petty traffic of his influence and pen. He saw the safety and glory of
France, and the rise of a national constitution, in the opposition of
the parliament to the court, and in the consequent necessity of
assembling the states-general. He represented these convictions to the
minister Montmorin, but without avail; on the contrary, Montmorin
earnestly requested him to undertake his defence, and to attack the
parliament. Mirabeau, in reply, set before the minister the errors of
his views, and refused, with dignity, the task offered him. "Do not," he
concludes, "compromise a zealous servant, who will despise danger when
called upon to devote himself for his country, but who would not, even
for the price of all earthly crowns, prostitute himself in an equivocal
cause, the aim of which is uncertain, the principle doubtful, and the
progress fearful and dark. Should I not lose all the little talent of
which you exaggerate the influence, if I renounced that inflexible
independence which alone gains me success, and which only can render me
useful to my country and my king? When the day arrives, when, animated
by my conscience, and strong in my conviction, an honourable citizen, a
faithful subject, an honest writer, I cast myself into the _melée_, I
shall be able to say, 'Listen to a man who has never varied in his
principles, nor deserted the public cause.'"
And it must be remarked, in honour of Mirabeau, when doubts are cast
upon his subsequent career, that, at the moment that he refused the aid
of his pen to a powerful minister, he was suffering the extreme of
penury, aggravated by its being shared by a dear friend. When,
therefore, he afterwards accepted the pay of the court, we may believe,
unworthy as was the act, that he compromised no principle; but, though a
reformer, not being a republican, the support he engaged to give to the
king had the suffrage of his conscience.
[Sidenote: 1788.
Ætat.
39.]
The reputation of Mirabeau was now at its height; but, though his genius
was acknowledged, he was not esteemed a good member of society. It is
strange on what reputation depends: it may seem a paradox to say, that
it often depends on modesty. Notoriety, and even success, may follow the
unblushing man; but the good word of our fellow-creatures clings rather
to him whose worth is crowned by the graceful and conciliating virtue of
modesty. Mirabeau had been oppressed--he had suffered much; his
ostensible errors were venial, and such as many a man might have
committed without entire condemnation; but the publicity that attended
them, and the readiness with which he exposed his faults, and his family
persecution, to public view, displeased and offended. He was feared as a
false friend, as well as a dangerous enemy. Yet, wherever he appeared,
he gained the hearts of those whom he addressed. He had the art of
rendering himself agreeable and fascinating to all. The truth is that,
though in theory and absence, we may approve the unblameable, the
torpid, and the coldly good, our nature forces us to prefer what is
vivacious, exhilarating, and original. This is the secret of the
influence exercised by men, whose biographers labour to excuse and to
account for the spontaneous ebullitions of sympathy and affection that
follow their steps. Mirabeau was easy, complaisant, gay, and full of
animation and variety in his conversation; he had, in a supreme degree,
what his father named the dangerous gift of familiarity. It was his
delight to cast aside all etiquette, and to reduce his intercourse to
the interchange of the real emotions of the heart and expression of
ideas, unaccompanied by any disguise or conventional refinements;--for
this, he did not scruple to appear at times rude and even vulgar; but
also by this he inspired confidence, as being frank and true.
At length, the hour long expected, long desired, came, when the
states-general were convoked by a royal decree of the 27th December,
1788. Mirabeau passionately desired to belong to the assembly; and,
relying on the popularity which he enjoyed in his native province,
departed for Aix early in the following month.
[Sidenote: 1789.
Ætat.
40.]
The nobles and high clergy of Provence were vehemently opposed to the
changes they apprehended in government, and were zealously wedded to the
privileges of their order. They entered a protest against certain
portions of the royal decree which threw power into the hands of the
people. When Mirabeau arrived among them as the partisan of the dawning
liberty of his country, he was received as an enemy. He raised his voice
against the protest, and naturally took his place at the head of the
liberal party. The nobles commenced their attack against him by
excluding him from among them, on the pretext that he did not (as an
elder son merely) possess any fief. Mirabeau protested against this
exclusion, as well in his own name as in those of every other in a
similar situation with himself; but in vain. On the 8th of the following
February, in an assembly of the nobles, on the proposition of the
marquis de Fare, his exclusion was pronounced, as not possessing either
estate or fief in Provence. Mirabeau spared neither pamphlets nor
speeches on the occasion; though, occupied by the calls made on him by
his party during the day, he could only give the hours of night to
composing and publishing. "I do not write a line," he says, in one of
his letters, of the date of the 8th February, "that I am not interrupted
thirty times, and to such a degree, that I can only labour at public
affairs by night. You know what cardinal de Retz said:--'_The chief
hinderance of the head of a party is his party._' A thousand minor
annoyances, a thousand important arrangements, a thousand inevitable
interruptions, deprive me, during the day, of all presence of mind to
compose, and of all coherence of ideas and style."
Besides these labours, he had the more difficult task of keeping clear
of brawls and duels among a class of men whose dearest wish was to
provoke him to the committal of an outrage. Proud and arrogant
themselves, they hoped to taunt one yet prouder into some deed of
violence that would give them the advantage over him. But haughty as
Mirabeau was, he was yet wiser; the peculiarity of his genius was a
quick perception of the proper line of conduct, and he preserved his
dignity, while he showed himself forbearing.
He had to meet yet another difficulty. He published his correspondence
from Berlin at this moment, for the purpose of acquiring the funds
necessary for his election: this work was condemned to be burnt, by the
parliament. It had been published anonymously; but, as the name of the
author was well known, Mirabeau saw himself forced to make a journey to
Paris, for the purpose of silencing his enemies, and giving courage to
his friends, who quailed under the attacks made against him. This
journey and short absence served but to raise to enthusiasm the favour
with which he was regarded by the population of Provence. Deputations of
the _bourgeoisie_ of Marseilles and Aix met him on his return, with all
the manifestations of affection and joy which the people of the south
render so cordial and demonstrative. The road he traversed was strewn
with flowers; fireworks were let off; a crowd of 50,000 persons
assembled round his carriage, while cries of "Vive Mirabeau!" rent the
air. No noble dared show himself in the streets. "If you hate oppression
as much as you love your friends," Mirabeau said to the assembled
citizens, "you will never be oppressed." He was, within a few days
after, received with similar demonstrations at Marseilles: 120,000
inhabitants filled the streets to welcome him; two louis were paid for a
window to look on him--his carriage was covered with laurels--the people
kissed the wheels--the women brought their children to him. Mirabeau,
who saw, in his elevation in the public favour, the stepping stone to
success, beheld these demonstrations with proud delight; they were the
signals of his triumph over the party who trampled on him--over that
series of adversity which, from his cradle to that hour, had never
ceased to crush him. The report, carefully spread, that this triumph had
been got up by his friends, vanished before the fact that the whole
population were his friends, and that the getting up was merely his
assent to receive the marks of their enthusiastic favour. That he had
done his best to curry favour with the people is true: that fault abides
with him, if it be one.
