A tremor of curiosity ran through the crowd who, mad with excitement, poured forth their welcome in a storm of enthusiastic cheers and plaudits, even before their hero came in sight. A sheriff, then a delegate, then a master of ceremonies, were by turns loudly cheered by the eager multitude, who in their impatience had taken them for the Incorruptible. At last he passed, smiling affably, hat in his hand, and the cry ran from mouth to mouth—
"It is he! It is he!"
This time it was really Robespierre; there was no mistake. Hats, caps, handkerchiefs, waved on all sides; women raised sprays of loses in the air and men branches of palm.
This outburst threatened to break up the cortège of the Four Ages, which, like the preceding one, had ranged itself round the statute of Liberty, where Robespierre was to deliver his discourse. Children begged their mothers to lift them up, that they might see also. At the same moment the solemn chords of a harp floated on the air.
Robespierre advanced slowly, slackening his pace, for he had become suddenly aware of the great distance which separated him from the deputies, who filed into the square six abreast, grave and slow, like judges. The different groups of the procession, who had arranged themselves in regular lines, now unveiled the statute of Liberty, where an altar of flowers and foliage had been erected. It was at this altar that Robespierre was to officiate, and consecrate amidst the burning of incense the worship of the Supreme Being.
The Incorruptible was now passing the very spot where on the previous day the scaffold still stood. A woman in the crowd called attention to this in all simplicity. But her voice was quickly drowned by a hundred harps, whose dulcet music filled the air. All members of the Convention had reached the Place de la Révolution, when a new cortège came in sight, the chariot of Agriculture, draped in blue, covered with garlands of roses, and drawn by a yoke of oxen with gilded horns. The goddess of Agriculture was impersonated by a beautiful girl from the Opera, who smiled on the crowd with her light blue eyes, looking the very incarnation of luxuriant youth, her blonde beauty framed in ripe golden corn and fruits of the rich harvest.
Robespierre, now standing before the altar, was burning incense in a golden tripod, amidst the mute reverence of the crowd, who behaved as if assisting at some religious ceremony. Presently, descending the steps of the altar, he turned to address the multitude.
All music had ceased, each voice was silenced, every whisper hushed; even the cries of pedlars and street-hawkers were unheard. A hundred thousand eyes were fixed on Robespierre, who, set up on high and wrapped in clouds of incense, appeared to tower in stature, to dominate that mass of human beings with all the force of a prevailing pride.
A sudden inspiration seized him: he would repeat the more notable phrases of his former discourse, here, to that crowd whose mighty heart he felt beating with his own; he would have his revenge, and hear his burning words applauded by the nation itself! Ah! had the deputies been indifferent, cold, hesitating in their applause? Well, they should receive a lesson that would be at once a warning and a mandate! The delegates of the nation should be censured publicly by the very nation they represented!
Robespierre had delivered the opening sentences of his speech. Carried away by the enthusiastic ovation of the crowd, now entirely master of himself and of his discourse, his words flowed freely and abundantly, and he declaimed without once referring to his notes, in a clear, penetrating voice. Every point was greeted with a thunder of applause as he spoke on, stimulated by a glow of satisfaction which touched the most secret fibres of his being. He felt himself to be for ever and in very deed master of France, acclaimed Dictator, solely by the people's will. Through the fumes of this mad delirium he saw the Convention vanquished, paralysed with fear and amazement.