Chapter Text
Saint-Just walked closer to a figure who was standing on a platform and speaking. There was a crowd listening to him, so Saint-Just blended in.
“Liberté!”
The crowd shouted, “Liberté!”. Saint-Just noticed how familiar the man sounded, and he too shouted with all he had in him.
“Égalité!”
“Égalité!”, Saint-Just’s voice was stronger than anyone else in the crowd. People opened the way for him, softly encouraging him with gentle pats to take a step onto the platform.
The man on the platform was no other than Robespierre. His white ruffled shirt was brighter than the sun, his waistcoat and long jacket resembled one of those many nights they stayed up thinking about the Republic. Robespierre smiled, offering Saint-Just his hand and helping him on the platform. The crowd cheered for them both, “The Angel of Death! The Incorruptible!”
“Will you join me, citizen?” asked Robespierre.
Saint-Just was too surprised to speak, his words were tangled on his tongue. He nodded and smiled. Robespierre, too, mirrored his smile. He turned to the crowd and shouted:
“Fraternité!”
Saint-Just and the crowd shouted just as strongly, “Fraternité!”
Then, as the crowd applauded, Robespierre turned to Saint-Just, “Merci, Monsieur.” Saint-Just smiled, in awe of how glorious the scene was.
A wind blew, untying the pigtail of Robespierre’s wig. He reached for the ribbon and revealed it to Saint-Just. It was the very same piece of fabric that Saint-Just had ripped from his own clothes to care for Robespierre’s wounds. It was now in the colors of the French flag. Saint-Just took it in his hands to examine.
Robespierre smiled, “Raise it to the wind.”
So did Saint-Just. The wind took the cloth from Saint-Just’s hands. It flew over the crowd as they cheered. It landed in front of some columns of a gate to something shaped like a temple. The crowd went away, and the two were left alone. They walked towards the building. It had golden engravings of “Vive la République!” on the gate. They passed through, side by side.
There stood the most beautiful of the gardens. A pigeon came to them, resting on top of Robespierre’s head. “This is home now,” said Robespierre. At first, Saint-Just thought that Robespierre was talking to the pigeon. Then he felt his eyes on himself, and turned to him:
“Our home?”
“Yes. Eternal republic. Here,” said Robespierre, fumbling through his pocket to take something out, “You can even have your fork.”
They laughed. Then, they sat on the grass and closed their eyes. As their restrictive form of the human body slowly turned into something freer, something greater; they inhaled the scent of flowers and orange trees. Everything became more vivid, more lively. As sounds became heavenly, Saint-Just heard Robespierre:
“See? I told you that it would be alright. It’s alright now, everything is alright.”