing. And there is no wood at all. Do you know what they asked
me for a cord? Four hundred francs. Fortunately spring is not
far off. Another month of this, and we'll all be dead. I never
remember so hard a winter!

ROBESPIERRE. You have suffered, all of you, poor women, and you
have shown splendid courage. But you must admit that with all
the suffering, you felt joys you never dreamed of before: the
joy of helping on, no matter how humbly, with the sublime work
of freeing the world!

MADAME DUPLAY. Yes, I am happy. No matter what happens, those
months of misery will remain the happiest of our lives. What we
have suffered are not the ordinary things, the useless things.
Every time we fasted it was for the good of the nation. This
feeling of pride we owe to you, Maximilien. Last night I was
thinking as I was doing the wash; no matter how humble I am, no
matter how I may worry about the morrow, and wonder where our
bread is coming from, I am working for the nation; nothing is
lost; every thing I do counts toward victory. I am marching with
you at the head of all mankind!

THE WORKINGMEN [_outside, singing_]:

    "We forge and saw with all our might
       Making muskets for the fight.
     Soldier boys, you'll have enough
       If we have to work all day and night,
     For we forge and saw with all our might."

MADAME DUPLAY [_smiling_]. They've just filled an order for the
Northern Army; they're starving to death, but they're happy.

ROBESPIERRE. Sublime people! How good it is to be one of them!
Who could forgive those who try to corrupt that source of
abnegation and sacrifice? [WESTERMANN _is heard muttering
outside_.]

MADAME DUPLAY. There's the General. He's getting impatient.

ROBESPIERRE. Send him in. [MADAME DUPLAY _goes out._ ROBESPIERRE
_looks into his mirror. In an instant, his face is transformed;
becoming hard, immobile, and cold._ WESTERMANN _enters_.]

WESTERMANN. Good God, not a moment too soon! I've been walking
up and down outside for the last two hours. It's harder to enter
your house than a Vendée city. [ROBESPIERRE, _his hands behind
his back, motionless, face stolid, lips contracted, looks_
WESTERMANN _in the eye._ WESTERMANN _stops for a moment, then
continues._] I thought you didn't want to receive me. Desmoulins
told me you wouldn't. I swore you would, if I had to send a
cannon-shot through the front-door. [_He laughs._] Pardon my
military frankness. [ROBESPIERRE _stands as before._ WESTERMANN,
_ill at ease, tries to appear natural._] Lord, you're well
guarded. There's a very pretty girl on guard at the door. She's
mending socks. She's hard to deal with--incorruptible, like
you! I'd have had to enter over her dead body--! If I were in
the enemy's country, that wouldn't have been so bad-[_He gives
a forced laugh._ ROBESPIERRE _maintains silence, and twists his
hands impatiently._ WESTERMANN _sits down, trying to appear at
his ease, while_ ROBESPIERRE _stands._ WESTERMANN _then rises._]
There are some idiots who say that I'm your enemy. I don't
give a damn what they say. How can I be the enemy of virtue?
Nonsense! Aristides the enemy of Leonidas? The bastion of the
Republic and the rampart of the _Patrie!_ Why, they're meant to
help each other! Good fellows like us always put the glory of
the nation above everything, don't we? We understand, don't we?
[_He offers his hand._ ROBESPIERRE _does not move a muscle_.] He
won't give me his hand, eh? Won't you, really? Are you my enemy,
then? You're planning to ruin me? By God, if I thought that--!
Am I a good-for-nothing blackguard to be kept waiting for two
hours in the street, and then when you finally let me in, you
don't even offer me a chair? You let me stand up, and don't even
answer me? By God! [_He stamps on the floor_.]

ROBESPIERRE [_glacially_]. General, you are on the wrong track.
There is a great difference between Leonidas and Père Duchesne.
You take your models from a dangerous quarter.

WESTERMANN [_surprised_]. What quarter?

ROBESPIERRE. The Revolution.

WESTERMANN [_genuinely astonished_]. But, tell me, citizen, what
have I done? What do you accuse me of?

ROBESPIERRE. The Committee of Public Safety will tell you.

WESTERMANN. I have a right to be told now.

ROBESPIERRE. Ask your conscience.

WESTERMANN. My conscience is clear.

ROBESPIERRE. I pity the man who cannot hear the voice of remorse.

WESTERMANN [_calming himself with a violent effort, though his
voice trembles with anger and grief_]. I feel remorse for only
one thing: having sacrificed my life to an ungrateful nation.
I have suffered for it during the past thirty years. I've gone
through every form of misery. Ten times I have saved the country
from invasion. It never recognized my services. The first
impostor that comes along denounces me; they believe anonymous
letters from soldiers I punished for cowardice; they accuse
me, threaten me, degrade me from my rank, while damned little
rapscallions are promoted over my head. I must obey Rossignol,
a stupid little goldsmith who knows nothing about war, whose
reputation is made on his silly blunders. All his titles merely
prove the vileness of his origin. Kléber, Dubayet, and Marceau
are wasting away in some petty position, and that shopkeeper
Niort commands both the armies!

ROBESPIERRE. The Republic places more confidence in a commander
with true Republican loyalty than in mere military heads.

WESTERMANN. What confidence does the Republic place in
Rossignol's defeats?

ROBESPIERRE. The responsibility for them does not rest on
Rossignol's shoulders, but upon those who are about him. If
Kléber, Dubayet, and Westermann are so proud of their ability,
why do they not put it at the service of the general whom the
nation has placed at their head?

WESTERMANN. So you want to deprive us of our just glory?

ROBESPIERRE. Yes.

WESTERMANN. Confess, you are afraid of military glory! You want
to minimize it!

ROBESPIERRE. Yes.

WESTERMANN [_with a sneer_]. Lawyers might be jealous, eh?

ROBESPIERRE. It is an insult to reason, and a menace to freedom.
What has made you so proud? You are only doing your duty. Do
you risk your life? The heads of every one of us are the stakes
in the desperate game we are playing against despotism. Do you
deserve any more credit than we in risking your life? We are all
devoted to liberty or to death. You, like us, are an instrument
of the Revolution, the great knife that is to cleave a way
through the enemy for the Republic. It is a terrible task, but
it must be accepted bravely, and humbly. You have no more right
to be proud of your cannon than we of our guillotine.

WESTERMANN. You outrage the grandeur of war.

ROBESPIERRE. Nothing is grand but virtue. No matter where it
resides--in soldiers, workingmen, legislators--the Republic
honors it alone. But the criminals must tremble. Nothing
protects them from its just wrath, neither their titles nor
their swords.

WESTERMANN. Are you threatening me?

ROBESPIERRE. I was speaking of no one in particular. On his head
be it who recognizes himself!

WESTERMANN. God in heaven! [_He looks threateningly at_
ROBESPIERRE, _quivering from head to foot. He turns to go,
then swings round._] On your guard, Sylla! My head sits more
solidly on my shoulders than Custine's. There are still men who
do not fear tyranny. I am going to find Danton. [_He knocks
against the wall before he finds the door, and then rushes
out._ ELÉONORE _enters from the door leading to the Duplays'
apartments_.]

ELÉONORE. He's gone at last. Oh, Maximilien, I was so worried
while he was here!

ROBESPIERRE [_affectionately_]. My dear Eléonore. Were you
listening?

ELÉONORE. That man's voice frightened me. I couldn't help
coming. I was in there, in Mamma's bath-room.

ROBESPIERRE. What could you have done if he had attempted
violence?

ELÉONORE [_embarrassed_]. I--I don't know.

ROBESPIERRE [_taking her hand from behind her back _]. What is
this?

ELÉONORE [_blushing_]. A pistol that Philippe left on the table
last night when he came home.

ROBESPIERRE [_taking the pistol, and holding her hand in his_].
No, no, these hands must not be soiled with such murderous
instruments! They must not shed blood, even to save my life.
I want there to remain at least two innocent hands in all the
world, to purify the world and Robespierre's heart--when the
work is at last done.

ELÉONORE. But why expose yourself to such danger? You provoked
that man, and they say he is cruel.

ROBESPIERRE. I am not afraid of the swashbucklers. The moment
you take them from the field of battle they merely talk; they
tremble when they find themselves in the presence of a new
power, one they never met with steel: the Law.

ELÉONORE. Citizen Fouché also called, but he was not admitted.
That was your order.

ROBESPIERRE. My door is forever closed to the man who dishonored
the majesty of the Terror in the massacres at Lyon.

ELÉONORE. He did not want to go. He even cried.

ROBESPIERRE [_severely_]. So do crocodiles.

ELÉONORE. He went to see your sister, to ask her to intercede on
his behalf.

ROBESPIERRE [_his expression changing_]. Is she coming? The fool
made her believe he was in love with her! She does not respect
him, but that sort of attention always flatters a woman, no
matter who the man happens to be. She will try to defend him. In
the name of Heaven, don't let her in. Tell her I am very busy,
and that I can see no one.

ELÉONORE [_smiling_]. You brave all the tyrants of Europe, but
you are afraid of your own sister!

ROBESPIERRE [_smiling_]. She is a good woman, and she loves me
dearly. But she is so tiresome! Her continual jealousy, the
scenes she makes--they drive me mad! I think I would agree to
anything to keep her quiet.

ELÉONORE. Don't worry; Mamma knows, and won't let her in.

ROBESPIERRE. My dear friends, how wonderfully you take care of
me!

ELÉONORE. We are responsible to the nation for you.

ROBESPIERRE. What a pleasure it is for me to live here! It's
a feast for the soul! This is no selfish retreat from the
tempests. No, the door is opened to all the care and troubles of
the nation; they assume a certain dignified air when they enter.
We receive destiny here, without flinching, our eyes in its
eyes. I never cross the threshold without breathing the air of
that court, with the smell of fresh-cut wood, peace, and hope.
The honest face of Duplay, your mother's welcome voice, your
hand, Eléonore, extended toward me like the hand of brotherhood,
all the loyal affection you have for me, inspire in me the
greatest, the rarest, thing of all, the thing I most need and of
which I always had least!

ELÉONORE. What?

ROBESPIERRE. Confidence.

ELÉONORE. Is there some one you don't trust?