Among other manœuvres he had, it is said, opened a clothier's shop at
Marseilles. There is no foundation for this story, although Marat, and
other partisans of equality of his own day, asserted it. He had been
obliged, indeed, to make himself free of the town, when candidate for
the deputyship. His only chance was to make friends with the people. He
was treated with contumely by the nobles; and even now his triumph was
not devoid of drawback, occasioned by the indignities cast on him by the
class to which he properly belonged: their insults did not fail to sting
his pride, and rouse him to revenge, even while he successfully
preserved himself from open quarrelling.
The popularity he acquired he was soon called upon to exert. M. Caraman,
military commander in Provence, applied to him to allay the disturbances
occasioned by a scarcity. The nobles regarded the pending famine as a
means of taming the people; and the same marquis de Fare, who had
originated the exclusion of Mirabeau from the assembly, insolently
exclaimed,--"Do the people hunger?--let them eat the dung of my horses."
Such a speech, and such a spirit, manifested by the wealthy, naturally
exasperated the poor. The weakness of the magistrates, who decreed so
great a reduction in the price of food that the traders could no longer
afford to sell it, only augmented the public peril: the granaries were
pillaged,--blood was spilt in the streets. At the request of M. de
Caraman, Mirabeau stept forward,--he persuaded the governor to withdraw
the soldiery,--he induced the bourgeois youth to take arms to keep the
peace. His eloquence, the credit given to his sincerity and good
intentions, pacified the people, and first at Marseilles, and afterwards
at Aix, he restored peace and security. At this period, while he
fulfilled the noble part of pacificator and of a citizen, powerful only
through the influence of his genius and patriotism, he was elected, both
by Marseilles and Aix, deputy of the _tiers état_ in the approaching
assembly of the states-general. He gave the preference to the latter, as
circumstances rendered it doubtful whether his election for Marseilles
would be admitted by his colleagues.
We now arrive at the epoch when he developed the whole force of his
genius, and acquired immortality, as the great leader of a revolution
which, at its first outbreak, commanded the sympathy and respect of the
world which looked on; beholding with gladness and hope the overthrow of
feudal abuses, and the restoration of the oppressed majority of the
French nation to the rights of men and citizens.
The first steps that Mirabeau trod towards greatness were taken on
slippery ground. The eyes of the crowd sought for him with avidity,
during the procession of the king and states-general to the church of
St. Louis, on the 4th May. He appeared, with his dark shaggy hair, his
beetling brows, and luminous eyes, stepping proudly on. A murmur of
disapprobation was raised;--he looked round, and all was silent; yet in
that moment he felt the struggle, the combat that would ensue: his fiery
nature made him also, perhaps, rely on victory. When the names of the
deputies were called over, and those of other popular men were
applauded, hisses of disapprobation followed his. They did not daunt
him: he walked across the chamber to his place with an air of resolution
and haughtiness that spoke of perseverance and vigour in the coming
struggle.
To give himself notoriety and weight, he commenced by publishing a
journal of the proceedings of the chambers. This publication was seized
by government, and he then changed its title to that of letters to his
constituents. He excited animosity by this publication in the chamber
itself, but it added to his weight and influence.
The first combat of the _tiers état_ with the two other chambers is
well known. They demanded that their consultations should be held in
common, while the noblesse and clergy desired each their chamber, secure
that the lower one would be crushed by the union of the two higher with
the king. Mirabeau, at first, recommended that system of passive
resistance which is all powerful when resorted to resolutely by numbers.
During the interval that succeeded, Mirabeau had an interview with
Necker, by the desire of his friend Duroverai; but it availed nothing.
Mirabeau regarded Necker as a weak man, though he acknowledged his
unimpeachable honesty; and he was soon after carried far beyond any
necessity of recurring to his patronage for advancement, when, by
echoing the voices of many men, and giving expression and direction to
their passions, his eloquence filled France with the cry of liberty, and
gave power and authority to the hesitating deputies.
He met with a check, when the name he wished the assembly of _tiers
état_ to assume (deputies of the people) was rejected, with ill-founded
indignation. The term people was regarded as disgraceful and
humiliating. "The nation," he wrote on this occasion, "is not ripe; the
folly and frightful disorder of the government have forced the
revolution as in a hotbed; it has outgrown our aptitude and knowledge.
When I defended the word people, I had nearly been torn to pieces. It
was circulated that I had gone over to the government:--truly I am said
to have sold myself to so many, that I wonder I have not acquired a
universal monarchy with the money paid for me."
The resolution of the _tiers état_, now naming themselves the national
assembly, excited mingled contempt and alarm. The nobility protested
against their assumption, and the king was counselled to oppose their
resolves by a royal decree; the hall of the deputies was closed, under
pretence of preparing for the royal visit; the deputies adjourned to a
neighbouring tennis court, and took a solemn oath to stand by each other
to the last. On the following day, the 23d of June, the _seance royale_
had place, and the decree promulgated that the three orders should vote
separately. Satisfied that this exertion of royal power would tame at
once the rebellious deputies, the royal cortege--the ministers, the
nobles, and the clergy--left the chamber; the _tiers état_, the
self-constituted national assembly, remained. A gloomy silence ensued,
broken by Mirabeau, who rose, and, warning them of the danger to be
apprehended, added, "I demand of you to seek shelter in your dignity and
legislative powers, and that you take refuge in the faith of your oath,
which does not allow you to separate till you have formed a
constitution." The grand master of ceremonies, de Brézé, now entered,
for the purpose of dispersing the deputies, saying, that they had heard
the orders of the king. The president, Bailly, replied that he would
take those of the assembly. At that moment, on which the public cause
hung,--for on the boldness and perseverance of the deputies depended
their success,--at that moment of hesitation, Mirabeau rose, and with a
manner full of majesty, and a calm voice, he replied, "The commons of
France intend to deliberate. We have heard what your king has been
advised to say, but you, sir, cannot be his interpreter to the national
assembly; you have neither place, nor voice, nor right to speak here.
But, to prevent delay, go tell your master, that we are here by the
power of the people; and that the power of the bayonet alone shall drive
us out."
Victor Hugo, in his essay on the character of Mirabeau, remarks, that
these words sealed the fate of the monarchy of France. "They drew a line
between the throne and the people; it was the cry of the revolution. No
one before Mirabeau dared give it voice. Great men only pronounce the
words that decide an epoch. Louis XVI. was afterwards more cruelly
insulted, but no expression was used so fatal and so fearful as that of
Mirabeau. When he was called Louis Capet, royalty received a disgraceful
blow; but, when Mirabeau spoke, it was struck to the heart."[13]
The immediate effect of this outburst was, first, that de Brézé,
losing all presence of mind, backed out of the chamber, and the
deputies, electrified by the audacity of their self-constituted leader,
arose with acclamations, and passed a decree to confirm his words.
The national assembly, which by law was attached to the person of the
king, sat at Versailles; the distance from Paris was short, and the
capital regarded with growing interest the actions of the deputies.
