In Paris. In the apartment Leba. The room windows are wide open. Summer day. In the distance, thunder. Lasts between 10 and 20 messïdora (29 June – 8 July) 1794 g.
Such is Paris. But such is not always,
He was and will. This day, that shines
Bushes and buildings on the way to my
the soul, how to light the way to the cellars,
Do not ever be violent lantern,
Giving up all things in order of heat,
But the century will be, and the warm ray
Turn black as coal, and archives
Inquisitiveness podneset candle to,
What we now blind, revives and warms,
And that, that clarity now sage,
Posterity will ravings of a madman.
He will be in darkness, He goes crazy,
He this day, and God, and the world, and reason.
Ages run, afraid to look,
And for what? To look yourself.
suggest night, afternoons to become a book,
And quenched years, To read in the dark.
but the, in the soul who dwells glory,
looks fate: He brings the night
On their days, afternoons to become a book,
So that in this book to record the glory.
(By Henrietta, busy sewing, lives and proshte)
Who told them, that in order, to live,
enough to be born? who prove,
That this world is like an inn.
Pay simple and go to sleep in the heat and will.
How to explain to the people, that man
Sword of Damocles creator, trap universe,
That the spirit of man has nowhere to live,
When not in the world, create a secondary,
They live in cities,
Bordeaux, in Paris, in Nantes and Lyon,
Tigers in the reeds, like crabs in the sea,
And it is necessary to cut the intelligence glass,
And razdiraty dosugi, and works…
Saint-Just (continues absently)
I say, that labor
There is a moment of delight, turned into years.
Why are you going?
Open the abscess anguish.
When will you come back?
To launch the dirty blood.
I do not understand.
Not at all hours
In Paris, linden thunder clap,
And angry clouds, and, prozrev,
Flashes of lightning and the sky a downpour.
There is not always a thunderstorm. Here calm and sleep.
Here you will not every hour with me.
And there at all hours of the attack.
But there is in fact no…
There, let say: but you're always there.
Let me tell. Mine whether or not
And equal in love or less,
But it's you, and the smell of the city,
The air battles you, and it is available
my soul, and no one to stand up
Between thee in the cloud and breast
my extended, between my
Excitement and insomnia sky.
There's the matter of the spirit guards the dragon
Mediocrity and Saint-Just George,
Here menacing dragon hundredfold,
But here George is a hundred times weaker.
Who is it you burst the abscess?
Live head souls of my orders.
I'm so used to burn and leave
In public track of my self-immolations!
I love, as blue mulled wine,
Smokeless flame opoennyh force
lighted nerves, immersed in thought
end free, as an oil in a candlestick.
No rest at night. You lie
And at night. No nights. Then, that the days
Dimmer current and dreary,
As if the sun is breathing on the glass
And watch your fingers on its conclusions,
Staggering from the heat. Then, that day
Painful day and night magic night.
Dust heat on stubble. swell rays
stretch, as skin drums
Walking by troops………
As it is close to me! How do I akin
All these thoughts. Right, right, right.
And yet I'm asleep; And yet I eat and drink,
And yet I am of sound mind and feelings,
And not with a white seems to me the night,
And the sun does not seem to me purple.
How to sleep, when the new world will be born,
And your thoughts raging silence,
The nations say among themselves
And in your head, as the ball, play,
How to sleep, when the silence of your thoughts
Throws in awe silence, weeds and stars
And the birds does not sleep. All night long
It is worth a sleepless dawn hubbub thicket.
And there is no night. Not worth cleaned
forgotten day, and freezes and does not go
single, eternal, long, longest day.
From a night scene 9 on 10 Thermidor 1794 g.
The interior of the Paris City Hall. Behind the scenes, the signs of preparations for a siege, contracted guns roar, noise, etc.. P. Coffinhal read the decree of the Convention, adding to the outlawed and the audience in the boxes. Town Hall room empties quickly. Haotycheskaya hulkost bezlyudya. Signs of the dawn on the capitals of the columns. The rest is shipped in darkness. Wide office desk in the middle of the tiled area. On the table the candle.