ROBESPIERRE. I trust no man. I can read lies in their faces, I
see intrigue in their protestations. Their eyes, their mouths,
their hands, their whole body lies. Suspicion poisons every
thought I have. I was intended for a quieter existence. I love
men, and I wish to believe in them. But how can I, when I see
them perjure themselves ten times a day, sell themselves, their
friends, their armies, their _Patrie_, for motives of fear, or
ambition, or viciousness, or malevolence pure and simple? I have
seen Mirabeau, Lafayette, Dumouriez, Custine, the king, the
aristocrats, the Girondins, the Heresists--all of them betrayed
one after the other. The soldiers would have surrendered the
nation twenty times had they not feared the guillotine awaiting
them. Three-fourths of the members are conspiring against the
Convention. Vice is curbed under the heroic discipline imposed
by the Revolution. Its allies dare not attack the forces of
virtue in broad daylight; they hide under masks of piety and
mercy, in order to influence public opinion, and deflect it
in favor of rogues, inciting them against the true patriots.
But I will tear their masks from their faces, and force the
Assembly to see what is beneath: the hideous face of treason.
I will force the disguised accomplices of the conspirators to
condemn them, or else die with them myself. The Republic will be
victorious. But, oh God, in the midst of what devastation! Vice
is like the Hydra: every drop of blood that falls to the ground
will-grow up into another monster. The best men have fallen into
its clutches; they fall as if stricken with the plague: the day
before yesterday it was Philippeaux; yesterday, Danton; today,
Desmoulins--Desmoulins, my friend from childhood, my brother!
Who will be the next traitor?

ELÉONORE. Is it possible? So much treason! Have you the proofs?

ROBESPIERRE. Yes, more than proofs: moral certainty, that
infallible light which never deceives.

ELÉONORE. No, you cannot be mistaken: you know everything, you
see deep into people's hearts. Are they all corrupt?

ROBESPIERRE. There are four or five whom I respect: the honest
Couthon, who thinks nothing of his own sufferings, and only of
those of the world; the lovable and modest Le Bas; my brother,
who has a good heart but thinks too much about his pleasure;
two children, and a man who is on the point of death.

ELÉONORE. But Saint-Just?

ROBESPIERRE. I am afraid of him. Saint-Just is the living sword
of the Revolution, her implacable weapon; he would sacrifice
me, as he has the others, to his immutable law. Every one
else conspires against me. They dislike my clearsightedness,
they are jealous of the people's love for me; they try to
render me odious in their eyes. The proconsuls of Marseille
and Lyon commit atrocities in the name of Robespierre. The
counter-revolution now preaches clemency, and again terror. If
I release my hold through weariness, I am lost, and so is the
Republic. Couthon is ill. Le Bas and my brother are two stupids.
Saint-Just is far away, and holds the armies. I am left alone
surrounded by traitors, who are trying all the while to strike
me from behind. They will kill me, Eléonore.

ELÉONORE [_taking his hand, and with child-like vivacity_]. If
you die, you will not die alone. [ROBESPIERRE _looks at her
affectionately, and she blushes_.]

ROBESPIERRE. My dear Eléonore, no, you will not die. I am
stronger than my cowardly enemies. I have Truth on my side.

ELÉONORE. You are so worried, and yet you ought to be happy,
because you are working for every one's happiness. How unjust
life is!

ROBESPIERRE. Now I have made you sad. I was wrong to shatter,
your illusions. Forgive me.

ELÉONORE. Don't be sorry. I am very proud of your confidence in
me. All night long I thought about those pages from Rousseau
you read us yesterday. They were so soothing. I heard the sound
of your voice--and those beautiful words. I know them by heart!

ROBESPIERRE [_reciting, with an air of affectionate melancholy,
and with great sincerity_]. "The communion of hearts gives
to sadness something inexplicably sweet and touching, and
friendship is the especial gift to the unfortunate for the
assuagement of their woes and the consolation of their
sufferings." [ELÉONORE, _her hand in his, says nothing, but she
smiles and blushes_.] You say nothing?

ELÉONORE [_reciting_]. "Can anything that one says to one's
friend ever equal what one feels by his side?"

MADAME DUPLAY [_outside_]. Maximilien, here is Saint-Just.
[ELÉONORE _runs out._ SAINT-JUST _enters._ ROBESPIERRE _greets
him. They shake hands as if they had been separated only a very
short time._]

SAINT-JUST. How are you?

ROBESPIERRE. How are you, Saint-Just? [_They sit down._]

SAINT-JUST [_gazing calmly at_ ROBESPIERRE]. I am very glad to
see you again.

ROBESPIERRE. Le Bas writes us that it was only by the barest
chance that we see you again.

SAINT-JUST. Yes. [_A pause._] We need arms there; the army lacks
muskets.

ROBESPIERRE. We are manufacturing them. All of Paris is at work.
They have set up blacksmith shops in the churches. All other
work is at a standstill. You must have seen Duplay's carpenters
making the stocks when you came by. Jewelers are making the
locks; there are forges in all the public places.

SAINT-JUST [_after a pause_]. Food is very scarce. Whole
divisions are out of provender. We have very little time; the
campaign begins in three weeks at the latest. All the blood of
France must flow to the North.

ROBESPIERRE. The orders have been given. France is starving in
order that the soldiers may have enough to eat.

SAINT-JUST. When you no longer need my advice, send me back. The
first engagements will be decisive. Every effort must be made.

ROBESPIERRE. Doesn't the life you lead wear you out?

SAINT-JUST [_sincerely, but without emphasis_]. It affords
me some rest from useless discussion. Thought and action out
there are identical, like thunder and lightning. Every desire
immediately becomes a fact, forever; it is written in the
blood of men and the destiny of the world. The task is a truly
grand one, and the agony divine! At night, in the snow, at the
out-posts of the army, along the weary stretches of the Flemish
plain, under the vast winter sky, I feel a thrill of joy run
through my body, and my heart's blood throb in my breast. Alone,
lost in the midst of the shadows of the Universe, surrounded by
enemies, with one foot in the grave, we are the guardians of
Reason, the living Light. We are decisive factors in the destiny
of the world. We re-create Man.

ROBESPIERRE. Happy the man who strives on the field of action,
and is not forced to stay at home.

SAINT-JUST. Who strives more than you? The liberty of the world
is here in Paris.

ROBESPIERRE. Here we have the agonizing task of stamping out
viciousness. It soils every one who takes part in the nasty
business. I must confess, when I contemplate the vicious crimes
which the torrent of the Revolution rolls along with all its
virtue, I am afraid that I shall catch up some of the nastiness
and be identified with it in the eyes of posterity. Merely
because I am near perverse and impure men.

SAINT-JUST. Put the sword between yourself and them. You should
touch the impure only with steel.

ROBESPIERRE. The corruption is spreading everywhere. Men I
counted on most have succumbed. Old friends.

SAINT-JUST. No friends! We have only the _Patrie!_

ROBESPIERRE. Danton is a menace; he is under suspicion. He
has uttered violent and insulting words. He is surrounded by
conspirators, debauchees, ruined financiers, degraded officers.
Every sort of malcontent has joined his forces.

SAINT-JUST. Danton must go!

ROBESPIERRE. Danton was once a Republican. He loved the
_Patrie._ Perhaps he still loves her?

SAINT-JUST. No one respects her unless he proves it by
austere and pure living. He is not a Republican who possesses
aristocratic vices and ideas. I hate Catiline. His cynical
heart, his cowardly brain, his ignoble political ideals--he
tries to please all parties in order to use them for his own
ends--it all brings dishonor upon the Republic. Danton must be
laid low.

ROBESPIERRE. His fall will carry the imprudent Desmoulins along
with him.

SAINT-JUST. That impudent pen-pusher! Why, the sufferings of the
_Patrie_ are merely an excuse for him to do a clever piece of
writing! He's a dilettante, who would sacrifice Liberty for a
pretty antithesis!

ROBESPIERRE. A child, the dupe of his friends, and of his own
mind.

SAINT-JUST. Cleverness is also a crime, when France is in
danger. The misfortunes of the State have thrown a sad, a
religious air, over everything. I am suspicious of all who laugh.

ROBESPIERRE. But I love Desmoulins.

SAINT-JUST. And I love you, but if you were a criminal, I would
accuse you.

ROBESPIERRE [_walks away, distressed. He returns after a
moment's silence_]. Thank you.--You are happy; you never
hesitate. You never compromise with evil.

SAINT-JUST. I have seen more evil than you.

ROBESPIERRE. Where?

SAINT-JUST. Within myself.

ROBESPIERRE [_surprised_]. In yourself, you whose life is an
example of self-sacrifice?

SAINT-JUST. You don't know!

ROBESPIERRE [_incredulously_]. Some--youthful slip?

SAINT-JUST [_seriously_]. I have been to the brink of the
abyss; I saw crime down below, ready to devour me. Ever since I
have sworn to destroy it in the world at large and within myself.

ROBESPIERRE. Sometimes I tire of the struggle. The enemy is
too powerful. Can we really reform mankind? Will our dream be
realized?

SAINT-JUST. The day I cease to believe that, I shall kill myself.

ELÉONORE [_opening the door, says softly_]. Here are
Billaud-Varenne and Vadier. [_They enter._ BILLAUD-VARENNE'S
_head droops from fatigue, and his eyes are heavy._ VADIER
_compresses his lips, and is hitter and sardonic. He speaks
with a marked Southern accent (which is not indicated in the
text)._ ROBESPIERRE _and_ SAINT-JUST _rise and coldly greet the
newcomers. They bow, but do not offer to shake hands_.]

BILLAUD-VARENNE. Greetings and Fraternity!

VADIER [_noticing_ SAINT-JUST]. Saint-Just! Good! We shall
now make up for lost time. [BILLAUD-VARENNE _and_ VADIER
_seat themselves unceremoniously._ SAINT-JUST _walks about._
ROBESPIERRE _remains standing, and leans against the
window-sill. After a pause._]

BILLAUD-VARENNE. The guillotine! You have waited too long,
Robespierre: we are in immediate danger. If Danton is still
alive tomorrow, the cause of liberty is lost.

ROBESPIERRE. What news?

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_with papers in his hand_]. Look. The traitor
is at it again.

ROBESPIERRE. Who?

VADIER. Your friend, Maximilien: Camille, dear Camille.

ROBESPIERRE. Has he been writing again?

BILLAUD-VARENNE. These proofs have just been seized. Read.