Crowds assembled in the streets, and various tumults ensued: these have
been variously attributed to different factions, which excited the
people for the purpose of carrying on their own designs. There does not
seem much foundation for that opinion; the public cause, the natural
turbulence of the Parisians, which had been manifested during every
reign of past times; the heat and agitation of the crisis, easily
account for the alarming tumults in the metropolis. The chief suspicion
at the time rested on the party of the duke of Orléans. Mirabeau did not
belong to this; he had no connection with the leaders of the mob; his
impracticable and vehement character kept him aloof from coalition with
others. He was not sufficiently trusted to be selected as chief, he
disdained any other post; feeling that, without descending to manœuvre
and consultations, his energy, eloquence, and presence of mind, would
place him in the van of war. He remained, therefore, independent; uneasy
when others obtained influence in the assembly, visiting Paris as a
looker on, and waiting his time, which soon came. For it must be
remembered, that, at this period, notwithstanding the distinguished part
he had acted, Mirabeau's supremacy was by no means acknowledged. There
was a large party against him, and Barnave was held up by it as the more
eloquent and greater man. The errors of his youth were remembered, and a
thousand calumnies spread abroad against him; the people were even
influenced by them, and though, at one time they were ready to carry him
in triumph, a moment after the hawkers cried about _the great treason of
count de Mirabeau._ When his private conduct was attacked, Mirabeau was
silent; "Because," he says, with graceful dignity, "a strict silence is
the expiation of faults purely personal, however excusable they may be;
and because I waited till time, and my services, should win for me the
esteem of the worthy; because, also, the rod of censure has always
seemed respectable to me, even in the hands of my enemies; and, above
all, because I have never seen any thing but narrow egotism and
ridiculous impropriety in occupying one's fellow citizens in affairs not
belonging to them." But when his public conduct was attacked, he
defended it with an energy and truth that bore down all attack, and
raised him higher than ever in the general esteem.
To return to the epoch at which we are arrived. To quell the capital and
subdue the deputies, the king and his counsellors summoned troops to
surround Paris. Fifteen regiments, composed chiefly of foreigners,
advanced. It became evident that the design was formed of using the
bayonet, to which Mirabeau had referred, as the only power to which they
would submit. He now again came forward to stop the progress of the
evil. He proposed an address to the king, demanding that the march of
the troops should be countermanded. He still preserved a respectful
style towards the monarch, but he did not spare the measures of
government, and exposed in open day the direct approach of war and
massacre. His speech was covered with applause, and he was commissioned
to draw up an address to the king. It was short and forcible: it
prophesied, with sagacity, the dangers that must ensue from the presence
of the military; it protested with dignity against the force about to be
exercised against the assembly, and declared the resolution of the
deputies, in spite of snares, difficulties, and terror, to prosecute
their task and regenerate the kingdom. "For the first time," says madame
de Staël, "France heard that popular eloquence whose natural power is
augmented by the importance of events." "It was by Mirabeau," Brougham
observes, "that the people were first made to feel the force of the
orator, first taught what it was to hear spoken reason and spoken
passion; and the silence of ages in those halls was first broken by the
thunder of his voice, echoing through the lofty vaults now covering
multitudes of excited men."
Dumont, in his "Souvenirs de Mirabeau," asserts that he drew up this
address. On several other occasions, he assumes the merit either of
writing for Mirabeau or suggesting his speeches. He speaks of him as a
great plagiarist, putting all his associates to use in collecting
materials for him, and contenting himself with giving them form, or
sometimes only voice. This sort of accusation is exceedingly futile. The
capacity of gathering materials, lying barren but for the life he puts
into them, is the great attribute of genius: it hews an Apollo out of
the marble block; places the colours of Raphael on the bare canvass;
collects, in one focus, the thoughts of many men inspired by passion and
nature: it, as with Mirabeau, takes the spirit of the times, the
thoughts and words excited during a crisis; and, by giving to them a
voice of command or persuasion, rules the minds of all. In this manner,
Mirabeau was a plagiarist, but none but he could use, to govern and
subdue, the weapons fabricated, it might be, by other hands. To quote
the apt metaphor of Carlisle, he might gather the fuel from others, but
the fire was his own. He was not a man formed of shreds and patches
taken from other men, nor was Dumont endowed with creative powers to
call such a being into life. Mirabeau was a man of God's own making,
full of wild passion and remorseful error, but true to the touch of
nature; fraught with genius and power; a natural king among those whom
he used as his subjects to pay tribute to, and extend the sphere of, his
greatness.
[Sidenote: 1789.
July
11.]
The death of the marquis de Mirabeau, at the age of seventy-three, took
place at this period. From the time that his son figured in the
assembly, he became deeply interested in his career; declaring that his
success was "glory, true glory." He was suffering by a chronic pulmonary
catarrh, and evidently declining. Mirabeau frequently visited him, and
was well received, though they never discussed politics during these
short visits. But the marquis caused the speeches of his son to be read
to him, as well as the papers that recounted the sittings of the
assembly in which he figured. On the 11th of July, while he was
listening to his grand-daughter reading, he closed his eyes--his
breathing failed--and when she looked up he was dead, with a smile on
his face.
Mirabeau, who venerated his father, in spite of the injuries he had
sustained from him, was deeply affected by this loss: perhaps pride
added to his demonstrations of affliction. He wrote to his constituents,
that all the citizens in the world ought to mourn; he scarcely appeared
in the assembly, and for a few days gave himself up to sorrow.
It was not a period when a great political character could withdraw
himself for more than a few days. The crisis was at hand.
[Sidenote: July
14.]
The king had returned a cold answer to the address drawn up by Mirabeau,
and presented by the most distinguished deputies; the court still
pursued the plan of assembling troops; Necker was dismissed from the
ministry; the investment of the capital by the military became
imminent,--when the people, animated by mixed fear and indignation,
rose: they seized on all the arms they could obtain; the bastille was
demolished; for the first time the Parisians felt their power, and
tasted of the triumph of shedding the blood of those who resisted them.
The terror of these acts spread to Versailles. The assembly sent
deputation after deputation to the king, imploring him to pacify Paris
by countermanding the troops. When the destruction of the bastille was
known, a fifth deputation was prepared to be presented to the monarch.
It was composed of twenty-four members: they were about to leave the
chamber on this errand, when Mirabeau stopped them, and with increased
vehemence exclaimed,--"Tell the king, that the hordes of foreigners that
surround us were yesterday visited by the princes, the princesses, and
their favourites, who caressed and exhorted them, and covered them with
presents. Tell him that, during the night, these foreign satellites,
gorged with gold and wine, predicted, in their impious songs, the
servitude of France, and brutally invoked the destruction of the
national assembly. Tell him that, in his own palace, his courtiers
mingled in the dance to the sound of such music, and that similar to
these were the preparations of Saint Bartholomew. Tell him, that
Henry IV., whose memory the whole world blesses, he, who ought to be his
model among his ancestors, sent provisions to Paris when it revolted,
and he was besieging it in person; while, on the contrary, his ferocious
advisers keep the corn, brought by trade, from his starving and faithful
capital." The deputation was about to carry his words to the king, when
the arrival of Louis, without guards or escort, was announced. A murmur
of glad welcome ran through the assembly. "Wait," said Mirabeau gravely,
"till the king has announced his good intentions. Let a serious respect
receive the monarch in this moment of sorrow. The silence of the people
is the lesson of kings."
Thus did this wonderful man, by means of the fire and impetuosity of his
character, enter at once into the spirit of the hour, while his genius
suggested the expressions and the tone that gave it direction and voice.
