That Terror's reign hath ceas'd--that axe and sceptre Are both alike disown'd, destroyed forever. Let us impeach him, Frenchmen, with the spirit That springs from conscious rectitude of purpose. Patriots arise! and with uplifted hands Attest your deep abhorrence of this man, And your consent that he be now arrested! (_members rising in disorder_.) Away, away with him--arrest him guards! To the Conciergerie--away with him! (_President rising._) The National Convention have decreed The arrest of Maximilien Robespierre. _Robes._ (_to St. Just_.) The day is theirs--with wrath and with despair My utterance is chok'd. Oh, were my breath A pestilential gale to sting their lives! (_to the President_.) Order me to be slain where now I stand, Or grant me liberty of speech. (_President_.) Thy name is Robespierre--it is enough, And speaks for thee far more than thou wilt tell us. _Robes._ (_to St. Just_.) Come thou with me--I see an opening yet To victory, or a funeral pile--whose light Shall dazzle France and terrify the world. (_Robespierre, St. Just and others taken out by the guards_.[2]) [Footnote 2: It may be well to recall to the reader's recollection, that Robespierre subsequently escaped from his guards to the Hotel de Ville. But such partisans as rallied around him speedily deserted, when a proclamation of outlawry from the Convention was issued against him, and enforced by pointing cannon against the building. After an ineffectual attempt at suicide he was conveyed in a cart to the guillotine, July 28th, 1794. The language put into his mouth in the following pages, is of course inconsistent with historical probability, as he had wounded himself with a pistol ball in the lower part of his face.] SCENE V. ROBESPIERRE AND ST. JUST IN A CART CONDUCTED BY GUARDS TOWARDS THE PLACE DE GRÊVE. _St. Just._--So here ends our part in a tragic farce, Hiss'd off the stage, my friend--ha, ha! (_laughing_.) I am content--I mean I am resigned-- As well die now as later. Does your wound Pain you severely that you look so gravely? Cheer thee, my comrade, we shall quickly learn The last dread secret of our frail existence, Few moments more will cut our barks adrift Upon an ocean, boundless and unknown, Even to ourselves who have despatched so many To explore for us its dark and fathomless depths. Give me some wine. (_they give him wine_.) Here's to a merry voyage! What in the fiend's name art thou musing on! _Robes._--My thoughts were with the past--the days of youth, And peace, and innocence, and woman's love, And ardent hope--the blossoms of a life So baleful in its fruits. This day, the last Of my career, is the anniversary Of one, from which my after life may date Its withering influence. Wouldst thou not think That I, whom thou hast known for a few years, Must ever have been, even from my earliest youth, A hard and cruel man?