VADIER [_rubbing his hands_]. The seventh _Vieux Cordelier._ The
continuation of the good apostle's Credo.

ROBESPIERRE. The idiot! Will he not learn to hold his tongue?

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_like a monomaniac_]. The guillotine!

SAINT-JUST [_reading the proofs with_ ROBESPIERRE]. Like a
prostitute, who cannot but bring dishonor upon herself.

ROBESPIERRE. And Danton?

BILLAUD-VARENNE. Danton is at it again; he is speaking at the
Palais-Royal. He insults Vadier, and me, and all the patriots.
Desmoulins is with him. They're all together with the women and
Westermann, too. They make obscene allusions to the Committee.
The people are gathering about them, and laughing.

SAINT-JUST. You hear, Robespierre?

ROBESPIERRE [_disdainfully_]. No danger. We shall have time to
deliberate in peace before Danton is through drinking. [_Looking
again at the proofs._] Why, this is suicide!

VADIER. He's gone too far this time!

BILLAUD-VARENNE. His head should follow!

SAINT-JUST [_reading_]. He compares the members of the
Convention to Nero and Tiberius.

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_reading_]. He dares to say that we went after
Custine on Pitt's orders, and not because Custine was a traitor,
but because he was not a worse one.

VADIER [_reading_]. "The Committee will reduce the Assembly to
the servile condition of a parlement the rebellious members of
which are to be thrown into prison."

ROBESPIERRE [_correcting them_]. He puts "would reduce," and not
"will reduce."

VADIER. The same thing.

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_reading_]. "See how near is the Committee to
ruining the Republic, when it sends two of its Deputies which it
cannot bribe to the Luxembourg?"

ROBESPIERRE. He says "it can send," and not "it sends."

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_pettishly_]. Don't be so particular!

SAINT-JUST [_reading_]. He has the effrontery to maintain that
"the War-office appointed as heads of the armies the brothers of
actresses with whom they had been intimate."

VADIER. Disorganizing the defense, reviling the nation in the
eyes of foreigners! Can nothing stop his vile tongue!

BILLAUD-VARENNE. And the whole thing bristling with demands for
clemency, and talk about humanity!

VADIER. And his hypocritical tears! Bah!

SAINT-JUST. There is no plague of Egypt like a sentimental man!
No tyrant brings more harm to mankind. The traitors of the
Gironde called themselves merciful, too, when they carried the
torch of rebellion through France.

ROBESPIERRE. Desmoulins is merely weak, he is not dangerous. I
knew him as a child. I know him now.

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_suspiciously_]. Do Robespierre's friends enjoy
special privileges?

VADIER [_jeering, as he reads the "Vieux Cordelier"_]. And
listen to this, Maximilien--this is for you. It seems that your
closing the houses of ill-fame and pretending to be so zealous
in reforming the world, is merely on Pitt's orders; because you
"thereby deprive the government of one of its sources of income:
licentiousness." Do you hear that, oh Incorruptible one?

SAINT-JUST. The nasty hypocritical scoundrel!

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_violently_]. The guillotine! [_He falls, with
his head on the table, like an ox that has been felled._]

ROBESPIERRE. Has he fainted?

VADIER [_coldly_]. Dizziness. [SAINT-JUST _opens the window,
and_ BILLAUD-VARENNE _comes to._]

SAINT-JUST. Are you ill, Billaud?

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_hoarsely_]. Who are you?--Scoundrels!--I'm
utterly exhausted: I haven't slept for the last two nights.

VADIER. He spends his nights at the Committee and his days at
the Assembly.

ROBESPIERRE. You are overworking. Would you like some one to
take your place for a few days?

BILLAUD-VARENNE. My work can't be done by others. Corresponding
with the various departments, holding every string of France
in my hand: no one else could do that. If I stop for a moment,
everything will collapse. No, I must stay until I drop.

SAINT-JUST. We shall all die at our posts.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. Oh, Nature, thou didst not create me for such
tempests! My soul is torn by these murderous blasts from the
desert! My heart is too soft; I was intended for sweeter things:
retirement, friends, a family!

VADIER [_ironically_]. Let us not become sentimental, Billaud!

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_becoming violent again_]. Let us purify the
atmosphere! To the guillotine with Desmoulins!

ROBESPIERRE. It is I who should give the example: I wash my
hands of Desmoulins.

VADIER [_laughing to himself_]. Brutus, oh, magnanimous man,
virtuous man, I knew very well you would never hesitate to rid
yourself of a friend!

ROBESPIERRE. The fate of Desmoulins is bound up with that of
another man.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. Are you afraid to mention Danton by name?

ROBESPIERRE. I am afraid to break a talisman of the Republic.

VADIER. Its lucky piece.

ROBESPIERRE. Danton is my enemy. If my friendship counts for
nothing in our deliberations, my hatred, on the other hand,
should not weigh in my judgment. Before entering the fray,
let us consider in cold blood what risks we incur in thus
dismantling a fortress of the Revolution.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. A fortress for sale!

VADIER. The scarecrow of the Revolution! In time of public
danger such monstrous idols are brought out to rout the enemy.
He rather inspires fear in the breast of those who hear him. His
hideous face frightens Liberty.

ROBESPIERRE. You cannot deny that his face is known and feared
throughout Europe.

VADIER [_chaffingly_]. True, and like a good sans-culotte he
cheerfully shows to the world "What Cæsar shamelessly showed to
Nicodemus in his youth, and what long ago the hero of Greece
admired in Hephæstos, and Hadrian put into the Pantheon."

SAINT-JUST [_angrily_]. Stop your nasty joking! Would you make
war on corruption with corruption?

VADIER. Now, you aren't going to make me recite Rousseau to you?

ROBESPIERRE [_making an effort at impartiality_]. I think it no
more than right to take Danton's past services into account.

SAINT-JUST. The more good a man does, the greater his obligation
to continue. Woe be unto him who has once defended the cause
and the people, and abandons them afterward! He is a greater
criminal than the man who consistently fought against it. For he
once knew the good, and has wilfully betrayed it.

ROBESPIERRE. Hébert's death stirred up public sympathy. The
police reports I received inform me that our enemies are
profiting by the confusion of the people, who have been
suddenly enlightened, in order to shake their faith in their
true friends. Everything nowadays is open to suspicion; even the
memory of Marat. We must be prudent, and take care not to add to
the general suspicion by internal quarrels.

SAINT-JUST. Let us put an end to suspicion with the death of the
suspects.

VADIER [_aside, glancing at_ ROBESPIERRE]. The coward! He's
afraid to touch his aristocratic friends! Cromwell keeps with
the majority! If he persists I'll guillotine a hundred toads in
his pond!

ROBESPIERRE. A head like his does not fall without making the
State feel it.

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_suspiciously and with violence_]. Are you
afraid, Robespierre?

VADIER [_inciting_ BILLAUD-VARENNE]. Ask him, Billaud, if he
uses Danton like a mattress to hide behind, and escape the
bullets?

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_brutally_]. Speak out: You are afraid of being
exposed by Danton's fall? You stick close to him! Danton diverts
the attention--and the blows--from you, eh?

ROBESPIERRE. I take no notice of such slander. What do I
care for the dangers? What is my life to me? But I have some
experience from the past, and I am looking into the future. You
are bloodthirsty monsters; your hatred blinds you. You think of
yourselves, and not of the Republic.

SAINT-JUST. Let us calmly consider what the Republic owes to
the conspirators. Let us not ask whether Danton is talented,
but whether his talents serve the Republic. Where have these
attacks of the past three months come from? Danton. Who
inspired Philippeaux's letters against the Committee? Danton.
Who dictates Desmoulins' pamphlets? Danton. Each number of
the _Vieux Cordelier_ is submitted to him; he corrects the
manuscript in his own hand. If the river is poisoned, let us
stop it at the source. Where is Danton's sincerity? Where is his
bravery? What has he done the past year for the Republic?

ROBESPIERRE [_pretending to be convinced, and speaking with a
mixture of sincerity and hypocrisy_]. It is true he never spoke
for The Mountain when it was attacked.

SAINT-JUST. No, but he did for Dumouriez, and the generals who
were his accomplices. The Jacobins defended him; you, too,
Robespierre. But when you were accused, did he say a word?

ROBESPIERRE. No, and when he saw me deserted, a victim of the
slanders of the Gironde, he said to his friends: "Since he
wishes to ruin himself, let him! Let us not share his lot!" But
do not drag me into the discussion.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. You yourself told me, Robespierre, that he did
all he could to save the Girondins, and to strike Hanriot, who
arrested the traitors.

ROBESPIERRE. That is true.

SAINT-JUST. And you told me, Robespierre, that he was base
enough to confess his embezzlements, and Fabre's--his
secretary--during his brief administration as Minister of
Justice.

ROBESPIERRE. I don't deny that.

SAINT-JUST. He was Lafayette's friend. Mirabeau bought him. He
corresponded with Dumouriez and Wimpfen. He flattered Orléans.
Every enemy of the Revolution was on familiar terms with him.

ROBESPIERRE. You must not exaggerate!

SAINT-JUST. You yourself told me. I should never have known
otherwise.

ROBESPIERRE. Of course, but--

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_violently_]. Do you deny it?

ROBESPIERRE. I cannot. Danton was an assiduous member of those
Royalists gatherings, where Orléans himself mixed the punch.
Fabre and Wimpfen, too, were present. They tried to bring the
Deputies of the Mountain, to seduce and compromise them. But
that was of no importance.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. On the contrary! It was high treason. Out and
out conspiracy!

ROBESPIERRE. I have just thought of a small detail. It seems
that lately he boasted that if he were accused he would throw
the blame on us for the Dauphin affair.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. The blackguard! Did he say that? And you defend
him?

ROBESPIERRE. Westermann just left this room. He threatened me
with Danton, and an uprising.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. And we sit here talking! The marauders are
still at large!

ROBESPIERRE. Do you want him?

SAINT-JUST. The nation wants him.

VADIER [_aside_]. The hypocrite! He wants him, too! But we must
persuade him!

ROBESPIERRE. He was a great man. At least, he had the air of a
great man, and at times he even seemed a good and virtuous man.

SAINT-JUST. Nothing so resembles virtue as a great crime.

VADIER [_sarcastically_]. You will deliver his funeral oration
later on, Maximilien. But now let us bring down the beast.

