his part, and his bearing, to those democrats behind him, that from the
time of the Gracchi to his own, the tribunes who most served the people
had sprung from the ranks of the patricians. His talent, unequalled for
philosophy of thought, for depth of reflection, and loftiness of
expression, was another kind of aristocracy, which could never be
pardoned him. Nature placed him in the foremost rank; and death only
created a space around him for secondary minds. They all endeavoured to
acquire his position, and all endeavoured in vain. The tears they shed
upon his coffin were hypocritical. The people only wept in all
sincerity, because the people were too strong to be jealous, and they,
far from reproaching Mirabeau with his birth, loved in him that nobility
as though it were a spoil they had carried off from the aristocracy.
Moreover, the nation, disturbed at seeing its institutions crumbling
away one by one, and dreading a total destruction, felt instinctively
that the genius of a great man was the last stronghold left to them.
This genius quenched, it saw only darkness and precipices before the
monarchy. The Jacobins alone rejoiced loudly, for it was only he who
could outweigh them.

It was on the 6th of April, 1791, that the National Assembly resumed its
sittings. Mirabeau's place, left vacant, reminded each gazer of the
impossibility of again filling it; consternation was impressed on every
countenance in the tribunes, and a profound silence pervaded the
meeting. M. de Talleyrand announced to the Assembly a posthumous address
of Mirabeau. They would hear him though dead. The weakened echo of his
voice seemed to return to his country from the depths of the vaults of
the Pantheon. The reading was mournful. Parties were burning to measure
their strength free from any counterpoise. Impatience and anxiety were
paramount, and the struggle was imminent. The arbitrator who controlled
them was no more.