his death!
Fouquer-Tinville
But yet
You gave him credit in this note for love
Of France, our France. You tricked him.
Charlotte
Like a viper.
He was a mad-dog, dog-leech, alley rat,
With bits of carrion festering ’twixt his teeth,
Hair glued with ordure, urine. Why not trick
By best means, so to catch a beast with fangs
As venomous as his? He was a fire
That crawled and licked its way; why not put out
The fire by water, snuffing, stamping, why
Be precious of the means?
Madam Evard
You know me, woman?
Charlotte
You struck me when I stabbed him. You’re his whore!
Madam Evard
Oh! Oh!
Robespierre
(To Danton) This is enough! When fury claws at fury. I hear the tumbril for her. Come!
Danton
The slut!
(Danton and Robespierre leave the room together.)
Charlotte
Was that not Robespierre who left the room?
Fouquer-Tinville
Why do you ask?
Charlotte
I wanted him for counsel.
Fouquer-Tinville
For what? The guillotine?
Charlotte
(Shrinking) You monster! You!
Montané
Have you a lawyer?
Charlotte
No! I wrote Doulcet.
He shirks the honor, doubtless; have not heard.
I thought of Chabot and of Robespierre.
Montané
Chaveau-Lagarde shall counsel you. Proceed!
Fouquer-Tinville
Is this your letter?
Charlotte
Yes.
Fouquer-Tinville
This letter here
Is written to a man named Barbarous,
Her lover—
Charlotte
No! You monster!
Fouquer-Tinville
Very well!
Is this yours: “To the French, friends of the laws,
And friends of peace.”
Charlotte
Yes! I admit what’s true.
Fouquer-Tinville
And is this yours: “To the Committee of Public Safety”?
Charlotte
I wrote it, yes.
Fouquer-Tinville
Let’s see now what’s her mind.
This letter to the friends of peace and laws:—
“O France, thy peace depends upon the laws.”
Laws! And she hastens to the cutler’s shop,
And buys a knife with which to slay Marat.
Now look! This friend of France’s peace and laws
Must dodge self-contradiction. How? That’s plain:
“I do not break the law, killing Marat.”
Why? What’s Marat? A man? Of course, a man.
But then an “out-law,” as she writes. How’s that?
Outlawed by whom? Charlotte Corday of Caen!
What else? A man! But then condemned. By whom?
“The universe.” Voila! The universe
Is swallowed by her swollen vanity.
She speaks for God, for solar systems, stars;
Adjudges laws, interprets, executes;
Is greater than the Revolution, France.
She’s a descendant of the great Corneille;
A stage imagination, actress, acts,
And quotes here in this letter from Voltaire’s
“Mort de César.” Now listen what her hate
Has used for whetrock, in the words of Brutus:
“Whether the world astonished loads my name “And deed with horror, admiration, censure, “I do not care, nor care to live in Time. “I act indifferent to reproach or glory, “A free, untrameled patriot am I. “Duty accomplished I shall rest content. “Think only, friends, how you may break your chains.” So Brutus lives in her! And like disease Loosed from the crumbling cerements and dust Of broken tombs, the madness which slew Cæsar Infects, makes mad this woman; and she slays The great Marat! She does not care for the world’s Censure or admiration! Does not care To live in time! She lies! Why, in this room A man, Huer, is sketching her. Behold He’s drawing now her face for Time to see. And in this letter written to the Committee She says: “Since I have little time to live, “I trust you will permit me to have painted “My portrait.” Why? If careless if she live In memory or time? The secret’s out, And written in her hand: “I want to leave “A picture for remembrance to my friends.” What friends? Her father?