SAINT-JUST. Vadier, you must respect death.

VADIER. But the little fellow is still alive.

SAINT-JUST. Danton is already doomed.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. Who will take it upon himself to accuse him?

VADIER. Saint-Just. The young man does it so well. Every
sentence of his is as good as a stroke of the guillotine.

SAINT-JUST. It would give me great pleasure to attack the
monster.

ROBESPIERRE [_getting papers, which he gives to_ SAINT-JUST].
Here are the notes, all ready for you.

VADIER [_aside_]. He has a whole portfolio like that for each of
his friends.

ROBESPIERRE. Let us not honor Danton by trying him alone: it
would attract too much attention.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. Let us overwhelm him in a general accusation.

VADIER. Whom shall we put with him, to fill out the menu?

SAINT-JUST. Every one who has tried to corrupt the cause of
Liberty by means of money, evil example, or brains.

VADIER. Let us be clear. You're too vague.

ROBESPIERRE. Danton loved gold. Let him be buried with gold.
Let us implicate him in the bank affair. Put him in with the
embezzlers. He will find himself in company with his friend, his
secretary, his Fabre d'Eglantine.

VADIER. Fabre, Chabot, the Jews, the Austrian bankers, the
Freys, and the Diederischens--good. We begin to have an imposing
list.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. It might be well to add Hérault, the friend of
the émigrés.

SAINT-JUST. Philippeaux, above all, the disorganizer of the
army, the destroyer of discipline.

ROBESPIERRE. Westermann, with his bloody sword, always ready for
an insurrection. Is that all?

VADIER. You forget dear Camille.

ROBESPIERRE. Wouldn't you prefer Bourbon, or Legendre, the
mouthpieces of the enemy in the Assembly?

VADIER. No--Camille.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. Camille.

SAINT-JUST. Justice!

ROBESPIERRE. Take him.

SAINT-JUST. Good-by for the present. I must prepare my report. I
shall strike them tomorrow at the Convention.

VADIER. No, no, young man. Your youthful imprudence is running
away with you. Would you call Danton into court?

SAINT-JUST. Danton believes that no one will dare attack him
face to face. I shall undeceive him.

VADIER. Your good intentions, my friend, are not enough. You
must have lungs deep enough to drown out the roarings of that
bull!

SAINT-JUST. Truth will overcome tempests.

ROBESPIERRE. We cannot expose the Republic in an open argument
like that.

SAINT-JUST. What then? [ROBESPIERRE _does not answer._]

BILLAUD-VARENNE. Have Danton arrested tonight.

SAINT-JUST [_violently_]. Never!

VADIER. The end justifies the means!

SAINT-JUST. I never strike an unarmed enemy. I will face Danton
willingly. Combats like that can only bring honor to the
Republic; but your suggestion is dishonorable. Ignoble!

BILLAUD-VARENNE. The enemies of the people deserve no
consideration!

VADIER. Useless bravery in politics is always stupid, and
sometimes treasonable.

SAINT-JUST. I won't have it! [_He throws his cap to the floor._]

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_severely_]. Do you then prefer the fight to
the welfare of the Republic?

SAINT-JUST. Such attempts require danger; it sanctifies them.
A Revolution is a heroic enterprise, in which the leaders walk
between the guillotine and immortality. We should be criminals
if we were not ready to sacrifice our lives, and the lives of
the others, at any moment.

VADIER. Never worry; you are risking enough as it is. If Danton
were a prisoner he would incite the people; and never doubt, if
he is victorious, he will send you to the block.

SAINT-JUST. I despise the dust I am made of. My heart is the
only thing that really belongs to me, and I will pass through
life, through blood and murder, without sullying its purity.

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_with hard and disdainful severity_].
Self-esteem is pure selfishness. It makes no difference to us
whether Saint-Just's heart is gullied or not; we are saving the
Republic.

SAINT-JUST [_with an inquiring look at_ ROBESPIERRE].
Robespierre!

ROBESPIERRE. My friend, you need fear nothing so far as your
soul is concerned. The storm and stress of a Revolution are not
dealt with according to ordinary processes of law; we cannot
apply moral standards to the force that is now shaping the
world on a new foundation. Of course, we must be just; but the
individual conscience cannot judge: only the public conscience
matters. Our light is in the people: its salvation is our law.
We have but one question to ask ourselves: do the people want
Danton put down? Once that question is decided, the whole matter
is ended. We must wage war to win. Justice means that that which
is just shall triumph. We cannot wait: Danton must be laid low.
To allow him to arm himself would be to offer our breast to the
dagger of an assassin; military and financial despotism would
rule the Revolution, and civil wars lay waste our land for a
hundred years. We would be hated in history, though we deserve
to be loved.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. We must win at all costs! Every one must
tremble with fear at our terrible dictatorship!

VADIER. This is not a question of whether one man shall or shall
not be judged according to law, but whether all Europe is to
become Jacobin or not.

SAINT-JUST [_his hands to his breast, resembling David's
"Robespierre," in his picture of the "Tennis-Court Oath"_]. Oh,
Republic, take my honor if you will, take me and devour me!

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_sharply_]. Perhaps at this very moment the
Republic is choking; our ideas are fruitless; Reason is dying.
Quick!

ROBESPIERRE. Arrest Danton. [_He signs a paper._ BILLAUD-VARENNE
_also signs, in feverish haste._]

SAINT-JUST. For you, Liberty! [_He signs._]

BILLAUD-VARENNE. The Convention won't object?

ROBESPIERRE [_disdainfully_]. The Convention is always ready to
sacrifice its members for the public welfare.

VADIER [_signing_]. Leave this matter to me.

ROBESPIERRE [_with a sigh_]. The Revolution weighs heavier on
our shoulders than ever.

VADIER [_aside_]. The cat-tiger has scruples, but he licks his
chops all the same!

ROBESPIERRE. A regrettable necessity. We mutilate the Republic
in order to save her.

SAINT-JUST [_somber and exalted_]. The philosopher Jesus said
to his disciples: "And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it
off, and cast it from thee; for it is profitable for thee that
one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body
should be cast into hell." And I say to you: if your friend is
corrupt, and corrupts the Republic, cast him from the Republic;
if your brother is corrupt and corrupts the Republic, cast him
from the Republic. And if the blood of the Republic, if your own
blood, flows from a gaping wound, let it flow. The Republic must
be purified, or die! The Republic is virtue. If that virtue be
stained, the Republic ceases to exist.

VADIER [_aside_]. They are all mad. They ought to be put into
strait-jackets. They must be put in cells.--On, then! [_He
starts to go._]

BILLAUD-VARENNE. Wait until I sign.

VADIER. You have already signed.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. Where? I don't remember. What have I done? Was
I right? _Tristis est anima mea!_ Oh, if I could only stretch
out in the fields, on the fresh earth; smell the scent of the
woods; see a brook running between banks of willows! Rest! Rest--

ROBESPIERRE. The founders of the Republic have no rest this side
the grave.




ACT III


[_The Revolutionary Tribunal._

_The Public Prosecutor_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE; HERMAN, _the Judge,
the Jury, gendarmes, and the People, are present. On the
prisoners' bench are_ DANTON, DESMOULINS, HÉRAULT, PHILIPPEAUX,
WESTERMANN, CHABOT _and the brothers_ FREY_--the last two of
whom do not speak--and_ FABRE D'EGLANTINE, _who sits in an
arm-chair in their midst. In the front row with the public,
sits the painter_ DAVID _and some of his friends. The windows
of the room are open, and through them the shouts of the crowd
are heard. From time to time,_ VADIER'S _head is seen peering
through the wicket in the door, behind the_ JUDGE, _watching
the trial. General_ HANRIOT _stands at the door._ HERMAN _and_
FOUQUIER-TINVILLE _cast anxious glances toward him every few
moments._

CHABOT _and the brothers_ FREY _are being questioned, and_
DANTON _is boiling with rage._ DESMOULINS _appears crushed and
discouraged._ HÉRAULT _calmly looks on, smiling._ PHILIPPEAUX,
_jaws set and eyes riveted on his judges, prepares his defense._
FABRE D'EGLANTINE, _who is ill and suffering, sits back in
his chair. The crowd jostle and push, following the trial
with great interest. They emphasize with their remarks and
shouting each development in the trial, like an audience at a
melodrama--amused and moved at the same time._]

JUDGE [_to the brothers_ FREY], You are an agent of Pitt. You
have tried to corrupt the Convention. In order to further your
speculations and corrupt practices, you tried to bribe the
representatives of the people. You have put a price on the
conscience of every one you wished to buy.

DANTON [_bursting forth_]. Judge, I demand a word!

JUDGE. Your turn will come, Danton.

DANTON. What have I to do with all this nastiness? What have I
to do with these thieves?

JUDGE. You will be informed.

DANTON. My natural decency prevents my crushing those
scoundrels. You know that very well, and you take advantage of
my silence in order to associate me in the minds of the people
with underhanded swindlers and embezzlers.

HÉRAULT. Calm yourself, Danton.

JUDGE. You must respect the law. You will have a chance to
explain later.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. Quiet, Danton. You will have to answer the
charges, together with the rest who are accused with you.

DANTON. Danton must not be tried for corruption after a pack of
blackguards. You might at least give him first place. Danton
refuses to be second in anything whatsoever, in virtue or in
vice.

PHILIPPEAUX. Don't, Danton. You must be prudent.

JUDGE [_to the brothers_ FREY]. You are Jews by birth, and
you came originally from Moravia; your name is Tropuscka. You
took the name of Schoenfeld, under which you bought patents of
nobility in Austria, and for the time being called yourself
Frey. One of your sisters was baptized, and is now being kept
by a German baron. The other married Chabot, a former priest,
and now a representative in the Convention. You have associated
yourself with certain other adventurers of doubtful birth like
yourself: Diederischen, who came originally from Holstein, and
was employed in a Viennese bank; Gusman, called the Spaniard,
who passed as a German nobleman; the former Abbé d'Espagnac, an
army contractor. With the help of certain deputies whom you had
bribed, you prospered. Chabot served as a go-between for you
and his colleagues. He put his own price at 150,000 livres. He
gave Fabre d'Eglantine 100,000 of the sum, and Fabre altered the
Convention's decree relative to the _Compagnie des Indes._ I am
submitting the original document to the jury.