It is impossible to enter into the detail of all Mirabeau's speeches and
acts. A rapid glance at his votes and declarations during this period
must suffice. Mirabeau detested despotism, whose iron hand had fallen so
heavily on himself. The aid given by the government of his country to
his father's tyranny,--the ban placed on him by the nobility who were
his equals,--the burning desire for distinction that consumed him,--his
contempt for his inferiors in talent,--his faith in the
revolution,--such were the passions that gave force to his genius. But
his genius showed itself omnipotent nowhere except in the tribune. When
he wrote, he but half expressed his thoughts; his passions were but half
excited; and Mirabeau's power lay in the union of his passions and his
genius. Apart, the former degenerated into vice, and the latter showed
itself either exaggerated, sophistical, or inert. In the tribune, their
union was complete. When he began to speak he was at first
confused,--his breast heaved,--his words were broken,--but the sight of
his opponents,--the knowledge of the sympathy he should find in the
galleries,--the inspiration of the moment,--suddenly dispersed all
mistiness; his eloquence became clear, fervid, sublime,--the truth
conjured up images at once striking and appalling. When he was farther
excited by the difficulties of a crisis, his courage rose to meet
it,--he stept forward with grandeur; a word or a look, which his talent
and ugliness at once combined to render imposing, shone out on the
assembly,--electrified and commanded it.
This power of seizing on the spirit of the question, clearing the view
of the assembly, and leading it onward in the right road, he exerted
memorably on the 24th September, when Necker, to remedy the disastrous
state of the finances, proposed a patriotic contribution of a fourth of
the incomes. A committee, after three days spent in examination,
approved the plan. Mirabeau, the known enemy of Necker, spoke, to engage
the assembly to adopt it at once, on the recommendation of the minister,
without taking any responsibility on itself. The friends of Necker saw
the snare, and accused him of injuring the plan of the minister, while
he pretended to support it. Mirabeau replied, that he was not the
partisan, but, were he the dearest friend of the minister, he should not
hesitate to compromise him rather than the assembly. Necker might
deceive himself, and the kingdom receive no detriment; but that the
public weal were compromised, if the assembly lost its credit. These
words had some effect, but still the discussion went on, and still the
deputies hesitated to adopt Necker's proposition, till Mirabeau, again
ascending the tribune, burst forth with a torrent of overwhelming
eloquence in its favour: he painted the horrors of a national
bankruptcy, and the consequent guilt of incurring it; he expatiated on
the wide-spread misery that must ensue. He continued,--"Two centuries of
robbery and depredation have opened a gulf in which the kingdom is
nearly swallowed; this gulf must be filled up. Here is a list of French
proprietors; select among the richest, so to lessen the number of
victims; but still select--for must not a few perish to save the many?
Two thousand notables possess enough to fill up the deficit, to bring
back order into your finances, and peace and prosperity to the kingdom.
Strike! immolate without pity these hapless victims--precipitate them
into the abyss;--it will close! Ha! you draw back with horror.
Inconsistent pusillanimous men! Do you not see that when you decree
bankruptcy, or, what is still more odious, when you render it inevitable
without decreeing it, you stain yourselves with a still greater and yet
a gratuitous crime? for this sacrifice will at least fill up the
deficit. But do you think, because you do not pay, you will no longer be
in debt? Do you believe that the thousands, the millions of men, who in
one moment will lose by the explosion, or by its reaction, all that made
the comfort of their lives, and, perhaps, their only means of support,
will allow you to reap the fruits of your crime in peace? Stoical
contemplators of the incalculable ills which this catastrophe will bring
on France! Insensible egotists! who think that the convulsions of
despair and misery will pass away like every other, and the more quickly
as they are more violent;--are you sure that so many men, without bread,
will tranquilly permit you to taste the viands whose quantity and
delicacy you will not suffer to be diminished? No!--you will perish in
the universal conflagration that you do not tremble to set a-light, and
the loss of your honour will not preserve one of your detestable
enjoyments.
* * * * *
Vote, then, for this extraordinary subsidy;--may it suffice! Vote it;
because, if you have any doubts with regard to the means (vague and
uncertain doubts), you have none on its necessity, and our want of power
to replace this proposition by any other--at least for the present. Vote
it; for public affairs will not endure procrastination, and we are
accountable for all delay. Beware of asking for time. Ruin never gives
that. Some days ago, gentlemen, in reference to a ridiculous tumult in
the Palais Royal--a laughable insurrection which had no importance
except in feeble minds--you heard the violent cry uttered, 'Cataline is
at the gates of Rome, and you deliberate!' and then certainly we had
near us neither Cataline, nor danger, nor faction, nor Rome. But now
bankruptcy, hideous bankruptcy is before us; she menaces to consume
you,--your possessions and your honour,--and you deliberate!"
These words raised a tumult of enthusiasm in the assembly. A deputy rose
to reply, but the cries overbore him; and, frightened by his task, he
remained motionless and mute. "I was near Mirabeau," writes madame de
Staël, "when he thus delivered himself. Nothing could be more
impressive than his voice; his gestures and words were pregnant with an
animation, the power of which was prodigious. The assembly at once
received the report of the committee, and adopted the plan of the
minister." "This," remarks Thiers, "is the triumph of eloquence; but he
alone could obtain it who was animated by the passions and just views of
Mirabeau."
Mirabeau hated the assumptions of the aristocracy, but he looked upon
royalty as a necessary defence between the lower and the higher orders;
at the same time he believed that the welfare of his country demanded
that the people should have a voice in the state.
[Sidenote: Oct.
25.]
He expressed his opinion on this subject in a letter to his uncle the
bailli. He says,--"I have always thought, and now more than ever think,
that royalty is the only anchor of safety which can preserve us from
shipwreck. And how many efforts I have made, and make each day, to
support the executive power, and combat the distrust which induces the
national assembly to go beyond the mark! For the rest, we must judge of
the revolution by the good and evil of its result, not by the license
which prevails at present, which forms a state too violent to be
durable. I am reassured with regard to the future, by the consideration,
that the revolution, be it injurious or beneficial, is, in fact,
consummated. The most enlightened men feel that they must assist the
change, to lessen its violence; that resistance is as useless as it must
be disastrous; and that every citizen, whether zealous or indifferent,
must tend to the same end,--facilitate the consolidation of the empire,
and give the machine that movement which will allow us to judge of its
excellence or its defects. You recommend me to support the executive
power; but you will easily discern that the obstinate resistance of one
order of the state, by exciting fresh causes of revenge, and producing
new commotions, would destroy that power round which the supreme law of
the state commands us now to rally."
It was in this spirit that he spoke for the veto, though fear, perhaps,
of compromising his popularity made him abstain from voting. The veto
had become a sort of bugbear. When Mirabeau visited Paris, the mob
thronged round his carriage, imploring him to prevent the king from
having the veto. They were slaves, they said, if the king had the
veto;--the national assembly was useless. "Mirabeau," says Dumont,
"carried it off very well: he appeased the people; and, using only vague
expressions, dismissed the mob with patrician affability."
