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_.]