Zanoni — Edward Bulwer-Lytton

“Without doubt,” it began, “ you are uneasy at not having earlier received news from me. Be not alarmed; you know that I ought only to reply by our ordinary courier; and as he has been interrupted, dans sa derniére course, that is the cause of my delay. When you receive this, employ all diligence to fly a theatre where you are about to appear and disappear for the last time. It were idle to recall to you all the reasons that expose you to peril. The last step that should place you sur le sopha de la présidence, but brings you to the scaffold ; and the mob will spit on your face as it has spat on those whom you have judged. Since, then, you have accumulated here a sufficient treasure for existence, I await you with great impatience, to laugh with you at the part you have played in the troubles of a nation as credulous as it is avid of novelties. Take your part according to our arrangements, —all is prepared. I conclude, — our courier waits. I expect your reply.”

Musingly and slowly the Dictator devoured the contents of this epistle. “No,” he said to himself, — “no; he who has tasted power can no longer enjoy repose. Yet, Danton, Danton! thou wert right; better to be a poor fisherman than to govern men.” ? The door opened, and Payan reappeared and whispered Robespierre, “ All is safe! See the man.” The Dictator, satisfied, summoned his attendant Jacobin to conduct Nicot to his presence. The painter entered with a fearless expression in his deformed features, and stood erect before Robespierre, who scanned him with a sidelong eye. It is remarkable that most of the principal actors of

1“ 7] vaudrait mieux,” said Danton, in his dungeon, “étre un pauvre pécheur que de gouverner les hommes.”

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the Revolution were singularly hideous in appearance, —from the colossal ugliness of Mirabeau and Danton, or the villanous ferocity in the countenances of David and Simon, to the filthy squalor of Marat, tbe sinister and bilious meanness of the Dictator’s features. But Robespierre, who was said to resemble a cat, had also a cat’s cleanness; and his prim and dainty dress, his shaven smoothness, the womanly whiteness of his lean hands, made yet more remarkable the disorderly ruffianism that characterized the attire and mien of the paintersans-culotte. “And so, citizen,” said Robespierre, mildly, “thou wouldst speak with me? I know thy merits and civism have been overlooked too long. Thou wouldst ask some suitable provision in the state? Scruple not — say on!” “Virtuous Robespierre, toi qui éclaires l’univers,' I come not to ask a favor, but to render service to the state. I have discovered a correspondence that lays open a conspiracy of which many of the actors are yet unsuspected.” And he placed the papers on the table. Robespierre seized, and ran his eye over them rapidly and eagerly, “ Good! — good!” he muttered to himself: “ this is all I wanted. Barrere, Legendre! I have them! Camille Desmoulins was but their dupe. I loved him ence; I never loved them! Citizen Nicot, I thank thee. I observe these letters are addressed to an Englishman. What Frenchman but must distrust these English wolves in sheep’s clothing! France wants no longer citizens of the world; that farce ended with Anarcharsis Clootz. I beg pardon, Citizen Nicot; but Clootz and Hébert were thy friends.”

1 Thou who enlightenest the world

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“Nay,” said Nicot, apologetically, “ we are all liable to be deceived. I ceased to honor them whom thou didst declare against; for I disown my own senses rather than thy justice.” “Yes, I pretend to justice; that is the virtue I affect, ” said Robespierre, meekly; and with his feline propensities he enjoyed, even in that critical hour of vast schemes, of imminent danger, of meditated revenge, the pleasure of playing with a solitary victim. “And my justice shall no longer be blind to thy services, good Nicot. Thou knowest this Glyndon?” “Yes, well,—intimately. He was my friend, but I would give up my brother if he were one of the ‘ indulgents.’ I am not ashamed to say that I have received favors from this man.” “ Aha! — and thou dost honestly hold the doctrine that where a man threatens my life all personal favors are to be forgotten ?” “ All! ” “ Good citizen ! — kind Nicot ! — oblige me by writing the address of this Glyndon.” Nicot stooped to the table; and sudderly, when the pen was in his hand, a thought flashed across him, and he paused, embarrassed and confused. “Write on, kind Nicot!” The painter slowly obeyed. “Who are the other familiars of Glyndon?” “Tt was on that point I was about to speak to thee, Représentant,” said Nicot. “ He visits daily a woman, a foreigner, who knows all his secrets; she affects to be

1 The most detestable anecdote of this peculiar hypocrisy in Robespierre is that in which he is recorded to have tenderly pressed the hand of his old school-friend, Camille Desmoulins, the day that he signed the warrant for his arrest.

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