St. Just. Rightly thou judgest, Couthon! He is one
Who flies from silent solitary anguish,
Seeking forgetful peace amid the jar
Of elements. The howl of maniac uproar 85
Lulls to sad sleep the memory of himself.
A calm is fatal to him—then he feels
The dire upboilings of the storm within him.
A tiger mad with inward wounds!—I dread
The fierce and restless turbulence of guilt. 90
Robespierre. Is not the Commune ours? The stern tribunal?
Dumas? and Vivier? Fleuriot? and Louvet?
And Henriot? We'll denounce an hundred, nor
Shall they behold to-morrow's sun roll westward.
Robespierre Junior. Nay—I am sick of blood; my aching heart 95
Reviews the long, long train of hideous horrors
That still have gloom'd the rise of the Republic.
I should have died before Toulon, when war
Became the patriot!
Robespierre. Most unworthy wish!
He, whose heart sickens at the blood of traitors, 100
Would be himself a traitor, were he not
A coward! 'Tis congenial souls alone
Shed tears of sorrow for each other's fate.
O thou art brave, my brother! and thine eye
Full firmly shines amid the groaning battle— 105
Yet in thine heart the woman-form of pity
Asserts too large a share, an ill-timed guest!
There is unsoundness in the state—To-morrow
Shall see it cleans'd by wholesome massacre!
Robespierre Junior. Beware! already do the sections murmur— 110
'O the great glorious patriot, Robespierre—
The tyrant guardian of the country's freedom!'
Couthon. 'Twere folly sure to work great deeds by halves!
Much I suspect the darksome fickle heart
Of cold Barrere!
Robespierre. I see the villain in him! 115
Robespierre Junior. If he—if all forsake thee—what remains?
Robespierre. Myself! the steel-strong Rectitude of soul
And Poverty sublime 'mid circling virtues!
The giant Victories my counsels form'd
Shall stalk around me with sun-glittering plumes, 120
Bidding the darts of calumny fall pointless. [Exeunt caeteri. Manet Couthon.