Just days ago, Maximilien de Robespierre was the most feared man in all of France. A mere word could result in a man being sent to his death. Now, the once-great orator sits silent and alone in a dark cell, his jaw shattered from a failed suicide at...
Maximilien opened his eyes, not realizing that they had been closed. He was tired. He was so damn tired. Maybe it'd be easier to sleep through his last hours. Perhaps they'd let him sleep on his way to the guillotine. There was no way he could walk or stand. Better to sleep through it all and wake up dead. Then he wouldn't have to endure the cheers of the people who once loved him.
He hoped Charlotte wouldn't be there. She'd already indured enough with Henriette's death. She didn't need to see the deaths of her last remaining family as well. Nothing good would come from it if she did attend. It wasn't as if there would last goodbyes. No. The twenty-two men would be fed to the bloodthirsty blade of Madame la Guillotine before the barbaric screaming crowd of vengeful Parisians.
I need it, Maximilien decided. I need to sleep. His head hurt too much. Not that I'll have to worry about that for much longer, he thought, softly laughing. He immediately regretted his decision. His jaw seared with pain and his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood, but after hundreds of mouthfuls of blood Maximilien was finding it easier to bear. He leaned contently against the cold wall and let himself fall asleep, far from his fears of death.
"M-Maximilien," the stuttering voice of Camille Desmoulins said. Maximilien looked up in surprise to see him holding out one hand. "Bonjour. It's g-g-good to see you again." Maximilien stretched out one hand to take it then paused, remembering what he'd done. Against his better judgement he took the other man's hand in his after seeing Camille's reassuring smile.
"I-," he stopped, tears filling his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't mean for it to happen. Any of this! Not to you, or Georges, or... or anyone," Maximilien sobbed. Camille nodded sympathetically and embraced his shaking friend.
"It's ok M-maxime. I understand why you d-did it. Although I don't really appreciate it and I don't think Georges does either." He smiled to show that he had no hard feelings. Maximilien half laughed, half hiccuped, feeling at ease in the presence of his old friend.
"How's little Horace? Have you found someone to look after my boy?"
"Oui. He's being well taken care of by Lucille's sisters. I've tried to check on him, but they won't even let me near the house." The two sat in silence for a moment or two before Maximilien spoke again "Did it... did it hurt," he asked. "Dying I mean." Camille nodded gravely. A feeling of terror tore through Maximilien's body and he instinctively put one hand to his throat, eyes wide. Camille laughed.
"I'm only j-j-joking Maxime," he choked out, doubling over with laughter. "You should h-have seen your face!" Maximilian scowled.
"That's not very nice of you," he said pointedly. "I was terrified."
"You? The Incorruptible? Sc-scared? I bet," Camille said smirking. "And speaking of n-nice, I might not have been nice with m-my little joke, but neither were you and Saint-Just for sending me to the g-guillotine!" Maximilian fiddled nervously with lace edge of his cravat. Of course, he would bring that up."But h-here we are I suppose." Maximilian sighed exasperatedly. Trust Camille to make you feel bad about something then disregard it as nothing.
"What is it actually like," he asked. "Does it hurt?" Camille shook his head, a look of deep thought evident on his face.
"No. I don't think so anyway. Quicker and easier than falling asleep in my opinion. Unless falling asleep is hard for you. Then it's easier than that." Maximilien let out his breath slowly. At least he wasn't going to die painfully, but then again that was the reason the guillotine was invented. To be a 'more humane' form of execution.
"I... I'm glad you and Georges didn't have to suffer. Can you ever forgive me for what I did?" Camille grinned slyly.
"I might be able to, but I'm not sure if I can say the same for the rest of France." Camille pulled Maximilien into a hug. "My god I've missed you. I'll see you soon, alright?" Tears streamed from Maximilien's eyes as he clung to his friend. After a short while, he nodded. "Be brave Maxime," Camille said as the dream faded away. "Be brave for me."
Maximilien woke to find his face wet with tears. He took a deep breath and carefully rubbed them from his face. There was no use crying anymore. Any moment they could come and take him to the guillotine. Then I'll be able to see Camille again! And Danton! And all the other people you killed, a nagging voice in his mind said.
No, Maximilien thought, scolding himself. You're wrong! I didn't kill them! We all did. It was put to a vote. While I did participate in it, I didn't do it alone.
Once again footsteps echoed out in the hallway. Maximilien tensed at the sound. They drew closer and closer until they stopped outside of the cell door. Please no, he begged internally praying that they'd pass him by, just as they had the previous day. For a fleeting moment, he sat with bated breath until he heard the jingling of keys in the door's lock. It was over. His life, the revolution, his reminiscing. Everything.
"C'est l'heure Citizen Robespierre," the guard said softly, opening the door. "We have some men with us to help walk you to your transportation." Maximilien nodded shakily. I need to be brave, he told himself. I can do it. Two armed men entered the room and pulled him roughly to his feet. Dark spots danced before his eyes and a wave of nausea washed over him. "The carts are waiting outside," the guard said to the other two. "Bring him there. The others are waiting."
"Come on, tyrant," one of the guards said, laughing. "Let's go." He shoved Maximilien forward, almost pushing him to the ground. Days ago they would have been executed for this behavior, Maximilien thought wistfully. Although anyone could have been executed for almost any reason then.
The guards half marched, half dragged Maximilien through the building and outside to where multiple open carts waited. The others, he noticed while squinting into the sun, were already loaded into their respective carts. Saint-Just was one of the only men standing on his own. The others, including a bloody-faced Augustin, were being supported by more guards. Maximilien swallowed hard. Agustin was worse than he had imagined. His handsome features were all twisted at odd angles, dark bruises and deep cuts were all over his body, and his dark hair was matted with blood. A large bird circled overhead, looming and waiting for the death that would soon come. Maximilien shuddered. There was the reason he was fond of small birds. Again he thought fleetingly of his sisters again and the little bird they'd killed so many years ago.
With a guard's help, Maximilien took his place in the bloodstained open cart with Augustin. The hot Thermidor sun beat down on his head, sweat trickling down his neck. He breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh air and what were soon to be the last breaths he'd ever take. His brother shifted slightly at his right.
"Maxime," he whispered, a note of fear evident in his voice. "Maxime, I'm scared." Maximilien swallowed and slipped his bound hand into his brother's. No longer was Augustin his fellow revolutionary, and supporter. Now all Maximilien could see was the dirty little boy who had been so frightened of thunderstorms and spiders back at their home in Arras. The boy he'd sworn to protect. The one he was indirectly killing.
"Me too," Maximilien whispered back, fighting through the pain it took to speak. That's the first time I've admitted it out loud, he realized as the cart started to roll. Never during any part of the revolution had he confessed his fears to someone else. Not to Camille, not to Danton, not even to Saint-Just, he thought incredulously. Then again, this is the most I've ever been scared.
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