At the period of the revolution, when the passions of men were excited
to bandy calumny with eager voices and pens dipt in gall, Mirabeau was
accused of being an Orleanist. It is difficult to say what an Orleanist
was. The duke himself, weak but ambitious, never made one step forward
but he made two back; so that it became a saying that the duke of
Orléans did not belong to the Orleanists. His name, meanwhile, and money
were employed to form a party rather inimical to Louis XIV. than
favourable to himself. It added to the tumult and tempest of the times,
but was of no real influence in the direction of events. Dumont declares
that, living intimately with Mirabeau, the most indiscreet and confiding
of men, he saw no trace of his complicity in any plot against the court:
but that, familiar with the duke as with every one, his manner gave
colour to a report which had no other foundation. That he was at this
time the enemy of the court is, however, undoubted. When the fatal feast
of the _gardes du corps_, at Versailles, was denounced in the assembly,
and the cry of calumny was raised by the royalists, Mirabeau burst out
with impetuosity, and declared that he was ready to accuse by name the
principal actors in this sacrilegious orgie, on condition that it were
first decreed that the person of the king only was inviolable. This
expression, pointing at and criminating the queen, silenced the
discussion.
During the days of the 5th and 6th October, Mirabeau sought to
tranquillise, without any attempt at leading, the multitude. When he
first heard of the approach of the rabble rout of _poissardes_ and their
followers from the capital, for the purpose of forcing the acceptance of
the constitution on the king, Mirabeau addressed the president Mounier,
saying, "Paris is marching on us: make an excuse; and go to the castle
and tell the king to accept the constitution purely and simply." "Paris
marches," replied Mounier; "so much the better: let them kill us
all--all, without exception--the nation will be the gainer." When the
crowd had invaded Versailles, Mirabeau was not seen. Dumont found him in
bed before eleven o'clock in the evening. He rose, and they went
together to the national assembly, where he displayed his accustomed
dignity by calling on the president to cause the assembly to be
respected, and to order the chamber to be cleared of the strangers who
filled it. It required all his popularity to succeed. The _poissardes_
in the gallery, with their usual familiarity, cried out, "Mother
Mirabeau must speak--we must hear mother Mirabeau!" but he was not a man
to make a show on these occasions.
The king humiliated--the court, driven to extremities, yet still
struggling, looked round for agents and supporters. The talents and
influence of Mirabeau would render his accession to their party
invaluable; Necker had named him "Tribun par calcul, et aristocrate par
goût;" and this character, joined to his debts, his bad reputation, his
known vices, and the very report that he acted for the duke of Orléans,
inspired the notion that he was venal.
[Sidenote: Nov.]
There can be no doubt that, at this period, a thousand different schemes
and hopes agitated this strange and powerful man. He detested the
aristocracy and despotism; but he was attached to royalty and the image
of the English constitution; and various advances made him by the court
led him to believe that a conscientious support of royalty might be
combined with his personal interests. Dumont mentions a conversation he
had with him, in which he showed him a plan for the retreat of the king
to Metz--the necessity the assembly would find itself under of following
him there, and the consequent quelling of the anarchical power in
France. Dumont, foreseeing that civil war and massacre would follow such
attempts, argued strongly against it. Mirabeau replied that the court
was resolved, and that he thought it right to combine to ensure its
success, and cause them to act so as to preserve the liberty of the
country. His purpose was, however, shaken by the arguments of Dumont,
and the whole plan was subsequently given up. Thiers gives a somewhat
different account. He narrates that in an interview with a friend, in
the park of Versailles, that lasted the whole night, Mirabeau declared
that he was resolved for the sake of his glory, for the good of his
country, and the advancement of his own fortune, to remain immovable
between the throne and the disorganisers, and to consolidate the
monarchy while he participated in its power. His pride, however, stood
in the way of any debasing steps. When the court made him offers, it was
informed that he would make no sacrifice of principles; but that, if the
king would be faithful to the constitution, he was ready to become his
staunch supporter. His conditions were, that his debts should be paid,
and that he should have a place in the ministry. According to law, the
ministers could neither speak nor vote in the assembly--before accepting
place, Mirabeau endeavoured to get this law repealed. He failed; and
during the discussion Lanjuinais proposed that the actual deputies
should be forbidden to accept place. Mirabeau angrily replied, that so
baneful a decree ought not to be passed for the sake of one man; but
that he would vote for it with the amendment, that a place in the
ministry should not be forbidden all the deputies, but only to M. de
Mirabeau, deputy for Aix. This outburst of frank audacity had no effect;
Lanjuinais' motion passed; and Mirabeau felt exceedingly indignant
towards the assembly, and often spoke of the members with bitter
contempt; yet his letters bear the impress of generous forbearance,
inspired by enlarged views of the duties of a citizen. "I do not say,"
he writes, "that the assembly is not somewhat severe towards me; with
all that, nothing can prevent, when the occasion presents, this
struggling, tumultuous, and, above all, ostracising assembly, from
returning under my influence: that results from the firmness of my
principles, and the support given by my talent. It was from the bottom
of my heart that I once wrote, 'Malheur aux peuples reconnaissants!' One
is never quit towards one's country. One gains glory, at least, by
serving it in whatever state. No element of public servitude ought to
exist--and gratitude is a very active one."
There is generosity, but not absolute wisdom in this dictum. In
republics, more evil arises from want of accord and stability of purpose
than from leaning on one man, especially among the French, who, vain by
nature, are more apt each to believe in his own capacity than rely on
that of another. Unfortunately, this distrust of public servants took
firm root during the revolution. First, no deputy was allowed to be
minister, so that no man of business could be deputy. Afterwards, the
members of one assembly were not allowed to be elected in the succeeding
one, so that inexperience, crude views, and want of mutual reliance,
became the characteristic of the French legislators.
[Sidenote: 1790.
Ætat.
41.]
Mirabeau's negotiations with the court meanwhile went on; he even
received for a short time a pension from Monsieur, the king's eldest
brother; the queen treated him with winning condescension--and she was
won also by the charm of his superiority and frankness. Thus he did not
sell his principles, which remained unchanged, yet he made a mart of
them; and, in the eye of history, falls from the high position of a man
above the reach of gold. His want of docility, meanwhile, often
displeased the court--he refused to compromise his popularity at its
beck, and despised the men who wished at once to make use of him and yet
to render him useless.
His position, though it seem dubious, was plain enough. He wished to
lead a moderately royal party, and give stability to the monarchy. He
desired to oppose the jacobins and disorganisers; but his views did not
meet the sanguine and senseless hopes and wishes of the court--which
aimed at nothing less than a return to the _ancien régime._ He stood
therefore companionless--seizing at times on and thundering from the
tribune--making his power felt whenever he was roused, but walking in
darkness, uncertain of the means which yet he grappled at, whereby to
confirm his greatness.
