worthy of such ashes,--what was passing in the depths of men's hearts?

The king, who held Mirabeau's eloquence in pay, the queen, with whom he
had nocturnal conferences, regretted him, perhaps, as the last means of
safety: yet still he inspired them with more terror than confidence; and
the humiliation of a crowned head demanding succour from a subject must
have felt comforted at the removal of that destroying power which itself
fell before the throne did. The court was avenged by death for the
affronts which it had undergone. He was to the nobility merely an
apostate from his order. The climax of its shame must have been to be
one day raised by him who had abased it. The National Assembly had
grown weary of his superiority; the Duc d'Orleans felt that a word from
this man would unfold and crush his premature aspirations; M. de La
Fayette, the hero of the _bourgeoisie_, must have been in dread of the
orator of the people. Between the dictator of the city and the dictator
of the tribune there must have been a secret jealousy. Mirabeau, who had
never assailed M. de La Fayette in his discourses, had often in
conversation allowed words to escape with respect to his rival which
print themselves as they fall on a man. Mirabeau the less, and then M.
de La Fayette appeared the greater, and it was the same with all the
orators of the Assembly. There was no longer any rival, but there were
many envious. His eloquence, though popular in its style, was that of a
patrician. His democracy was delivered from a lofty position, and
comprised none of that covetousness and hate which excite the vilest
passions of the human heart, and which see in the good done for the
people nothing but an insult to the nobility. His popular sentiments
were in some sort but the liberality of his genius. The vast
expansiveness of his mighty soul had no resemblance with the paltry
impulses of demagogues. In acquiring rights for the people he seemed as
though he bestowed them. He was a volunteer of democracy. He recalled by