His dying words were “sprinkle me with perfumes, crown me with flowers, that I may thus enter upon eternal sleep.”  He was especially of his time, and his course bears no impress of infinity.  Neither his character, his acts, nor his thoughts have the brand of immortality.  If he had believed in God, he might have died a martyr, but he would have left behind him the religion of reason and the reign of democracy.  Mirabeau, in a word, was the reason of the people; and that is not yet the faith of humanity!

IV.

Grand displays cast a veil of universal mourning over the secret sentiments which his death inspired to all parties.  Whilst the various belfries tolled his knell, and minute guns were fired; whilst, in a ceremony that had assembled two hundred thousand spectators, they awarded to a citizen the funeral obsequies of a monarch; whilst the Pantheon, to which they conveyed his remains, seemed scarcely a monument 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