French enthusiasm is a vapour. If someone writes an article, if someone speaks in a club, if a few hot heads present an address to the Convention, then down goes the altar set up to today's idol and the string is ripped from the garlands to form a noose for his neck. The lanterne is not far from the Pantheon. If Franklin with his buckleless shoes and leather-stripped breeches arrived in France today, his sober dress would not save him from being hanged as an aristocrat. He would be a diversion, not to the elegant ladies of Versailles, but to the murderous shrews at the foot of the guillotine.
— PASQUALE PAOLI