Henriot is on one of the benches lobby. Coffinhal, leba, Kuton, Augustin, Robespierres etc.. In the back of the stage, walk about, saying among themselves, suitable for Henriot. Extension of these in an initial stage inaudible. proscenium. At the table with a candle: Saint-Just and Maximilien Robespierre. Saint-Just walking around. Robespierre was sitting at the table, Both are silent. Anxiety and stupor.
Leave. I pray thee. I wondered.
BUT! I'm stopping you?
A long silence.
Are you here, Saint-Just? Where was it all?
Bastille, Versailles, October and August?
Saint-Just stop, looking with surprise
They are coming?
I can not hear.
Stop doing that.
After all, I told you. I need to remember.
Do not you know: Augustin warned
I do not know.
You do not know.
Do not ask questions. Can not
Collect my thoughts. how beater? hush.
have a plan. Why are you here? Go, go!
I feel you, the proximity of the mouse,
And I remember thinking. May be,
Not too late. However, stay.
Now. Naidu. broke off! Yes. Now.
Do not go. I need you. ABOUT, devil!
But is there a torture! Those who ask,
What was I thinking only? How to remember!
silence. Saint-Just walking around.
they hear. hush. give scarf.
well yes. I need you. ABOUT, devil!
Go, go! killing! Can not!
Neither thought a whirlwind. I have forgotten how to think!
(rale, slapping his forehead)
Further words apply to the head of Robespierre.
At the last moment, a fool! After all, who,
save yourself; mares rested!
worked wonders! Get wine.
Call virgins! mockery! “Incorruptible”
His saintly devotees head
And it betrays killers!
I dedicate it all, that devote
Sometimes a hurry and watch MiGs passion.
Danton did not understand me. bounder,
He did not even dream, that the world
There is a stronghold of the mind, have things
reason, There is a notion barricades
And riots dreams, and delight
Elevated revolts pure thought.
He was is criminal, let us say; is not about.
But do not you eh, not to honor your sacrifice there at
I just brought it. You.
You, only you were my Baal.
What's the matter, Robespierre?
I am outraged
Confusion this vile creature!
Had tried. Can not. Cold sweat,
Dry mist that's all her work.
Dry throat. Emptiness,
And waste in bone, and no thought.
No, thought there, but how can I convey
their fine, rat pace!
That is if the thought. I run across. No. Again
That is if. No. That is if. slammed. Empty!
Have a second I! And head
Dissolute not endure Robespierre!
Leave tear himself. let it
philander. Let it wander
No, at first! From what
And I resent. I found a minute!
I found when! pretty. remains
Curse her and surrender. I give up.
Let it wander. You asked,
Where was it all: October and August,
second day of June.
Robespierre (vpereboy, about his)
Drop it. And I
I thought about it.
remembered. for a moment!
Drop it. It is not necessary. meanwhile
I also thought. How could it happen.
After all, I ask! During this debate words…
So it is.
pause, during which Coffinhal, bread
And others go, and the background becomes empty,
excluding Henriot, who is asleep and does not count.
Robespierre (rale, in despair)
Were not you. pretty
I'm listening to. Well you? more,
lost all. After all, I said,, that gave.
Well down Do. forgive. I am not myself.
And it is so natural. You're a mouse
He compared me with your idea of a rat.
Yes, This is true. Yes, rushing around like rats
The burning house ideas. Yes, they
Gifted with intuition and before fire
lifts the muzzle, and teeming
I do not mind he is not alone, but the kingdoms of the world,
Overcome brain legwork
Podkurennyh smell horrible death
agile animals: filthy, vile thoughts.
We are not alone, not, all we passed through it
horrible Poznan, and all
It was the penultimate hour of the day and the last,
But won many uproar
Nagleyuschih underground and ascended
With a smile on the block. And there was
History of Assembly of the Republic
dying days. May be, no one
Not visited were not warned
And there was not a natural death.
But this is not the answer. Where Couthon?
went upstairs. All in the upper chamber. Listen.
France did not speak:
“I do not know, that promises me a future day”,
It does not become mysteries. but each, passing
by area – Museum explicit ordinances,
Exhibition Konchin, could witness
Their fate in idle and in.
far from thinking. No.
But the annals of the republic has a story
Greatness dying days. Herself
Country as it kept a diary afterworld,
And it is not the alternation of nights
From sunrise cast a colorful glow of
on France; But the global turnover,
sunset universe, Black Death of the West
Guarding it and we lay in wait…