Speak not of vengeance! Speak not of maltreatment!
The Emperor is appeased; the heavy fault
Hath heavily been expiated-nothing
Descended from the father to the daughter,
Except his glory and his services.

The Empress honors your adversity,

Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you
Her motherly arms! Therefore no farther fears;
Yield yourself up in hope and confidence
To the Imperial Grace!

COUNTESS (with her eye raised to heaven)
To the grace and mercy of a greater Master
Do I yield up myself Where shall the body
Of the Duke have its place of final rest?
In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found
At Gitschin, rest the Countess Wallenstein;
And by her side, to whom he was indebted
For his first fortunes, gratefully he wish'd
He might sometime repose in death! O let him
Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's
Remains, I ask the like grace. The Emperor
Is now proprietor of all our Castles.

This sure may well be granted us-one sepulchre
Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers!

[He reads the address, and delivers the letter to OCTAVIO with a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the word.

To the Prince Piccolomini.

[OCTAVIO, with his whole frame expressive of sudden anguish, raises his eyes to heaven.

(The Curtain drops.)

BARRERE.

ACCEPT, as a small testimony of my grateful attach-
ment, the following Dramatic Poem, in which I have
endeavored to detail, in an interesting form, the fall
of a man, whose great bad actions have cast a dis- The tempest gathers—be it mine to seek
astrous lustre on his name. In the execution of the A friendly shelter, ere it bursts upon him.
work, as intricacy of plot could not have been at-
tempted without a gross violation of recent facts, it
has been my sole aim to imitate the impassioned and
highly figurative language of the French Orators,
and to develop the characters of the chief actors on
a vast stage of horrors.

Yours fraternally,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

JESUS COLLEGE, September 22, 1794.

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!
[Exil.

Transparent mask

They wish to clog the wheels of government,
Forcing the hand that guides the vast machine
To bribe them to their duty-English patriots!
Are not the congregated clouds of war
Black all around us? In our very vitals
Works not the king-bred poison of rebellion?
Say, what shall counteract the selfish plottings
Of wretches, cold of heart, nor awed by fears
Of him, whose power directs th' eternal justice?
Terror? or secret-sapping gold? The first
Heavy, but transient as the ills that cause it;
And to the virtuous patriot render'd light
By the necessities that gave it birth:
The other fouls the fount of the republic,
Making it flow polluted to all ages;
Inoculates the state with a slow venom,
That, once imbibed, must be continued ever.
Myself incorruptible, I ne'er could bribe them-
Therefore they hate me.

ROBESPIERRE.

There are who wish my ruin-but I'll make them
Blush for the crime in blood!

BARRERE.

Nay, but I tell thou Thou art too fond of slaughter-and the right (If right it be) workest by most foul means!

ROBESPIERRE.

Self-centering Fear! how well thou canst ape Mercy.
Too fond of slaughter!-matchless hypocrite!
Thought Barrere so, when Brissot, Danton died?
Thought Barrere so, when through the streaming

streets

Of Paris red-eyed Massacre o'er-wearied
Reel'd heavily, intoxicate with blood?
And when (O heavens!) in Lyons' death-red square
Sick Fancy groan'd o'er putrid hills of slain,
Didst thou not fiercely laugh, and bless the day?
Why, thou hart been the mouth-piece of all horrors,
And, like a blood-hound, crouch'd for murder! Now
Aloof thou standest from the tottering pillar,
Or, like a frighted child behind its mother,
Hidest thy pale face in the skirts of Mercy!

[Exit SERVANT

O this new freedom! at how dear a price
We've bought the seeming good! The peaceful virtues
And every blandishment of private life,
The father's cares, the mother's fond endearment,
All sacrificed to Liberty's wild riot.
The winged hours, that scatter'd roses round me,
Languid and sad drag their slow course along,
And shake big gall-drops from their heavy wings.
But I will steal away these anxious thoughts
By the soft languishment of warbled airs,
If haply melodies may lull the sense
Are the sections friendly? Of sorrow for a while.

BARRERE.

215

Ah! rather let me ask what mystery lowers
On Tallien's darken'd brow. Thou dost me wrong-
Thy soul distemper'd, can my heart be tranquil?

TALLIEN.

Tell me, by whom thy brother's blood was spilt?
Asks he not vengeance on these patriot murderers?
It has been borne too tamely. Fears and curses
Groan on our midnight beds, and e'en our dreams
Threaten the assassin hand of Robespierre.
He dies!-nor has the plot escaped his fears.

BOURDON L'OISE.

