“Anacharsis,” cried Danton, “you err, but on the side of a good and generous heart.”
The terrible man looked at him with a soft smile, and he continued: “Men will be what they ought to be, when one can say, ‘The world is my country, the world is mine;’ but till then, there are more proscriptions, more banishments, more exiles. Nature is one; why is not society one? They are divided forces, which strike one another when nations are driven against each other by the breath of hatred, and, like clouds, they strike and are scattered. Tyrants, we wish not that, and the proof is that we demand not your death. Kill yourselves, slay each other. Descend, O kings, from your thrones, and we will give you your choice ’twixt misery and a scaffold. Usurpers of sovereignty! Balthazars of modern times! is it possible that you see not on your palace walls, amid the glare of your thousand lamps, the shouts of your revelries, and the crash of your song, the writing, not in fire, but in your people’s blood, Mené, Mené! Tekel Upharsin? Lay down your sceptres and your crowns, and head a revolution which delivers kings from the grasp of kings, and the people from the rivalry of the people.”
“A-a-amen!” stammered Camille Desmoulins. “Ana-Anacharsis wishes to carry me away by the hair of my head, as the angel did Habakkuk.”
“Long live Camille Desmoulins!” said Thèroigne, while the friends of the true son of Voltaire tendered him their hands. “If ever I have love, it shall be for you, I promise you. By the bye, you are fond of Sieyes?”
“Yes, truly,” replied Thèroigne. “Between you and me, he is the only one who gives me the idea of a man.”
“What am I, then?” said Danton.
“What are you?” said Thèroigne, scanning him from head to foot. “You are only a bull.”
“Well re-re-replied,” said Camille; “that is what I call taking the bull by the horns.”
“In the meantime,” cried Marat, “you are losing sight of the public safety. I speak to you of a great treason, and you will not listen, Lafayette!”