The Fall of Robespierre

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey.

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To
H. Martin, Esq.
of
Jesus College
Cambridge

Dear Sir,

Accept, as a small testimony of my grateful attachment, the following dramatic poem, in which I have endeavoured to detail, in an interesting form, the fall of a man, whose great bad actions have cast a disastrous lustre on his name. In the execution of the work, as intricacy of plot could not have been attempted without a gross violation of recent facts, it has been my sole aim to imitate the empassioned and highly figurative language of the French orators, and to develop the characters of the chief actors on a vast stage of horrors.

The Fall of Robespierre1 2

An Historic Drama

Act I

Scene⁠—The Thuilleries.

Barrere	The tempest gathers⁠—be it mine to seek A friendly shelter, ere it bursts upon him. But where? and how? I fear the Tyrant’s soul⁠— Sudden in action, fertile in resource, And rising awful ’mid impending ruins; In splendor gloomy, as the midnight meteor, That fearless thwarts the elemental war. When last in secret conference we met, He scowl’d upon me with suspicious rage, Making his eye the inmate of my bosom. I know he scorns me⁠—and I feel, I hate him⁠— Yet there is in him that which makes me tremble! Exit.
	Enter Tallien and Legendre.
Tallien	It was Barrere, Legendre! didst thou mark him? Abrupt he turn’d, yet linger’d as he went, And towards us cast a look of doubtful meaning.
Legendre	I mark’d him well. I met his eye’s last glance; It menac’d not so proudly as of yore. Methought he would have spoke⁠—but that he dar’d not⁠— Such agitation darken’d on his brow.
Tallien	’Twas all-distrusting guilt that kept from bursting Th’ imprison’d secret struggling in the face: E’en as the sudden breeze upstarting onwards Hurries the thundercloud, that pois’d awhile Hung in mid air, red with its mutinous burden.
Legendre	Perfidious Traitor!⁠—still afraid to bask In the full blaze of power, the rustling serpent Lurks in the thicket of the Tyrant’s greatness, Ever prepared to sting who shelters him. Each thought, each action in himself converges; And love and friendship on his coward heart Shine like the powerless sun on polar ice; To all attach’d, by turns deserting all, Cunning and dark⁠—a necessary villain!
Tallien	Yet much depends upon him⁠—well you know With plausible harangue ’tis his to paint Defeat like victory⁠—and blind the mob With truth-mix’d falsehood. They led on by him, And wild of head to work their own destruction, Support with uproar what he plans in darkness.
Legendre	O what a precious name is Liberty To scare or cheat the simple into slaves! Yes⁠—we must gain him over: by dark hints We’ll show enough to rouse his watchful fears, Till the cold coward blaze a patriot. O Danton! murder’d friend! assist my counsels⁠— Hover around me on sad Memory’s wings, And pour thy daring vengeance in my heart. Tallien! if but tomorrow’s fateful sun Beholds the Tyrant living⁠—we are dead!
Tallien	Yet his keen eye that flashes mighty meanings⁠—
Legendre	Fear not⁠—or rather fear th’ alternative, And seek for courage e’en in cowardice⁠— But see⁠—hither he comes⁠—let us away! His brother with him, and the bloody Couthon, And high of haughty spirit, young St. Just. Exeunt.
	Enter Robespierre, Couthon, St. Just, and Robespierre Junior.
Robespierre	What? did La Fayette fall before my power? And did I conquer Roland’s spotless virtues? The fervent eloquence of Vergniaud’s tongue? And Brissot’s thoughtful soul unbribed and bold? Did zealot armies haste in vain to save them? What! did th’ assassin’s dagger aim its point Vain, as a dream of murder, at my bosom? And shall I dread the soft luxurious Tallien? Th’ Adonis Tallien? banquet-hunting Tallien? Him, whose heart flutters at the dice-box? Him, Who ever on the harlots’ downy pillow Resigns his head impure to feverish slumbers!
St. Just	I cannot fear him⁠—yet we must not scorn him. Was it not Antony that conquer’d Brutus, Th’ Adonis, banquet-hunting Antony? The state is not yet purified: and though The stream runs clear, yet at the bottom lies The thick black sediment of all the factions⁠— It needs no magic hand to stir it up!
Couthon	O we did wrong to spare them⁠—fatal error! Why lived Legendre, when that Danton died? And Collot d’Herbois dangerous in crimes? I’ve fear’d him, since his iron heart endured To make of Lyons one vast human shambles, Compar’d with which the sun-scorcht wilderness Of Zara were a smiling paradise.
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 Lulls to sad sleep the memory of

The Fall of Robespierre

The Fall of Robespierre12

Act I

The Fall of Robespierre1 2