VADIER [_stealthily opening the wicket and beckoning to_
HANRIOT]. Is all well, Hanriot?

HANRIOT [_in an undertone_]. Everything, will be satisfactory.

VADIER [_pointing to_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE _and the Court_]. They
are not baulking?

HANRIOT. Don't worry. I have my eye on them.

VADIER. Good. And don't hesitate; if the prosecutor flinches,
arrest him. [_He closes the wicket_.]

HÉRAULT [_looking at the crowd_]. See the people gape at us!

DANTON [_really ashamed, but with a forced laugh_]. They're not
used to seeing this old face of mine on this infamous bench.
It's not an ordinary sight Danton at the mercy of a pack of
charlatans. Ha, ha! I must laugh! Look at David over there; his
tongue sticks out from sheer hatred, like a dog's. Good God,
Camille, pull yourself together! What the devil, the people are
looking at us!

CAMILLE. Ah, Danton, I shall never see my Lucile again!

DANTON. Nonsense! You'll sleep in her arms tonight.

CAMILLE. Get me away from here, Danton; save me. I don't know
what to do. I can never defend myself!

DANTON. Weaker than a girl! Keep a stiff upper lip, and remember
that we are making history.

CAMILLE. What do I care for history?

DANTON. If you want to see Lucile, don't sit there looking like
a criminal! What the devil are you looking at?

CAMILLE. Look, Danton, there--

DANTON. What? What is it?

CAMILLE. Near the window--that young man--

DANTON. That impudent rascal, with a shock of hair over his
eyes, that law-clerk with his arm around a woman's waist?

CAMILLE. Nothing--nothing--hallucinations: I saw, I thought I
saw--myself--

DANTON. Yourself?

CAMILLE. I imagined I was in his place, at the trial of the
Girondins--my victims--Oh, Danton! [_Meanwhile the documents
have been handed to all the jurymen._]

JUDGE. Fabre, do you still deny the accusations?

FABRE D'EGLANTINE [_quietly, ironically, but wearily_] There
is no need of my explaining it all again: you would refuse to
listen; you have already made up your mind. I showed you just
now that the true version of the decree which I made out had
been changed, added to, and corrected, by traitors. That is
evident to any one who will take the trouble to look at the
papers dispassionately and in a spirit of justice. But there is
no one of that sort here: I know very well that I was condemned
in advance. I was unlucky enough to incur Robespierre's
displeasure, and it is your business to pander to his egotism. I
know this is the end. But I am tired of life, it has brought me
too much suffering for me to make an effort to preserve it.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. You are outraging justice, and you slander
Robespierre. It is not Robespierre who accuses you of
corruption: it is Cambon. It is not Robespierre who accuses
you of conspiracy: it is Billaud-Varenne. Your propensity
for intrigue is well-known. It has often led you to plot and
conspire and write dangerous plays.

FABRE D'EGLANTINE. Silence! _Ne sutor ultra crepidam._
Messieurs, you my audience, I call you to witness: have not my
plays diverted you? Fouquier can take my head from me, but not
my _Philinte!_

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. Some abnormal form of curiosity has led
you to consider the Nation's Assembly as a theater, where
you sought to play upon the secret springs of the soul. You
made use of everything: the ambition of certain people, the
laziness of others; anxiety, envy, everything suited your ends.
This impudent cleverness of yours has revealed you as the
leader of an organized counter-revolution, either because your
effrontery or your brazen humor were pleased to run counter
to the established order--through your unhealthy disdain of
reason--or rather your confessed aristocratic ideas, and your
cupidity--nourished for a long time by money from Pitt for
the ruin of the Republic. In 'ninety-two you were discovered
conspiring with the enemy. Danton sent you to Dumouriez in
order to carry on your criminal negotiations, which saved the
Prussians, who were practically defeated. This now brings us
to the other prisoners. I must leave you now, as they are
anxious for me to tear away their masks. I shall come to you
again before long, and show the center of this vast network of
intrigues. [_The prisoners are agitated, and the spectators
become more attentive._ DANTON _is seen speaking words of
encouragement to his friends._]

FABRE D'EGLANTINE [_impertinently, to_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE]. The
plot was not well thought out, and the intrigue confusing; too
many characters; you can't tell where they come from, and you
know only too well where they are going. Why talk so much about
them? Your play is execrable, Fouquier. You had much better chop
off my head at once: I have the tooth-ache.

JUDGE [_to_ HÉRAULT DE SÉCHELLES]. Prisoner, your name and
occupation?

HÉRAULT. Formerly Hérault-Séchelles. Former Attorney-general at
the Châtelet: I once sat in the present room. Former President
of the Convention: in its name I inaugurated the Republican
Constitution. Former member of the Committee of Public Safety;
once the friend of Saint-Just and of Couthon, who are now
murdering me.

JUDGE. You are an aristocrat. Your fortune dates from your
relations with the Court, and from the time you were presented
to the Capet woman by the Polignac woman. You have been in
constant communication with the émigrés; you were the friend of
Proly the Austrian, the bastard son of the Prince of Kaunitz,
who was sent to the guillotine last month. You have divulged the
secrets of the Committee of Public Safety, and sent important
papers to foreign courts; you sheltered under your roof, in
direct violation of the law, the former war commissioner
Catus, who was wanted on the charge of being an emigre and a
conspirator. You were even so audacious as to follow him and
defend him in the Lepelletier section where he was arrested.

HÉRAULT. I deny one thing: I never divulged state secrets, and I
defy you to prove the accusation. The rest is true, I am proud
to confess.

JUDGE. Have you any explanation to make?

HÉRAULT. None at all. I had friends, and no power in the State
could prevent my caring for them and helping them when they
needed help.

JUDGE. You were once President of the Convention. It was your
duty to furnish an example of obedience to the nation.

HÉRAULT. I now offer them an example of another sort:
sacrificing my life for my duty.

JUDGE. Is that all you have to say?

HÉRAULT. That is all.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. The next, Herman!

JUDGE [_to_ DESMOULINS, _who is next_]. Your name and
occupations?

CAMILLE [_nervously_]. Lucie-Camille-Simplice Desmoulins, Deputy
to the Convention.

JUDGE. How old are you?

CAMILLE. As old as the _sans-culotte_ Jesus when he was
crucified: thirty-three.

JUDGE. You are accused of having sought to bring discredit upon
the Republic. You have spoken libelously of the actions of the
State, and compared the glory of our time to the nastiness
of the Roman emperors. You have reawakened the hopes of the
aristocrats, excited suspicion against those who saw the
necessity of putting down rebellion, and undermined the work
of national defense. Under your mask of humanity, which is
belied by your character as already known, you have tried to
release from prison the suspects, and overwhelm the State with a
counter-revolution. What have you to say in your defense?

CAMILLE [_deeply agitated, tries to answer, but can only
stutter. He puts his hand to his forehead. His friends look
at him in anxiety_]. I ask for mercy. I don't know what's the
matter--with me! I--I can't speak.

JUDGE. Do you confess having done these things?

CAMILLE. No, no.

JUDGE. Then defend yourself.

CAMILLE. I cannot. Excuse me. I--I am ill. [_His friends press
about him. He sits down, breathing hard, and mops his forehead
with a handkerchief. The Judge shrugs his shoulders._]

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. Do you confess or not?

PHILIPPEAUX. Read the seditious passages.

DANTON. Yes, read them; dare read them before the people. Let
them judge where their friends stand!

JUDGE. I have sufficiently indicated them. There is no need of
again calling public attention to such dangerous sentiments.

DANTON. For whom are they dangerous? For cut-throats?

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. I see your course has been prepared in
advance. We shall pay no attention to it.

CAMILLE [_in agony_]. I am ashamed--I beg your pardon, all of
you. I haven't slept for several nights; all these charges
against me--! I'm not master of myself--I can't speak. Give me a
breathing-spell. I--I feel dizzy.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. We have no time to waste.

DANTON. At what hour have you decided to have our heads? Can't
you wait, hangman?

PHILIPPEAUX. You will wait for Desmoulins. You have no right to
murder people without hearing them.

FABRE D'EGLANTINE. You know he is sensitive and very
impressionable. You are trying to take advantage of his
weakness. You won't do a thing to him while we still live.

HÉRAULT [_ironically_]. Like the duel of the Emperor Commodius
who, armed with a cavalry sword, forced his enemy to fight him
with a fencing-foil tipped with cork.

JUDGE. Silence!

THE FOUR PRISONERS. Silence yourself, hangman!--People, protect
our rights, the sacred rights of the prisoner. [_The People
shout: "Bravo! Bravo!_"]

DANTON [_rubbing_ DESMOULINS' _hands._] Courage, my boy!

CAMILLE [_still nervous, but pulling himself together, he
grasps_ DANTON'S _hand, smiles at him, and rises_]. Thank
you, friends, I feel much better now. You have given me
strength.--That, monsters, is what you will never have: the
affection of the people. You accuse me of having spoken my mind?
I am proud of it. Faithful to the Republic, which I founded, I
will remain free, no matter what it costs me. You say I have
insulted liberty? I have said that liberty meant happiness,
reason, equality, and justice. I have committed these outrages,
yes! You see, oh people, how I am rewarded! [_The People acclaim
him with Bravos._]

JUDGE. You must not address the people.

CAMILLE. Whom should I address? The aristocrats? I begged the
Committee to be merciful, for I wanted the people to enjoy
the liberty which they have acquired, but which seems intended
now merely to satisfy the grudges of a handful of scoundrels!
I asked men to put an end to their quarreling, and that they
be bound together by love into a great family. It appears that
these desires are criminal. But what I call a crime is this mad
political game which soils the nation and the people, forcing
it to plunge their hands into innocent blood before the whole
universe!

JUDGE. It is not your place to accuse; you are here to answer
your accusers.

CAMILLE. Very well, I accuse myself, if you like, of not having
always thought as I think today. For too long did I believe in
hatred; the heat of battle led me on, and I have committed too
many crimes; I stirred up vengeance, and more than once the
sword was drawn as a result of my writings. Innocent people were
dragged here on my advice. This is my crime, my real crime,
and you are my partners in it. This is the crime I am today
expiating.

JUDGE. Whom are you referring to?

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. Whose death do you regret?

PHILIPPEAUX. Don't answer, Desmoulins!

