assembly: there was no sign in visible characters of this power which
was all within; he was the last word of the Revolution, but no one could
read him.

Robespierre's figure was small, his limbs feeble and angular, his step
irresolute, his attitudes affected, his gestures destitute of harmony or
grace; his voice, rather shrill, aimed at oratorical inflexions, but
only produced fatigue and monotony; his forehead was good, but small and
extremely projecting above the temples, as if the mass and embarrassed
movement of his thoughts had enlarged it by their efforts; his eyes,
much covered by their lids and very sharp at the extremities, were
deeply buried in the cavities of their orbits; they gave out a soft blue
hue, but it was vague and unfixed, like a steel reflector on which a
light glances; his nose straight and small was very wide at the
nostrils, which were high and too expanded; his mouth was large, his
lips thin and disagreeably contracted at each corner; his chin small and
pointed, his complexion yellow and livid, like that of an invalid or a
man worn out by vigils and meditations. The habitual expression of this
visage was that of superficial serenity on a serious mind, and a smile
wavering betwixt sarcasm and condescension. There was softness, but of a
sinister character. The prevailing characteristic of this countenance
was the prodigious and continual tension of brow, eyes, mouth, and all
the facial muscles; in regarding him it was perceptible that the whole
of his features, like the labour of his mind, converged incessantly on a
single point with such power that there was no waste of will in his
temperament, and he appeared to foresee all he desired to accomplish, as
though he had already the reality before his eyes. Such then was the man
destined to absorb in himself all those men, and make them his victims
after he had used them as his instruments. He was of no party, but of
all parties which in their turn served his ideal of the Revolution. In