Zanoni — Edward Bulwer-Lytton

“ He amused himself at a stall in bargaining for some books,” “Bargaining for books! Aha, the charlatan! — he would cloak the intriguant under the savant / Well!” “ At last, in the Rue des Fosses Montmartre, an individual in a blue surtout (unknown) accosted him, They walked together about the street some minutes, and were joined by Legendre.” “Legendre! approach, Payan! Legendre, thou hearest! ” “J went into a fruit-stall, and hired two little girls to go and play at ball within hearing. They heard Legendre say, ‘I believe his power is wearing itself out.” And Tallien answered, ‘ And himself too. I would not give three months’ purchase for his life.’ I do not know, citizen, if they meant thee? ” “Nor I, citizen,” answered Robespierre, with a fell smile, succeeded by an expression of gloomy thought. “Ha!” he muttered; “Iam young yet, — in the prime of life. I commit no excess. No; my constitution is sound, sound. Anything farther of Tallien? ” “Yes. The woman whom he loves— Teresa de Fontenai — who lies in prison, still continues to correspond with him; to urge him to save her by thy destruction: this my listeners overheard. His servant is the messenger between the prisoner and himself.” “So! The servant shall be seized in the open streets of Paris. The Reign of Terror is not over yet. With the letters found on him, if such their context, I will pluck Tallien from his benches in the Convention.” Robespierre rose, and after walking a few moments to and fro the room in thought, opened the door and summoned one of the Jacobins without. To him he gave his orders for the watch and arrest of Tallien’s

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servant, and then threw himself again into his chair. As the Jacobin departed, Guérin whispered, — “Tg not that the Citizen Aristides?” “ Yes; a faithful fellow, if he would wash himself, and not swear so much,” “ Didst thou not guillotine his brother? ” “But Aristides denounced him.” “ Nevertheless, are such men safe about thy person? ” “Humph! that is true.” And Robespierre, drawing out his pocket-book, wrote a memorandum i in it, replaced it in his vest, and resumed, — “What else of Tallien?” “Nothing more. He and Legendre, with the unknown, walked to the Jardin Hgalité, and there parted. I saw Tallien to his house. But I have other news. ‘Thou badest me watch for those who threaten thee in secret letters.” “ Guérin! hast thou detected them? Hast thou — hast thou — ” And the tyrant, as he spoke, opened and shut both his hands, as if already grasping the lives of the writers, and one of those convulsive grimaces that seemed like an epileptic affection, to which he was subject, distorted his features. “Citizen, I think I have found one. Thou must know that amongst those most disaffected is the painter Nicot.” “Stay, stay!” said Robespierre, opening a manuscript book, bound in red morocco (for Robespierre was neat and precise, even in his death-lists), and turning to an alphabetical index, — “ Nicot! —I have him, — atheist, sans-culotte (I hate slovens), friend of Hébert! Aha! WN. B,— Réné Dumas knows of his early career and crimes. Proceed! ”

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“This Nicot has been suspected of diffusing tracts and pamphlets against thyself and the Comité. Yesterday evening, when he was out, his porter admitted me into his apartment, Rue Beau Repaire. With my master-key I opened his desk and escritoire. I found therein a drawing of thyself at the guillotine; and underneath was written, ‘ Bowrreau de ton pays, lis Varrét de ton chatiment /’} I compared the words with the fragments of the various letters thou gavest me: the handwriting tallies with one. See, I tore off the writing.” ‘ Robespierre looked, smiled, and, as if his vengeance were already satisfied, threw himself on his chair. “ It is well! I feared it was a more powerful enemy. This man must be arrested at once.” “And he waits below. I brushed by him as I ascended the stairs.” “ Does he so ? — admit! — nay, — hold! hold! Guérin, withdraw into the inner chamber till I summon thee again. Dear Payan, see that this Nicot conceals no weapons.” Payan, who was as brave as Robespierre was pusillanimous, repressed the smile of disdain that quivered on his lips a moment, and left the room. Meanwhile Robespierre, with his head buried in his bosom, seemed plunged in deep thought. “ Life is a melancholy thing, Couthon! ” said he, suddenly. “Begging your pardon, I think death worse,” answered the philanthropist, gently. Robespierre made no rejoinder, but took from his portefeuille that singular letter, which was found afterwards amongst his papers, and is marked LXI. in the published collection.?

1 Executioner of thy country, read the decree of thy punishment! 2 Papiers inédits, ete.s vol. ii. De 156.

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