FABRE D'EGLANTINE. It's a trap. Take care!

DANTON. Swallow your tongue, my boy!

CAMILLE. I refer to the Girondins. [_The People murmur, and_
DAVID _says: "He confesses!"_]

JUDGE. The prisoner confesses his implication in the Brissotist
conspiracies.

CAMILLE [_with a shrug_]. It was my _Brissot dévoilé_ which
condemned the Brissotists.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. But now you regret it?

CAMILLE [_not answering_]. Oh, my colleagues! I say to you as
Brutus said to Cicero: "We fear death too much, and exile, and
poverty. _Nimium timemus mortem et exilium et paupertatem_."
Is life so dear that we should prolong it without honor? There
is not one of us who has not reached the very summit of the
mountain of life. We have before us the descent, which is
full of precipices, unavoidable even by the most obscure. The
descent has no pleasant landscapes to offer, no resting places
which were not a thousand times more delectable to that same
Solomon who declared, in all his glory and in the midst of his
seven hundred wives: "I find that the dead are happier than the
living, and that the happiest of men is he who was never born."
[_He sits down._]

DANTON. Fool! That speech of yours will cost us our heads! [_He
hisses_ DESMOULINS. _Some one comes to tell_ DANTON _that it is
his turn. He rises and faces the Court._]

JUDGE [_to_ DANTON]. Prisoner, your name, age, occupation, and
place of residence?

DANTON [_in a voice of thunder_]. My place of residence? Soon
the great void. My name? In the Pantheon. [_The People are
tense. They talk and appear to approve him; then suddenly they
become silent, as the Judge speaks._]

JUDGE. You know the law. Answer categorically.

DANTON. My name is Georges-Jacques Danton. I am thirty-three
years old, and a native of Arcis-sur-Aube. I am a solicitor. I
live in Paris at present, in the Hue des Cordeliers.

JUDGE. Danton, the National Convention accuses you of having
conspired with Mirabeau and Dumouriez, of having known their
plans for putting an end to our liberty, and of having secretly
aided and abetted them, [DANTON _roars with laughter. The Court,
the People, and even the prisoners stare at him, and then all
begin to laugh. The whole room vibrates with Homeric laughter._
DANTON _strikes the railing in front of him with his fist._]

DANTON [_still laughing_]. Liberty conspiring against Liberty!
Danton conspiring against Danton!--Scoundrels! Look me in the
eye! Liberty resides here! [_He puts his hands to his head._]
It is in this petrified mask of mine, it is in these eyes which
flame with volcanic fire; in this voice, the roar of which rocks
the palaces of tyrants to their foundations. Take my head, nail
it to the shield of the Republic, and it will, like Medusa, make
the enemies of Liberty fall dead from fright.

JUDGE. I am not asking for your panegyric, but for your defense.

DANTON. A man like me does not have to defend himself: my
actions speak for me. I have nothing to defend, nothing to
explain. I don't enshroud myself with all sorts of mysterious
things if I want to make love to an old woman--as Robespierre
does. My door is wide open, I have no curtains to my bed; all of
France knows when I drink and when I make love. I am a man of
the people; my virtues and vices are of the people; I conceal
nothing from them. I show myself to the world, and I have
nothing to be ashamed of.

JUDGE. Danton, your language is an insult to justice. The
low expressions you use indicate the baseness of your soul.
Moderation is the badge of innocence, and audacity that of crime.

DANTON. If audacity is a crime, I speak for crime. I kiss it,
and leave virtue to you, Judge: the lean kine of Pharaoh have no
attraction for me. I love audacity, and I am proud of it: the
audacity of a good hug. I love the huge breasts where heroes
suck. The Revolution is the daughter of audacity. Audacity is
what laid low the Bastille; through me, audacity urged the
people of Paris against royalty; audacity it was that urged me
to pick the severed head of Louis by its fat ears, and cast it
in the teeth of tyrants and their God! [_The People, in great
excitement, show their approval of_ DANTON.]

JUDGE. All this violence proves nothing. I have made specific
accusations against you, and I ask you to make specific replies,
adhering to the facts.

DANTON. Do you expect a revolutionary like me to make a
dignified answer? My soul is like bronze in a forge. The statue
of Liberty is being molded in my breast. Do you want to put me
into a squirrel's cage? Do you insist on putting me through
a cross-examination? Catechize me? Why, I would tear the net
you want to put around me to tatters; my belly would burst the
shirt! I am accused, you say! Where are my accusers? Let them
show themselves, and I will cover them with the opprobrium they
so richly deserve!

JUDGE. Again, Danton, you are lacking in respect toward the
representatives of the nation, toward the court and the
sovereign people who have a right to demand an account of your
actions. Marat was accused as you are accused. He did not become
violent. He did not answer facts with athletic exhibitions and
florid rhetoric. He tried to justify himself, and he succeeded.
I can offer you no more brilliant example.

DANTON. I shall then condescend to justify myself, and follow
Saint-Just's plan. When I look through this list of horrors, my
whole self shudders. I, sold to Mirabeau, Orléans, Dumouriez!
I always fought them! I frustrated Mirabeau's plans when I
considered them dangerous to the cause of Liberty. I defended
Marat against him. The only time I saw Dumouriez was to ask
him for an accounting of the millions that he had squandered.
I suspected his plans, and in order to spoil them, I flattered
him. Ought I to have ruined him, when the safety of the Republic
lay in his hands? Yes, I did send Fabre to him; yes, I did
promise to make him commander-in-chief; but at the same time I
told Billaud-Varenne to keep a strict watch over him. Am I to
be blamed because I lied to a traitor? I have committed many
another crime for the nation. You can't save a nation with petty
virtues. I would have shouldered any crime at all, if need
were, to save you--all of you, judges, people, even you vile
impostors who are now accusing me!? I conspire with royalty? Ah,
yes, indeed, I remember how I aided in establishing the royal
power on the tenth of August, the triumph of the federalists on
the thirty-first of May, and the victory of the Prussians at
Valmy! Bring forth my accusers! I have something to say to the
blackguards who are ruining the Republic! I have a few important
revelations to make. I demand a hearing.

JUDGE. These indecent outbursts can only harm your cause.
Those who accuse you enjoy the confidence of the public. Clear
yourself first: a man who is accused deserves no confidence
until he has washed himself clean of his accusations. It is not
only your Republicanism which is now in question; you have been
cited for evil living, debauchery, prodigality, and embezzlement.

DANTON. Not so fast! Stop the spigot of your flowing eloquence.
Let us have a few drops at a time, so that we may lose nothing.
So I am accused of loving life, enjoying it? Of course, I love
life. Not all the pedants of Arras and Geneva can put a stop to
the joy that ferments in the district of Champagne. It swells
on the vines and increases the desires of men. Shall I blush
because of my superabundant vitality? Nature gave me great
capacity and correspondingly great needs. I was fortunate enough
not to have sprung from an enfeebled and puny and privileged
race; and I have throughout my tempestuous career, preserved my
natural vigor intact. What have you to complain of? My vigor
has been your salvation. What do you care if I pass my nights
at the Palais-Royal? Not a single caress can harm the cause of
Liberty. I have enough love for everything. Have you proscribed
all pleasure? Has France made an oath of chastity? Have we all
fallen under the rule of a schoolmaster? Because an old fox has
lost his tail must we all lose ours? [_The People laugh_.]

JUDGE. You are accused of having kept part of the money
intrusted to you by the State. You have used secret moneys for
the satisfaction of your pleasures. You have levied on Belgium
and brought from Brussels three carriages full of plunder.

DANTON. I have already answered those absurd accusations. When I
was Minister under the Revolution, fifty millions were left to
me. I admit that. I offered to make a strict accounting of them.
Cambon gave me 40,000 livres for secret expenses. Half of this I
spent openly: I gave free rein to Fabre and to Billaud. I used
these funds to help the departments. As to that ridiculous tale
of the archduchess' napkins, which were brought from Belgium,
do you think me a handkerchief thief? My trunks were opened at
Bethune, and I was detained. They found only my own clothes,
and a swanskin corset. Does the corset outrage Robespierre's
modesty? Is that why I am accused?

JUDGE. The charge of embezzlement is proved by your prodigality
of the past two years. Your income was not sufficient, and you
must have taken State money.

DANTON. As a solicitor in the council, I bought a little
property near Arcis. I have assured my mother a small income,
also my father-in-law, and the good woman who brought me
up. These sums are no larger than was my income before the
Revolution. As for the life I led at Paris or at Arcis, possibly
I have riot confined my expenditures to the level of shameful
economy. I do not force my friends when they sup with me to
partake of the meager soup of Mère Duplay. I cannot stint myself
or my friends. Are you not ashamed to trifle with Danton about
how much he drinks or how much he eats? This nasty hypocrisy
is threatening to overwhelm the nation. It blushes for nature,
and hides its face at a real healthy thing. Its virtues are
but negative virtues. So long as a man has a weak stomach
and atrophied senses, lives on a little cheese and sleeps in
a narrow bed, you call him Incorruptible, and imagine that
that is sufficient to allow him to dispense with courage and
intelligence. I detest these anæmic virtues. Virtue means to be
great, for yourself and for the nation. When you have the honor
of holding a great man in your midst, don't begrudge him his
bread. All his needs, his passions, his capacity for sacrifice,
are built on a different plan from that of ordinary men.
Achilles used to eat the whole back of an ox at a single meal.
If Danton requires much to feed his furnace, let him have it
without a murmur. Here, in me, is the vast fire, the flames of
which protect you against prowling beasts that wait their chance
to spring at the throat of the Republic.

JUDGE. You therefore confess?

DANTON. You lie! I have just denied. I have lived freely,
honestly, carefully, on the money that was confided to me, but
I have not been miserly. I rendered to Danton the things that
were Danton's. Bring the witnesses I asked for, and we shall
clear up any misunderstandings. The accusations and answers
ought not to remain vague: nothing short of a categorical
discussion will bring this trial to an end. Where are the
witnesses? Why don't they come forth?

JUDGE. Your voice is tired, Danton: rest.

DANTON. Not at all! I can continue.

JUDGE. You may continue your justification shortly, and more
calmly.

DANTON [_furiously_]. I am calm! My witnesses! I have been
asking for them for the past three days! I have not yet seen a
single one. I ask the public prosecutor, before the assembled
audience, why justice is refused me?

