"Wake from your sleep
The drying of your tears
Today, we escape, we escape"
Maximilien... Wake up... We need to go...
When did I last say these words? It comes back from so far away. It was another life. Ages ago. When kings were still divine. When we were all servants. When I was nothing. And she was nothing. Thérèse.
"Pack and get dressed
Before your father hears us
Before all hell breaks loose"
If only I had known, if only she had found a way to write to me... In another world I came back from college sooner and stopped this sham of a marriage. I saved her. We escaped. Young fools. Not even 20 yet. We had no rights then. We were nothing. No. That's not true. We were never nothing.
She came back to me but everything was different now. I was someone else. So was she. I wiped her tears. Did I?
Maxime, you're crying too. You're crying in your sleep. Let me dry your tears. Why are my fingertips red? They're not tears.
"Breathe, keep breathing
Don't lose your nerve
Breathe, keep breathing
I can't do this alone"
He interrupted me. Never thought that coward would get the nerve. I lost my voice. I lost the fight. I lost the war. It was over already.
Maxime, we need to go. You need to go. Please. But... but... Please don't leave me alone. I'm so selfish.
Am I cold?
I feel so cold.
"Sing us a song
A song to keep us warm
There's such a chill, such a chill"
Memories from Alsace.
Philippe sang. I too could sing once. Sing for Élisabeth. Sing for Thérèse. But I never sang for Maxime.
Memories of evenings spent with the Duplay family. I can hear Philippe's violin. A cozy home. A neverending golden age. A new world being born, being lived. It's already dead.
Philippe is already dead. And cold.
No, Philippe, no, you're not cold.
There's warmth by the fireplace.
I remember after we came back from Alsace... It was only for a few days. We were going back in a few days, bringing Babet with us. Henriette too. Babet's eyes burned brightly, softly, like the hearth. Her smile was warm. Listening to your songs. Her hand on her pregnant belly. A little Philippe. Newborn like our dreams. Our revolution.
What will happen to them?
"And you can laugh
A spineless laugh
We hope your rules and wisdom choke you
Now we are one in everlasting peace"
I can hear those cowards laugh. Laugh at him. At us. At me. Us. Both. Above us, the rights of man and citizen. Despite it all, we did this. Something will live on. Our names together united.
'The blood of Danton is choking you', screamed one of the cowards. And so they made him choke on his own blood. And they laugh. They laugh. They laugh. They ask him to speak now. And they laugh more. As he lays dying. But they keep him from this sweet release. They torture him. They need him. His head as a triumph. A half-dead man. His hand is cold.
May his blood choke you. May you never know peace. This alliance you forged in our blood only to save your pathetic lives. Live them. May you live as long as you purchased with our blood, the blood of the republic you just sacrificed. May you age and fade.
It has always been so, hasn't it?
No it has not.
No it will not be.
We will live.
We will only rest. Rest in the tomb. Where the true revolutionary rests.
But we will live.
We will live forever. In eternity. In the centuries and in the skies.
We're only going to sleep. And we will dream.
You will not.
"We hope that you choke, that you choke
We hope that you choke, that you choke
We hope that you choke, that you choke"