In the assembly he continued to extend his influence by means of his
enthusiasm, and his power of expressing it. Various methods had been
made use of to get rid of the constituent assembly, and elect
another--under the pretence that, the work of forming a constitution
being accomplished, their task was at an end, and that the continuation
of their power was illegal and a usurpation over the throne. In the
midst of the cries which these words called forth, Mirabeau rose. "We
are asked," he said "when the deputies of the people, became a national
convention? I reply, on that day when, finding the entrance to their
chamber surrounded by soldiers, they hastened to assemble in the first
place they could find, and swore to perish rather than to betray or
abandon the rights of the nation. Our powers on that day changed their
nature. Whatever these powers may be which we have exerted, our efforts
and our labours have legitimated them, and the adhesion of the whole
nation has sanctified them. Do you remember the heroic words of the
great man of antiquity, who had neglected the legal forms in saving his
country? Summoned by a factious tribune to swear whether he had observed
the laws, he replied, f I swear that I have saved my country!'
Gentlemen, I swear that you have saved France!" At this grand oath, the
whole assembly, carried away by a sudden impulse, closed the discussion
and dismissed the question.
The same power gave him the victory, when he was accused of conspiring
with the duke of Orléans to produce the commotions of the 5th and 6th of
October, and caused the accusation to be cast aside as devoid of
credit.[14]
[Sidenote: 1791.
Ætat.
42.]
We have an interesting picture of his position at the commencement of
the year 1791 from Dumont--who though his friend, and at times his
secretary, or rather, as he affirms, the composer of some of his most
successful speeches, gives no signs of partiality. "I dined several
times at the house of Mirabeau, who told me that he was on terms with
the court, and directed its counsels; and that his hopes were well
founded--as the royal personages had begun to see the necessity of
attaching him to their cause, and of no longer listening to the advice
of the emigrants and princes. He now lived in good style, and his house
was handsomely fitted up: he was better off than he had ever been, and
showed no discretion in the use of his money. I was surprised to see him
show off, after dinner, a case in which were several jewels. This was
proclaiming his being on the civil list, and I wondered that his
popularity did not suffer by it. His table was splendid, and his company
numerous. His house was filled early in the morning, and it was a
perpetual _levée_ from seven o'clock till the hour of his repairing to
the assembly; and a great crowd frequently assembled at that time to
enjoy the felicity of seeing him pass. Although titles were abolished,
he was still the comte de Mirabeau, not only with his servants and
visiters, but also the people, who love to decorate their idols. I could
have learnt from him the secret of his intercourse with the court, his
views, means, and intrigues, for he was well disposed to open himself to
me; but I neither wished to be censor nor flatterer. He insinuated
twenty times that his only object was to save the monarchy, if it were
possible. That means were necessary to accomplish this end; that trivial
morality was hostile to that on a large scale; that disinterested
services were rare; and that hitherto the court had wasted its money on
traitors.[15]
"During the last week of my stay in Paris, I saw him in a new
situation, which he had often pretended to despise, but more from
mortification than indifference. He was president of the
assembly,--never was the place so well filled. He displayed new talents.
He put an order and clearness into the work, of which no idea had
hitherto been formed. By a word, he threw light on a question; by a
word, he appeased a tumult. His deference to all parties, the respect he
always testified for the assembly, the conciseness of his speeches, his
answers to the various deputations that came to the bar,--which, whether
spontaneous or prepared, were always delivered with dignity and grace,
and gave satisfaction even in refusals,--in a word, his activity,
impartiality, and presence of mind added to his reputation and success
in a place which had been a stumbling block to his predecessors. He had
the art of putting himself foremost, and drawing the general attention
on himself, even when, not being allowed to speak from the tribune, he
appeared to have fallen from his best prerogative. Several of his
enemies and rivals, who had chosen him for the sake of putting him in
eclipse, had the chagrin of finding that they had added to his glory.
"He was far from being in good health, and told me that he felt himself
perishing away. I observed that his style of life would long ago have
killed a man less robust than himself. He had no repose from seven in
the morning till ten or eleven at night. He was in continual
conversation and agitation both of thought and feeling. When we parted,
he embraced me with an emotion he had never before displayed.--'I shall
die at the oar,' he said, 'and we probably shall never meet again. When
I am gone my worth will be acknowledged. The evils that I have arrested
will burst over France, and the criminal faction that trembles before me
will no longer be bridled. I have only prophecies of evil before my
eyes. Ah! my friend, how right we were when we desired at the beginning
to prevent the commons from declaring themselves a national
assembly,--that was the origin of our evils. Since they were victorious,
they have not ceased to show themselves unworthy; they have desired to
govern the king, instead of governing through him. Now neither they nor
he will have authority; a vile faction will domineer over them, and fill
France with terror."
He lived for three months after saying these words, and lived still to
triumph, and to add to his glory. The last scene of moment in which he
displayed his mighty influence was during the discussion of the law
against emigration. Mirabeau opposed it as tyrannical and unjust: the
popular voice went the other way, and cries were uttered against him.
His thunder silenced their more feeble demonstrations. "The popularity,"
he exclaimed, "which I desired is but a feeble reed; but I will force it
into the earth, and it shall take root in the soil of reason and
justice!" Applause followed this burst. "I swear," he continued, "if a
law of emigration passes, I swear to disobey you." He descended from the
tribune, having silenced his enemies, and astonished the assembly. The
discussion went on, and the adjournment was moved, to give time to
prepare a law different from the one under discussion, and so to calm
the people. The tumult continued, and cries of applause or
disapprobation drowned every other sound, till Mirabeau demanded
attention. A deputy, M. Goupil, who some time ago had attacked Mirabeau
with the cry that Cataline was at their doors, now exclaimed,--"By what
right does M. de Mirabeau exercise a dictatorship?" At these words the
orator threw himself into the tribune. The president remarked,--"I have
not accorded the right to speak; let the assembly decide." The assembly
listened.--"I beg my interruptors," said Mirabeau, "to remember that
through life I have combated against tyranny, and I will combat it
wherever it is to be found." Speaking thus, he turned his eyes from
right to left, while applause followed his words;--he continued:--"I beg
M. Goupil to remember that not long ago he was mistaken as to the
Cataline whose dictatorship he now resists. I beg the assembly to remark
that the question of adjournment, simple in appearance, comprehends
others, since it supposes that there is a law to form." Murmurs rose
from the left; the orator fixed his eyes on the inimical party, and its
leaders, Barnave and Lameth. "Silence those thirty voices," he cried: "I
am content also to vote for the adjournment, but on condition that no
sedition follows."
This was the greatest, and it was the last struggle that Mirabeau had
with the jacobins,--his last attempt to stop the progress of that
revolution to which he had given form and dignity during its primal
struggles. "I would not," he wrote, in a letter meant for the eye of the
king,--"I would not have laboured only at a vast destruction." Thus
pledged by his principles and his promises to the court to prop the
monarchy, his task was becoming one that demanded more force than, even
giant as he was, he possessed. The shades of death cover the
probabilities of the future; but it can scarcely be doubted that he must
have modified his views, animated the king to a more resolute and
popular course, or been swept away in the torrent of blood so soon about
to flow.