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. I have no objection to their being summoned.

DANTON. Then bring them. Nothing can be done without your orders.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. I allow the witnesses to be called, except,
of course, those designated by the prisoners as belonging to
the Convention; because the accusation is made by the whole
Assembly, and it would be ridiculous to insist that your own
accusers should be brought in to justify you, especially when
they are the representatives of the people, the guardians of the
highest power, accountable only to the people.

HÉRAULT. A good Jesuit trick! [_He and_ FABRE D'EGLANTINE
_laugh._]

DANTON. I see! My colleagues will be allowed to murder me, and I
shall not be permitted to bring confusion on my murderers!

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. You dare insult the national representatives!

PHILIPPEAUX. Are we here as a mere matter of form? Do you want
us to remain mute?

CAMILLE. People, you hear! They are afraid of the truth! They
fear the testimony that will confound them!

JUDGE. Address the court, and not the people.

PHILIPPEAUX. The people are our sole judges; you are nothing
without them.

CAMILLE. I ask the Convention!

DANTON. You want to gag us, but you cannot. My voice will stir
Paris to its very entrails. Light! Light!

JUDGE. Silence!

THE PEOPLE. The witnesses! [_The Judges become alarmed_.]

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. It is time to cease this scandalous
discussion; I shall write to the Convention of your
request: we will obey their command. [_The People applaud._
FOUQUIER-TINVILLE _and_ HERMAN _consult together, write the
request, and read in an undertone what they have written_.]

CAMILLE [_exultant_]. We have won our case!

DANTON. We'll confound the blackguards. You'll see them fall
into their own vileness head-first. If the French people are
what they ought to be, I shall be obliged to ask their pardon.

PHILIPPEAUX. Pardon from those who seek our death?

CAMILLE [_gaily_]. We shall appoint Saint-Just schoolmaster at
Blérancourt and Robespierre churchwarden at Saint-Omer.

HÉRAULT [_with a shrug_]. Incorrigible! They are on their way to
the guillotine, and they still hope!

DANTON. Idiots! To accuse Danton and Desmoulins of conspiring
against the Republic! So Barère is a patriot now, and Danton an
aristocrat. France won't be humbugged like that for very long!
[_To one of the Jury._] Do you think we are conspirators? See,
he smiles. He doesn't believe it.--Write that he laughed!

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE [_in the midst of his work_]. I beg you to
cease your personal conversations. It is against the law.

DANTON. Do you dare tell your father how to make children? I was
the one who organized this court; I ought to know how to behave
in it.

CAMILLE. I am beginning to take pleasure in life again. A moment
ago, everything was dark; I felt as if I were already in the
grave.

DANTON. It isn't that everything is light: you yourself have
changed. You didn't loom very large on the horizon.

CAMILLE. I am ashamed of my weakness. My flesh is feeble.

DANTON. You're a sly one! You wanted to become an object of
sympathy to the women! See that girl there making eyes at you!

HÉRAULT [_softly_]. My poor friends, I really pity you.

DANTON. Why, my handsome fellow?

HÉRAULT. You're selling the bear-skin, when your own is already
disposed of.

DANTON. My skin? Yes, I know, there are many who would like it.
Saint-Just especially. Well, let him come and take it, and if he
succeeds, let him make a rug of it.

HÉRAULT. Why bother? [_He shrugs his shoulders and lapses into
silence. Meanwhile,_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE _has finished his letter,
which is taken out by a guard._]

JUDGE. While we await the Convention's answer, let us continue.
[_The gendarmes make the prisoners sit down again. He says to_
PHILIPPEAUX.] Your name and occupation?

PHILIPPEAUX. Pierre-Nicolas Philippeaux, former judge at Le
Mans, representative in the Convention.

JUDGE. Your age?

PHILIPPEAUX. Thirty-five.

JUDGE. You are charged with having paralyzed the national
defense, during your mission in La Vendée; you attempted to
throw the Committee of Public Safety into disrepute, by means
of insulting pamphlets; you were a conspirator with Danton and
Fabre in their attempt to restore the royalty.

PHILIPPEAUX. I exposed the indignation of the public against
the brigandage of certain generals. It was my duty, and I
accomplished it.

JUDGE. In this implacable struggle for France, your duty was
to do everything in your power to aid the nation. You tried to
hinder it.

PHILIPPEAUX. Ronsin and Rossignol are a dishonor to humanity.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. You were not a representative of humanity,
but of the nation.

PHILIPPEAUX. My nation is humanity.

JUDGE. Did those you pitied, the Royalists who were crushed by
Rossignol, think of humanity?

PHILIPPEAUX. There is no excuse for crime.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. Victory is.

PHILIPPEAUX. I accuse you.

CAMILLE. Before all the people, I denounce these infamies!

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE [_with a shrug_]. Let the people judge.
[_The People are divided: many applaud_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE _and
converse among themselves_.]

DANTON [_aside to_ DESMOULINS]. Keep your mouth shut! You're
throwing stones in my garden.

CAMILLE [_astounded_]. How is that?

DANTON. I said what was necessary.

JUDGE [_to_ WESTERMANN]. Prisoner, stand up.

WESTERMANN. I? Well, forward march!

JUDGE. Your name?

WESTERMANN. You know my name very well.

JUDGE. Your name?

WESTERMANN [_with a shrug_]. Always mixing things up! Ask the
people!

JUDGE. You are François-Joseph Westermann, native of Alsace,
brigadier-general. You are forty-three years old. You were to
have been the sword of this conspiracy. Danton recalled you to
Paris to command the soldiers in the counter-revolution. You
committed atrocities in your army. You were the cause of the
defeat at Châtillon. Together with Philippeaux, you attempted to
kill the patriots whom it was your duty to defend. Your record
is very bad. You have been three times accused of theft.

WESTERMANN. You swine, you lie!

JUDGE. I shall have you sent back to your cell for insulting the
law, and try you without hearing your defense.

WESTERMANN. I was a soldier at the age of fifteen. On the tenth
of August I commanded the people when we took the Tuileries. I
fought at Jemmapes. Dumouriez deserted me in Holland, surrounded
by the enemy, and I brought my legion to Antwerp. Then I was
in La Vendée; I made trouble for the brigands of Charette and
Cathelineau. Savenay, Ancenis, and Le Mans are strewn with their
carcasses. So the damned pigs accuse me of being cruel? I was
more than that: I was ferocious toward cowards. Do you ask for
proofs against me? Here they are: I charged my cavalry through
our retreating soldiers at Pontorson. I slashed the face of a
cowardly officer at Châtillon. I would have burned my whole
army, if necessary, in order to be victorious. I pillaged, you
say? What has that to do with you? You are out of your minds.
I did my duty as a soldier: I'm not a shopkeeper. My duty was
to defend the _Patrie_ by every means; I have accomplished it
for the past thirty years, sparing neither my own sweat nor my
blood. I received seven wounds--not one in the back--or rather
the only one is my accusation.

JUDGE. You have often in the presence of witnesses, spoken
insultingly of the Convention. You have even threatened to pull
down the palace on the heads of the representatives.

WESTERMANN. Quite true. I hate that suspicious pack of spouters
who stop all action by their jealous stupidity. I said that the
Convention needed to be cleaned out and I offered to carry off
the manure.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. Do you confess to having conspired?

WESTERMANN. What conspiracy are you talking about? I did my
own thinking, and my own doing. I am a friend of none of these
others. I've spoken occasionally to Danton, and I admire his
energy; but he's a lawyer, too, and I never trust lawyers.
France can't be saved by talk, but only by sabers.

JUDGE. That is enough. Your case is clear.

WESTERMANN. Send me to the guillotine! That at least is
something active--like a saber stroke. I only ask one thing:
put me on my back: I want to face the knife. [VADIER _and_
BILLAUD-VARENNE _enter._ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE _rises and shakes
hands with them_. _The People are excited.'_]

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_in an undertone_]. Scoundrels! We have them
now!

VADIER [_aside to_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE]. This will, end matters.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. It was high time. [_Deep agitation among the
People, who become silent._ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE _reads, standing,
with the other two at his side._] "The National Convention,
after having heard the report of the Committee of Public Safety
and Public Security, decrees that the Revolutionary Tribunal
shall continue the examination into the conspiracy of Danton and
his associates; that the Judge shall use every means accorded
him by law to impose respect and to put a stop to every effort
on the part of the prisoners to disturb the public dignity and
interfere with the course of justice, and that every prisoner
accused of conspiracy who shall resist or insult the national
justice shall be immediately withdrawn from the trial." [_The
People and the others are astonished. All at once the People
begin talking, then the prisoners, at first ill at ease, burst
out._]

CAMILLE. Infamous! They are gagging us!

PHILIPPEAUX. They are not judges, but butchers.

DANTON [_to_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE] You have not read it all. There
is something else. The answer! The answer to our demand!

JUDGE. Silence!

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. The Convention communicates the following
letter, received by the Committees from the police department,
which shall be read in order that the court may understand the
perils besetting the cause of Liberty. [_Reads:_] "Commune of
Paris. We, the administrators of the police department, having
received a letter from the concierge of the Luxembourg prison,
immediately went to the said prison, and brought before us
Citizen Laflotte, former minister to the Republic of Florence,
who has been confined there for the past six days. He declared
to us that last night, between the hours of six and seven, as
he WAS in the room of Arthur Dillon, having taken the aforesaid
Dillon to one side, told him that it was necessary to resist
oppression, that the good men detained in the Luxembourg and
other prisons ought to join forces; that Desmoulins' wife had
placed a thousand écus at his disposal, in order to arouse the
people in the neighborhood of the Revolutionary Tribunal--"

CAMILLE [_furiously_]. The scoundrels! They are not satisfied
with murdering me! They are trying to murder my wife!

DANTON [_shaking his fist at_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE]. Scoundrels,
scoundrels! They've invented this to ruin us! [_The People are
in a fury of indignation_.]

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE [_continuing, as he makes efforts to arouse
the interest of the audience_]--"Laflotte pretended to enter
into their plans in order to become better acquainted with
them. Dillon, believing that he had made a convert to his
infamous plot, told him of various plans. Laflotte declares his
willingness to reveal these details to the Committee of Public
Safety--" [_The People drown out his voice._]

CAMILLE [_raving like a madman_]. Monsters! [_He crumples the
papers in his hand and throws them at_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE'S
_head. He says to the People:_] Help! Help!

