[_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?