For some time, incessant labour and excitement undermined his life. The
ophthalmias, which had first attacked him in his prison, in Vincennes,
were renewed, and he Was often obliged to apply leeches to his eyes
during the intervals of one day's sitting of the assembly. The sense of
disease at work within seemed to him to resemble the effects of poison;
and the medicines he took added to, instead of diminishing, his
conviction that he was perishing. His last and fatal seizure was
accompanied by intense pain and agonising spasms; and the only physician
he admitted, who was his friend, began to lose hope. As soon as his
illness became publicly known, his house was surrounded by an anxious
and mute multitude. In the hour of danger they remembered him as their
leader, their preserver, their hope. The bulletins of his progress were
seized on with avidity. Louis XVI. sent ostensibly twice a day, and much
oftener in secret, to hear how he went on. For a moment, the king and
the people appeared united by a common interest, and had a desire of
currying favour with the revolutionary party animated the monarch, and
induced him to visit the dying man, he had acquired a popularity never
to be forgotten. The demagogues feared that he might have been led to
such an act; but it was out of character with Louis, who clung longer to
the etiquettes than to the reality of royalty.
The last days of Mirabeau were divided between agonising pain and calm
and affectionate conversation with his friends. While he hoped to
recover, he gave up all his thoughts to his cure; and even refused to
receive his friends, that the remedies might have a fairer chance. But,
when he felt the sure approach of death, he was eager to have them
around, and talking with them, holding their hands, and looking
affectionately on them, found deep enjoyment in the consciousness of
their sympathy and love. Already he spoke of himself as dead--with great
reluctance he allowed another medical man to be called in, whose
remedies proving ineffectual, Mirabeau said, "You are a great physician,
but there is one greater than you; he who created the wind that destroys
all--the water that penetrates and produces all--the fire that vivifies
or decomposes all." He heard with emotion of the demonstrations of
affection made by the people. His last hours were marked by mingled
philosophy and gaiety: he called his friends about him, and discoursed
of himself and public affairs, with a view to futurity after he was
gone; he made his will--the legacies of which the count de Lamark, who
had been his means of communication with the court, promised should be
paid. The visit of his enemy, Barnave, who came in the name of the
jacobins to inquire concerning him, afforded him pleasure. He gave M. de
Talleyrand a discourse he had prepared for the tribune; and, speaking of
Pitt, he said "he is a minister of preparations, and governs by threats:
I should have given him some trouble had I lived." He felt the approach
of his last hour. "I shall die to-day, my friend," he said, to Cabanis;
"no more remains than to crown one's self with flowers, and surround
one's self with music, so to pass peacefully into eternal sleep."
Hearing the report of cannon, fired for some ceremony, he exclaimed,
"Hark! the funeral rites of Achilles are begun!" As he lost his speech,
he yet smiled softly and serenely on his friends. The spasms returned
with renewed violence. Unable to speak, he wrote, asking, that opium
might be given him to appease them; but, before he could take it, he was
no more. His death took place on the 20th of April, 1791, at the age of
forty-two. The news quickly spread through the court, the town, the
assembly. Every party had placed their hopes in him, and he was mourned
by all except such as might envy his fame. On hearing the fatal
intelligence, the assembly interrupted its sitting; a general mourning
was ordered, and a public funeral.
He was buried in the Pantheon (formerly church of Sainte Geneviève),
which had been dedicated "Aux grands hommes la patrie reconnoissante;"
and Mirabeau was the first buried there. His funeral took place on the
morrow of his death. The ministers and magistrates, the assembly, the
army, the municipalities, in short, the members of every public
institution, accompanied the procession. He was more numerously and
honourably attended, and he was more sincerely mourned, than kings and
princes had been, or than any other great man of his own times. During
the reign of terror his remains were torn from the tomb, and scattered
to the winds, as those of a traitor to the nation.
The peculiarity of Mirabeau, as we before remarked, was the union of
great genius with impetuous passions. The last, manifesting themselves
in boyhood, in a family which, while the members were remarkable for
vehemence in themselves, exacted the most entire filial obedience from
their offspring, caused him to be opposed, persecuted, and oppressed.
Seventeen _lettres de cachet_ had been issued against him, while he felt
that his crimes were rather errors in which the public or the state had
no concern. Shut up in a narrow fortress or narrower cell, his hatred of
tyranny was strongly excited, and he sought in his writings to express
it; and, when the occasion offered, he combated it with impetuous
eloquence and determined resistance. At that time, aware how much his
influence was lessened by the errors of his youth, he had been known,
when he felt his progress checked by the disrepute in which his private
character was held, to weep, and to exclaim, "I cruelly expiate the
errors of my youth!"
With all his errors he was a warm and kind-hearted man, and gifted with
undaunted courage. During his political career, his enemies were
perpetually endeavouring to embroil him in duels, which he avoided
without the most distant suspicion of cowardice being attached to him.
He was a man of wit, and many of his sayings are recorded. They are
often bitter epigrams on his enemies, and inspired by hatred rather than
truth. He called the virtuous La Fayette Grandison-Cromwell; and said of
him that he had _bien sauté pour reculer_, as his latter conduct did
not come up to his first entrance on life when he went to America. He
was the implacable enemy of Necker, who, he says, was "a clock always
too slow." While speaking in the national assembly, he pointed to a
picture, emblemising Time, with his scythe and his hour-glass always
full, exclaiming, "We have taken his scythe, but we have forgotten his
time-piece." Of the national assembly he said, "It has Hannibals in
plenty, and needs a Fabius." It was the fashion to call
Clermont-Tonnerre the Pitt of France: "As you please," said Mirabeau;
"but how would Pitt like to be called the Clermont-Tonnerre of England?"
His faculty of wit rose sometimes into grandeur. When he spoke of the
convulsions that would ensue on the entire overthrow of the monarchy, he
cried, "You will have assassinations and massacres; but you will never
rise to the execrable height of a civil war." Talleyrand said that he
dramatised his death. It is a strange moment for vanity to become
paramount; and the chief trait of his death-bed was his gentleness and
serenity, and the affection he showed to his friends. Politics occupied
him at times; and he said to those about him, "Après ma mort, les
factieux se partageront les lambeaux de la monarchie."
The great quality of his mind was the power of seizing on any word or
idea presented to him, and reproducing it at the right moment, with such
vigour and fire as made it omnipotent. It was the eagle eye that enabled
him on the instant to discern the right path, or the commanding idea,
and to express it with force and majesty. With a lion heart, untiring
perseverance, and the strength of a giant, he swept away opposition,
inspired confidence, and fixed his standard far within the ranks of the
enemy, where none dared touch it.
So well could he adapt his very ugliness, his flashing eyes, abundant
hair, and marks of physical power, to the sentiments which he expressed,
that an actor on hearing him speak in the tribune exclaimed, "Ah! what a
pity he was born a gentleman; he has missed his vocation!" He was
greater as an orator than a leader. But each day he lived he advanced in
the science of party strife. At the last, when he contemplated an
organised opposition to the jacobins, he became expert; but it may be
believed that he would have found an insuperable obstacle to success in
the passions of the people.
In early life his misfortunes arose from not having embarked in a
fitting career. As a military man, a century before, as a marshal under
Louis XIV., he had replaced Turenne; a few years later, he might have
emulated Napoleon. As it was, had he been allowed to seek active service
in the army, his turbulence had found vent in the midst of hardship and
danger--a general would have been given to his country. Another school
was needed to form the leader of the revolution: the exasperation
engendered by tyranny, the resolution born in the solitude of a dungeon,
the ambition nurtured by contempt of inferior men--all that had quelled
a feebler man--gave force and direction to his passions, perception and
enthusiasm to his genius, and made that Mirabeau, whom his countrymen
regard as one of the greatest of their leaders, and whose name is a
light that burns inextinguishably amidst the glory that illustrated the
commencement of the French revolution.