[ADELAIDE retires

Tallien! was this a time for amorous conference?
Henriot, the tyrant's most devoted creature,
Marshals the force of Paris: the fierce club,
With Vivier at their head, in loud acclaim
Have sworn to make the guillotine in blood

Float on the scaffold.-But who comes here ?
Enter BARRERE abruptly.

BARRERE.

Say, are ye friends to Freedom? I am her's!
Let us, forgetful of all common feuds,
Rally around her shrine! E'en now the tyrant
Concerts a plan of instant massacre!

BILLAUD VARENNES.

Away to the Convention! with that voice
So oft the herald of glad victory,

Rouse their fallen spirits, thunder in their ears
The names of tyrant, plunderer, assassin!
The violent workings of my soul within
Anticipate the monster's blood?

[Cry from the street of—“No Tyrant! Down with
the Tyrant!"

TALLIEN.

Even for a moment hold his fate suspended,
Hear ye that outcry?—If the trembling members

I swear, by the holy poniard that stabb'd Cæsar,
This dagger probes his heart!

ACT II.

[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE.-The Convention.
ROBESPIERRE (mounts the Tribune).
Once more befits it that the voice of Truth,
Fearless in innocence, though leaguer'd round
By Envy and her hateful brood of hell,
Be heard amid this hall; once more befits
The patriot, whose prophetic eye so oft
Has pierced through faction's veil, to flash on crimes
Of deadliest import. Mouldering in the grave
Sleeps Capet's caitiff corse; my daring hand
Levell'd to earth his blood-cemented throne,
My voice declared his guilt, and stirr'd up France
To call for vengeance. I too dug the grave
Where sleep the Girondists, detested band!
Long with the show of freedom they abused
Her ardent sons. Long time the well-turn'd phrase
Hate him as they fear him, of declamation, thunder'd in this hall,
The high-fraught sentence, and the lofty tone

ADELAIDE.

Yet-yet-be cautious! much I fear the Commune-
The tyrant's creatures, and their fate with his
Fast link'd in close indissoluble union.
The Pale Convention-

TALLIEN.

Impatient of the chain, resolved and ready.

ADELAIDE.

Th' enthusiast mob, Confusion's lawless sons

TALLIEN.

They are aweary of his stern morality,
The fair-mask'd offspring of ferocious pride.
The sections too support the delegates :
All-all is ours! e'en now the vital air
Of Liberty, condensed awhile, is bursting
(Force irresistible!) from its compressure-
To shatter the arch-chemist in the explosion!

Till reason 'midst a labyrinth of words
Perplex'd, in silence seem'd to yield assent.
I durst oppose. Soul of my honor'd friend!
Spirit of Marat, upon thee I call-

Thou know'st me faithful, know'st with what wa.

zeal

I urged the cause of justice, stripp'd the mask
From Faction's deadly visage, and destroy'd
Her traitor brood. Whose patriot arm hurl'd down
Hebert and Rousin, and the villain friends
|Of Danton, foul apostate! those, who long
Mask'd Treason's form in Liberty's fair garb,

Long deluged France with blood, and durst defy
Omnipotence! but I, it seems, am false!
I am a traitor too! I-Robespierre!
I—at whose name the dastard despot brood

Look pale with fear, and call on saints to help them!
Who dares accuse me? who shall dare belie
My spotless name? Speak, ye accomplice band,
Of what am I accused? of what strange crime
Is Maximilian Robespierre accused,

That through this hall the buzz of discontent
Should murmur? who shall speak?

Brother, by my soul
More dear I hold thee to my heart, that thus
With me thou darest to tread the dangerous path
Of virtue, than that Nature twined her cords
Of kindred round us.

BARRERE.

Yes, allied in guilt,
Even as in blood ye are. Oh, thou worst wretch,
Thou worse than Sylla! hast thou not proscribed,
Yea, in most foul anticipation slaughter'd,
Each patriot representative of France?

BOURDON L'OISE.

Was not the younger Caesar too to reign
O'er all our valiant armies in the south,
And still continue there his merchant wiles?

ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR.

His merchant wiles! Oh, grant me patience, Heaven'
Was it by merchant wiles I gain'd you back
Toulon, when proudly on her captive towers
Waved high the English flag? or fought I then
With merchant wiles, when sword in hand I led
Your troops to conquest? Fought I merchant-like,
Or barter'd I for victory, when death
Strode o'er the reeking streets with giant stride,
And shook his ebon plumes, and sternly smiled
Amid the bloody banquet? when appall'd,
The hireling sons of England spread the sail