The weight upon his mind must have been immense, for Robespierre was not
a thoughtless, wild fanatic, carried by the multitude whether they
pleased: he led the people of Paris, and led them with a fixed object.
He was progressing by one measure deeply calculated to the age of
reason, which he was assured was coming; and that one measure was the
extermination of all who would be likely to oppose him. The extent of
his power, the multiplicity of his cares, the importance of his every
word and act, and the personal danger in which he lived, might have
ruffled the equanimity of a higher-spirited man than he is supposed to
have been; but yet, to judge from his countenance, his mind was calm;
the traces of thought were plain on his brow, but there was none of the
impatience of a tyrant about his mouth, nor of the cruelty of an
habitual blood-shedder in his eyes. His forehead showed symptoms of
deep thought, and partially redeemed the somewhat mean effect of his
other features. The sharp nose, the thin lips, the cold grey eyes, the
sallow sunken cheeks, were those of a precise, passionless,
self-confident man, little likely to be led into any excess of love or
hatred, but little likely also to be shaken in his resolve either for
good or evil.
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