Terror was at an end, and a
milder and more moderate government wielded the sceptre over the poor
land that had so lately lain in the agonies of death. It was no longer a
capital offence to bear an aristocratic name, to be better dressed than
the _sans-culottes_, to wear no Jacobin-cap, and to be related to the
emigrants. The guillotine, which had ruled over Paris during two years
of blood and tears, now rested from its horrid work, and allowed the
Parisians to think of something else besides making their wills and
preparing for death.

Mindful of the uncertainty of the times, the people were disposed to
make the most of this release from the fear of immediate death, and to
enjoy themselves to the utmost while they could.

They had so long wept, that they eagerly desired to laugh once more; so
long lived in sorrow and fear, that they now ardently longed for
amusement and relaxation. The beautiful women of Paris, who had been
dethroned by the guillotine, and from whose hands the reins had been
torn, now found the courage to grasp these reins again, and reconquer
the position from which the storm-wind of the revolution had
hurled them.

Madame Tallien, the all-powerful wife of one of the five directors who
now swayed the destinies of France; Madame Recamier, the friend of all
the eminent and distinguished men of that period; and Madame de Stael,
the daughter of Necker, and the wife of the ambassador of Sweden, whose
government had recognized the republic--these three ladies gave to Paris
its drawing-rooms, its reunions, its _fetes_, its fashions, and its
luxury. All Paris had assumed a new form, and, although the Church had
not yet again obtained official recognition, the belief in a Supreme
Being was already re-established. Robespierre had already been bold
enough to cause the inscription, "There is a Supreme Being," to be
placed over the altars of the churches that had been converted into
"Temples of Reason." Yes, there is a Supreme Being; and Robespierre, who
had first acknowledged its existence, was soon to experience in himself
that such was the case. Betrayed by his own associates, and charged by
them with desiring to make himself dictator, and place himself at the
head of the new Roman-French Republic as a new Caesar, Robespierre fell
a prey to the Tribunal of Terror which he himself had called into
existence. While engaged in the Hotel de Ville in signing
death-sentences which were to furnish fresh victims to t