DANTON [_roaring_]. Cowards! Cut-throats! Why not bind us to
these benches, and cut our throats!

PHILIPPEAUX. Tyranny!

DANTON. People, they are killing us--and you with us! They are
murdering Danton! Paris, arise! Arise! [_Two voices, at first,
then all the People shout:_ "_Tyranny!_"]

WESTERMANN. To arms! [_The People repeat:_ "_To arms!" A wild
uproar indoors and out._]

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE [_pale and frightened, to_ BILLAUD-VARENNE
_and_ VADIER]. What shall we do? The people may attack.

BILLAUD-VARENNE. Hanriot, clear the room.

VADIER. That would only incite them to battle, and who knows
which would be the stronger?

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE [_who has just looked out the window_]. They
are standing in crowds along the quay. They could force the
doors.

DANTON. People, we can do anything we will. We have triumphed
over kings and over the armies of Europe. To arms! Down with the
tyrants!

VADIER [_to_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE]. First of all, send these
fellows back to prison, and get that spouter out of the way.

DANTON [_shaking his fist at_ VADIER]. Look at the cowardly
cut-throats. Vadier, Vadier! Dog, come here! If this is to be a
combat between cannibals, allow me at least to fight for my life!

VADIER [_to_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE]. Prosecutor, carry out the
decree.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. The unheard-of indecency which the prisoners
choose to employ as weapons of defense, the threats which they
are so impudent as to hurl at the Tribunal, must put an end to
the session. They force us to deal in like fashion under the
grave circumstances. I am therefore forced to ask that the
questions be asked and judgment passed in the absence of the
prisoners.

JUDGE. The court will deliberate. Take out the prisoners.
[DANTON _does not seem to have understood. He choices, roaring
like an animal._]

VADIER [_in an undertone_]. Cry, old fellow, your time has come!

HÉRAULT [_rising and dusting his coat_]. This is the end.

DANTON [_allowing himself to be led to his bench by the
gendarmes, and there falling in a heap. He suddenly pulls
himself together_]. Peace, Danton, peace. Our destinies are
being accomplished.

CAMILLE [_supplicating_]. I am a friend of Robespierre. You
can't condemn me.

WESTERMANN [_to_ DANTON]. Keep that idiot from dishonoring
himself.

DANTON [_in consternation_]. They are mad. Miserable country,
what will become of you without this leader?

HÉRAULT [_to_ DESMOULINS]. Come, my friends, let us show them we
know how to die.

DANTON. We have lived long enough to lay our heads on the breast
of glory. Let them take us to the scaffold!

CAMILLE. Oh, my wife! My son! Shall I never see you again? No, I
cannot. My friends, help me!

JUDGE. Take out the prisoners.

DANTON. Don't, don't; this miserable life is not worth
struggling for.

HÉRAULT [_as if in a hurry to have done with everything, goes_
to FABRE D'EGLANTINE, _without waiting for the gendarmes, who
take charge of the other prisoners_]. Give me your arm, my
friend; here at last is an end to your troubles.

FABRE D'EGLANTINE. We shall at least have enjoyed a splendid
performance.

DANTON. Well, Fabre, here is a play that is more impressive than
any you ever wrote--no offense, I hope?

FABRE D'EGLANTINE. You have not read my latest; there are some
good things in it. I tremble for fear Collot d'Herbois may
destroy the manuscript. He is jealous of me.

DANTON. Console yourself, we shall all do there what you did
here on earth.

FABRE D'EGLANTINE. What?

DANTON. Write poetry.

HÉRAULT. The Convention will be empty tomorrow. I yawn when I
think that our survivors will be condemned, on pain of death,
not to sleep through the speeches of Robespierre and Saint-Just,
of Saint-Just and of Robespierre.

DANTON. They will not listen very long. I have dug the grave,
and Robespierre will follow me.

FABRE D'EGLANTINE. I should like to have followed the
development of the character of some of these little rascals:
Barras, Talien, and Fouché. But I must not ask too much. Come,
Hérault. [_They go out._]

CAMILLE [_clinging to his bench, from which the gendarmes pull
him_]. I won't go! You will kill me in prison. Oh, People,
listen to me: it was I who made the Republic. Defend me!
I defended you! You won't take me from here, you monsters!
Cowards, murderers! Oh, Lucile! Horace! My dear ones! [_They
take him out._]

DANTON [_deeply stirred_]. I, too, have a wife and children.
[_Recovering his self-command._] Come, Danton, no weakness.

WESTERMANN [_to_ DANTON]. Why don't you take advantage of the
people's feelings? They are on the point of fighting.

DANTON. The pigs! Nonsense! Pigs! They enjoy our little
performance; they are there to applaud the victors. I've taught
them only too well to act for themselves.

WESTERMANN. Stir them up now!

DANTON. Too late. And what the devil do I care? The Republic
will fall, and I want to go before I see the end.

WESTERMANN. See what happened because you hesitated! Why didn't
you forestall Robespierre?

DANTON. The Revolution cannot exist with both of us. I could
never have defended myself without killing him. I prefer the
Revolution to myself. [WESTERMANN _goes out._]

PHILIPPEAUX. Come, Danton, it is some consolation to die as one
has lived.

DANTON. I committed every crime for the sake of Liberty. I
shouldered every task that the hypocrites shunned. I have
sacrificed everything for the Revolution. I now see it was all
in vain. The minx has played me false; and now she sacrifices
me, as she will sacrifice Robespierre tomorrow. She will take
up with the first adventurer who presents himself. Well, what
of it? I regret nothing; I love her, and I am glad I dishonored
myself for her sake. I pity the poor beggars who never embraced
her. When once you have been intimate with the divine strumpet,
you are ready to die, for you have lived. [_He goes out with_
PHILIPPEAUX.]

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. I ask the jury whether they have sufficient
instructions?

JUDGE. The jury will retire to deliberate. [_The Jury goes out.
The People shift restlessly about, undecided what to think or
do. Outside_ DANTON _is? heard, and the shouting of the crowds.
They rush to, the windows. Some of the court also look out.
Those who are in the hall, repeat what is said outside, at first
in undertones, then loudly_.]

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. The riot is beginning. We'll be torn to
pieces.

VADIER. Don't allow the shouting to influence the jury. Go and
tell them. [_They go out. The People shout angrily at_ VADIER
_and_ FOUQUIER-TINVILLE, _who enter the jury-room_.]

JUDGE [_terror-stricken_]. Citizens, the dignity of the
Tribunal--Respect for justice--[_The shouting drowns out his
last words._] They are coming! We shall all be massacred! [_He
shrinks toward the door, where he takes hold of the knob. The
People, in fury, tear up benches and throw them toward the
judges' benches, shouting threats of death. Enter_; SAINT-JUST.
_The People are somewhat intimidated, and are silent._
SAINT-JUST _looks at them, coldly, and they fall back. There is
dead silence for a few seconds, then murmurs are heard here and
there._ VADIER _enters a moment after, and takes advantage of
the calm to speak._]

VADIER. Citizens, the Committee on Provisions and Necessities
[_the People are silent_] takes this occasion to announce to
the public the arrival of a large amount of grain and wood
at the port of Bercy. [_A great clamor arises. People jostle
one another in a wild attempt to leave the hall. After a few
moments, only a small knot of curious onlookers remain._ VADIER
_casts a glance of irony at the People_.] Their hearts are good,
but their stomachs better. [_The Jury reenters. The monotony of
the Judge's questions is drowned by the last stragglers. The
noise outside gradually subsides, and_ HERMAN'S _voice becomes
more distinct. Sentence is passed in a death-like silence_.]

JUDGE. Jurymen citizens, there was a conspiracy which was
to have brought dishonor upon the national representatives,
re-established the monarchy, and through corruption destroy the
Republican government. Is Georges-Jacques Danton, solicitor,
Deputy to the National Convention, guilty of conspiracy against
the Republic?

THE HEAD OF THE JURY. He is.

JUDGE. Is Lucie-Simplice-Camille Desmoulins, solicitor, Deputy
to the Convention, guilty of conspiring against the Republic?

THE HEAD OF THE JURY. He is.

JUDGE. Is Philippe-François-Nazaire Fabre, known as Fabre
d'Eglantine, Deputy to the Convention, guilty of conspiring
against the Republic?

THE HEAD OF THE JURY. He is.

JUDGE. Is Pierre-Nicolas Philippeaux, former judge, and Deputy
to the Convention, guilty of conspiring against the Republic?

THE HEAD OF THE JURY. He is.

JUDGE. Is Marie-Jean Hérault-Séchelles, attorney general, and
Deputy to the Convention, guilty of conspiring against the
Republic?

THE HEAD OF THE JURY. He is.

JUDGE. Is Francis-Joseph Westermann, brigadier-general, guilty
of conspiring against the Republic?

THE HEAD OF THE JURY. He is.

FOUQUIER-TINVILLE. I demand the application of the law.

JUDGE. Then the Tribunal condemns Georges-Jacques Danton,
Lucie-Simplice-Camille Desmoulins, Marie-Jean Hérault-Séchelles,
Philippe-François-Nazaire Fabre, known as Fabre d'Eglantine,
Pierre-Nicolas Philippeaux, and François-Joseph Westermann, to
the death penalty. The Tribunal commands that this sentence
be communicated to them between the two wickets of the
_Conciergerie_ by the clerk of the Tribunal, and that they
be executed today, the sixteenth of Germinal, in the Place
de la Révolution. [_The People file out. Outside, the clamor
becomes more and more indistinct._--SAINT-JUST, VADIER, _and_
BILLAUD-VARENNE _look at each other in silence_.]

VADIER. The rotten colossus at last laid low! The Republic can
now draw a free breath.

BILLAUD-VARENNE [_looking at_ SAINT-JUST--_fiercely_] The
Republic will never be free until her dictators have disappeared.

SAINT-JUST [_looking straight at_ VADIER _and_ BILLAUD-VARENNE]
The Republic will never be pure until the vultures are no more.

VADIER [_banteringly_]. The Republic will never be free or pure
until the Republic is no more!

SAINT-JUST. Ideas do not need men. Peoples pass away in order
that God may live.

END