These words will never be recorded – never be transcribed into the annal’s of history, the lament of the one’s chained to doom. I would scream to the very heavens for eternity if I thought for a moment that it would make a difference… this isn’t fair.
I know it’s childish, this fear of death – but I assure you, Camille, I go into God’s hands with my head held high. It is not the act of dying I am afraid of. No, surely not, what I fear is what I am leaving in this world of the living.
This revolution was born from the fruits of OUR LABOURS, Camille, the sweat from our brows and our backs greased the cogs of this machine. We changed the very foundation of France, overthrowing the corrupt monarchy and all we get for it is an early unwanted death. For our services to our country we are rewarded with oblivion.
Oh Camille, what wondrous men we were, what wondrous men we could have been.
Camille, they will surely weep for us. Take some little comfort from that.
I curse you Robespierre.
I curse you Robespierre, such that your soul will never find it’s way into God’s light. I curse you, such that your spirit will be spit out of heaven and you will spend eternity falling, ever falling. Falling, in the way that the wind will rip you from history and your insanity will be dissolved into the air.
I curse you.
We once had, if not brotherhood, at least mutual understanding. We were creating a France that our children would be proud of. I know not when your idealism became madness but I must have failed to see the signs, because I was not prepared for all the murders, and all the terror that you instilled into this country.
Robespierre, you will follow me into dissolution. I will drag you down screaming, and we will fall together.
“Don’t forget to show my head to the people. It’s well worth seeing.”
In the dying light of day the great leader seemed to be rising out of his tomb as much as preparing to descend into it. Never was anything more bold than that great athlete’s countenance, never anything more formidable than the look of that profile which seemed to defy the knife. That great head, even as it was about to fall, appeared to be in the act of dictating laws.
Georges Danton, born on October 26th 1759, and died on April 5th 1794.