arise full of wrath, and as if exasperated by the words of men. So a voice in the mountain is enough to let loose an avalanche. A word too much may be followed by a caving in. If the word had not been spoken, it would not have happened. It seems sometimes as if events were irascible.
It was in this way, by the chance word of an orator misunderstood, that Madame Elizabeth's head was made to fall. At the Convention, intemperance of language was allowable. Threats flew and crossed each other in a discussion like firebrands in a conflagration.
Pétion. Robespierre come to the point.
Robespierre. The point is yourself, Pétion. I will come to it, and you will see it.
A Voice. Death to Marat.
Marat. The day Marat dies there will be no more Paris, and the day Paris perishes, there will be no more Republic.
Billaud-Varennes rises and says: "We are willing."—Barère interrupts him: "You speak like a king." Another day Phillipeaux said: "A member has drawn his sword on me."
Audouin. President, call the assassin to order.
The President. Attention.
Audouin. President, I call you to order myself.
The people laughed rudely.
Lecointre. The priest of Chant-de-Bout complains of Fauchet, his bishop, who forbids him to marry.
A Voice. I don't see why Fauchet, who has his mistresses, wishes to prevent others from having wives.
Another Voice. Priest take a wife!
The tribunes joined in the conversation. They addressed the Assembly familiarly. One day Representative Ruamps went up into the tribune. One of his hips was much larger than the other. One of the spectators cried out to him: "Turn that to the right side, for you have a cheek like David." Such were the liberties that people took with the Convention. Once, however, in the tumult of April 11th, 1793, the president caused a disorderly spectator in the tribune to be arrested.
One day the session had old Buonarotti for a witness. Robespierre takes the floor and speaks two hours, looking at Danton, sometimes straight in the eye, which was