[Footnote 10: These extracts form the best part of the "Memoirs of
Mirabeau," by M. Lucas Montigny, his adopted, or, rather, his natural
son,--a work of zeal and labour, but undigested, diffuse, and
ill-judged. Had the author published a selection from these letters,
which were placed in his hands by the family, we should have an
invaluable work. As it is, we are often as much tantalised by what is
omitted, as edified by what is given, of the correspondence. When the
extracts from it cease, the pages of the memoirs lose all their charm
and value: they degenerate into little else than extracts from
newspapers, and vapid discussions by the author.]
[Footnote 11: The subsequent history of this hapless victim of a
depraved state of society which set the seal of guilt on her attachment,
may be briefly stated. After the birth of her child, Sophie was taken
from the asylum in which she was first placed, and confined in the
convent of Saintes-Claires, at Gien. By degrees many indulgences were
allowed her, and she received visits. Mirabeau became jealous, and
angrily expressed his jealousy, both in letters, and in a single
interview which they had after his liberation from Vincennes. Had
Mirabeau come to this interview with a candid mind and a constant heart,
he had at once have acknowledged Sophie's innocence. But his attachment
had waned, and he was intent on completing his reconciliation with his
father, and contriving one with his wife. He played the part of the wolf
with the lamb in the fable; and, to the utter destruction of the nobler
portion of his nature, the ties of love and affection, the knitting of
which had occasioned misery and ruin to both, were broken for ever. Soon
after, the death of her husband restored Sophie to her liberty, but she
chose to continue to reside within the precincts of the convent, though
she used her liberty to make visits and excursions. She was greatly
loved by all who knew her. Her sweetness and gentleness attached many
friends: her charity and kind sympathy caused her to be beloved by the
poor, by whom her memory was long gratefully preserved. She formed a
second attachment for a gentleman to whom she was about to be married,
but his death prevented their union. Sophie resolved not to survive him.
Immediately on receiving his last sigh, she prepared to die. She shut
herself up with two braziers of burning charcoal; and was found on the
morrow dead. She died on the 8th September, 1789, in the 37th year of
her age.]
[Footnote 12: The subsequent life of Madame de Mirabeau was singular.
For some years she continued under her father's guidance, and, at his
wish, to live a life of pleasure; theatricals and every sort of
dissipation being the order of the day. A reconciliation was set on
foot, and had nearly been accomplished between her and her husband at
the period of his death. She emigrated with her father during the
revolution, and suffered a good deal of poverty. She subsequently
married a count de Rocca, and visited Paris, to endeavour to recover
some portion of her property. Her husband died soon after, and she
resumed the name of Mirabeau, of which she became proud, reviving the
recollections of past times, surrounding herself with every object that
could remind her of the husband of her youth. She lived in intimacy with
his sister, madame du Saillant, and extended her kindness to the young
man whom Mirabeau had adopted. Though frivolous, she had never been ill
conducted, and her faults, being those of timidity, are chiefly to be
attributed to her father, who, loving ease and pleasure, and glad to
have his daughter with him, prevented her by every means in his power
from fulfilling her duties towards her husband. She passed her last
years in the hotel de Mirabeau, and died in the year 1800, in the same
room where her husband had expired.]
[Footnote 13: There is a fragment preserved of Mirabeau, remarkable for
its know, ledge of human motives, which shows the stress he laid on a
resolute line of conduct. It deserves to be quoted:--
"If I wrote a book on the military art, the chapter on enthusiasm should
not be the shortest. If I wrote a treatise on politics, I would treat
largely of the _art of daring_, which is not less necessary for the
success of civil enterprises than of military operations; and also to
try the strength of the man who leads; for it is the further or nearer
boundary-line of the possible that marks the difference of men.
"In reading history, I find that almost all the faults committed by the
chiefs, of whatever party, arise from indecision in their principles,
and obliquity of conduct. They revolt by halves; they are faithful by
halves: they dare not entirely cast aside duty, nor entirely sacrifice
their passions. The first steps, which ought to be full of confidence,
are vacillating and ill-assumed: they arrange a retreat, and take
several roads to reach the goal. Artifices, that favourite resource of
ordinary politicians, are the effect of this timidity of the
understanding or the heart. They negotiate to disguise themselves, to
attract partisans, while they ought to walk straight to the object in
view by the shortest line. What is the invariable result? He who wishes
to deceive is deceived; they have failed in seizing the decisive moment,
and have persuaded no one. As much as extremes are unwise in the course
of daily life, so much are half measures insufficient in critical
events; and the most dangerous, as well as the most inconsistent
conduct, is to get half rid of prejudices. But there are nearly as few
resolute bad men as decided honest ones; and most men want character."]
[Footnote 14: The compiler of the memoirs and correspondence of La
Fayette makes no doubt that Mirabeau belonged to the Orleanist faction
till after the 6th of October, when he began to treat with the court.
This was evidently La Fayette's own conviction, apparently founded on
the evidence laid before the assembly, August 7th, 1790, which Mirabeau
refuted, as mentioned in the text.]
[Footnote 15: Copy of a treaty with M. de Mirabeau.--"First, The king
gives M. de Mirabeau the promise of an embassy: this promise shall be
announced by Monsieur himself to M. de Mirabeau. Second, The king will
immediately, until that promise be fulfilled, grant a private
appointment to M. de Mirabeau of 50,000 livres a month, which
appointment will continue at least for the space of four months. M. de
Mirabeau pledges himself to aid the king with his knowledge, influence,
and eloquence, in all that he may judge useful to the welfare of the
state and the interest of the king--two things that all good citizens
undoubtedly look upon as inseparable; and, in case M. de Mirabeau should
not be convinced of the solidity of the reasons that may be given him,
he will abstain from speaking on the subject.
(Approved) LOUIS.
(Signed) LE COMTE DE MIRABEAU."
"_Note._--The original of this article is in the handwriting of
Monsieur, at present Louis XVIII."
This paper is published in vol. II. appendix, no. V. of the memoirs of
Lafayette. It was found in the iron closet, discovered in the Tuileries
on the 10th of August, 1792, containing secret papers. In the same
receptacle is an autograph letter from Louis XVI. to La Fayette, begging
him to concert with Mirabeau respecting the subjects most important to
the welfare of the state and the king's service and person. This letter
La Fayette suspects to have been dictated by Mirabeau himself, and was
never received by him. It is dated June 29th, 1790. The treaty first
quoted is printed without a date. This alliance of the court with
Mirabeau was first brought about by Monsieur, the king's eldest brother.
Afterwards, it would seem that some other was entered into, negotiated
by the count de la Mark, afterwards prince d'Aremberg, which was
mentioned to Bouille, Feb. 6th, 1791. The prince d'Aremberg lived in
Brussels till 1833, and said to La Fayette, that Mirabeau only made
himself be paid to be of his own opinion; yet the stipulation of
silence, when not convinced by the court, in the above treaty, looks
like a still more entire sale of his influence.]