SCENE II.
TALLIEN'S HOUSE.
Tallien with a letter in his hand.
In prison!—In his power!—to die to-morrow!
My body trembles and my senses reel.
This is a just and fearful retribution—
Would it were on my head alone! Oh Heaven,
Spare but this angel woman and her father,
And let me die—or might my life be pardon'd,
The criminal excess to which these times
Have hurried my rash hand and wilful heart,
I will atone to outrag'd human nature,
To her and to my country. Wretched France!
Once the fair home of music and of mirth,
So torn, so harrassed by these factions now,
That even the wise and good of other lands
Cannot believe a patriot breathes in this!
And she complains that I am grown a craven!
My acts of late may justify the thought,
But let to-morrow show how much I fear him.
(A Servant enters.)
Servant.—The Minister of Police——
Tallien.—Attend him hither—
Fouché—perhaps to sound me; let him try—
I yet may baffle him, and one more fatal——
(Fouché enters.)
Fouché.—So you are in the scales with Robespierre,
And which do you expect will kick the beam?
Tallien.—Why should you think that I will stake my power,
Friends, interest, and life, in useless efforts
To thwart the destined ruler of the land?
Fouché.—Yourself have told me so. I did but mean
That he had risk'd his power and party strength
Against your life. You mean to strike at his.
Your faltering voice and startled looks betray
The secret of your heart, though sooth to say,
I knew it all before.
Tallien.—You see too far,
And are for once wise over much, Monsieur;
I never sought to oppose your great colleague,
But would conciliate him if I might.