It was in the year 1783 that two noble old men, splendid in appearance, and magnificent in manner, who looked as if they had been forgotten by the century before and left as types of a better and more refined age, met together to hold a family council upon a black sheep-a prodigal son who, after having passed through an early youth distinguished by every vice and folly, had appeared before them as a penitent. It was like a scene in a play, almost grand enough for Corneille, almost laughable enough for Molière. One can imagine the two, leaning on their goldheaded canes, recalling the costume of Louis - Quatorze and speaking the language of St. Simon-wisdom and justice (without mercy) breathing morality through their lips-the Marquis and the Commander-Victor Riguetti or Arrighetti with his brother Jean Antoine, Bailli de Mirabeau and this black sheep, this prodigal son-"l'Ouragan" as his family called him the world calls by a name which will never be forgotten. It is Mirabeau.

Ten years after, an immense crowd gathered before the gates of a house in the Chaussée d'Autin where a man lay dying. The people thronged the street, the court, the staircase, to hear the last

Genial, generous, sensitive; full of wild, undisciplined force-boiling over with ambition-covetous of glory; ardent, indefatigable, audacious-Honoré Gabriel Mirabeau, with his burning southern temperament and his tempestuous passions, was one of those great representative men the details of whose life possess an almost inexhaustible interest; and however wild the follies of his youth, it can not but be allowed that his death at the beginning of the Revolution was a signal misfortune to his country.

In these days of domestic peace and unbounded domestic indulgence it is difficult to realize the paternal severity of which Mirabeau was the victim-a severity which increased, instead of diminishing,

faults that a kinder and more generous treatment might have corrected. "Let my father only condescend to know me," he wrote to his uncle the Bailli. "He thinks I have a bad heart; but let him only put me to the proof;" touching words, met only by sarcasm and disbelief, and even added persecution.

"A turbulent spirit-proud, overbearing, insubordinate, a cruel and vicious disposition:" these were the terms by which he was branded; yet his crimes were those of a grand although ungovernable nature, of a violent precocious physical temperament, of a man whose misfortunes were greater than his faults, and whose faults were far blacker than the source from which they sprung.

Issue of a race distinguished for five centuries by fiery originality of character, Mirabeau was endowed, both morally and physically, with faculties forcible beyond all ordinary bounds. His childhood-his youth, ardent and stormy, were ill-understood and ill-governed; turbulent at an age when according to the decrees of Providence both soul and body ferment in order to arrive at due maturity; refractory, because too harshly restrained; unruly, because the regulations imposed upon him were unjust and unreasonable; hot-headed, because undue authority repels, where kindness and good sense would soften; ungovernable, because his superior force and intelligence were treated with out the consideration which prudence accords even to weakness and folly-he was still affectionate, tender, generous, and sincere, having the instinct, the desire, the passionate love of right.

At an early age the Marquis writes of his son that the system of education he was pursuing, under the direction of a relation and friend of the family, was much too lenient for so "violent a scoundrel," and he was accordingly removed to a military school, under the name of Pierre Buffière. "I do not choose," continued the father, "that a name which is adorned with some luster should be dragged over the benches of a school of correction."

It would appear that, contrary to expectation, the Abbé Choquard succeeded in more than half taming Monsieur Pierre Buffière; at all events, he pursued his studies with a rapidity and success without parallel. His memory was prodigious, and he possessed a remarkable facility in

mastering both dead and living languages, was a good mathematician, drew well, and displayed a great talent for music, besides finding time for all the manly exercises of the day.

In 1767, Gabriel was allowed to join the regiment of the Marquis de Lambert, where he conducted himself well and showed such signs of military capacity, that at the age of eighteen he obtained the rank of lieutenant; and even his father's animosity was somewhat softened. It was, however, rekindled by an incident which might easily have been foreseen. The young Gabriel, kept without sufficient pecuniary resources, got into debt, and even lost money at play; two utterly unpardonable sins in the eyes of the Marquis, who declared that he would devour twenty fortunes and twelve kingdoms if they were put into his hand!

The Marquis de Lambert, whom he had supplanted in a love affair, became his implacable enemy; and Mirabeau alone against his superiors had to defend his own cause before a court-martial, which ended in his first imprisonment at La Rochelle; there, as usual, he won the affection of those around him: in his father's words, he "bewitched" the governor, who procured his release, and permission to join the legion of Lorraine which was preparing to take possession of Corsica. It was an expedition which had neither the interest of a defensive war, nor the prestige of a chivalrous invasion. It had nothing attractive to the imagination of Mirabeau; and some years later, as a member of the Legislative Assembly, he openly regretted his participation (not, however, altogether voluntary, since the choice lay between imprisonment and freedom) in an act of conquest which he considered unjust toward a peaceable and generous people.

On his return to France, after about a year's absence, he writes to his uncle to beg permission to pay him a visit, which was obtained, although not without some hesitation. The Bailli gives his brother an account of the interview in the following

terms:

"Yesterday (14th May, 1770) I was quite surprised. A soldier brought me a letter from M. Pierre Buffière, who asked to see me. I replied that he might come. I was enchanted to see him. My heart swelled. I found him ugly but not of a

bad countenance, and, in spite of the ravages of small-pox, which have altered his features sadly, he has something in his face both gracious and noble. If he is not worse than Nero, he will be better than Marcus Aurelius, for I do not think I ever saw so much intelligence. My poor head was quite engrossed. He appears to me to dread you like the provost-marshal! but he swears that there is nothing he would not do to please you. He confesses all his follies, but says that he was in despair; he said to the Abbé* that he had been wrongly treated from his infancy, and that Vioméuil, his last colonel, had overcome him with reason and gentleness, and had made him recognize in good conduct a new order of things. I assure you I found him very repentant of all his past faults. He seems to have a feeling heart. As for cleverness, I have already spoken of it-the devil hasn't half so much! and I repeat, either he is the most adroit hypocrite in the world or he will become the best subject in Europe, to be made general on land or water, minister, chancellor, or pope-whatever he will."

The comments of the Marquis upon this account of his son's reform are conceived in his usual tone of suspicion and

sarcasm.

"The good Bailli," he writes to his sonin-law the Marquis de Saillant," has kept him several days, and the romance which pervades like a perfume this good-for-nothing, from top to toe, has got into his uncle's head, which is, however, generally pretty strong. He has been engrossed! enchanted!'-these are his own words; the rogue has been going through all his tricks; he may take in his uncle-so be it-but he will not win over his father quite so cheaply."

In spite of the application and intelligence which the young soldier had displayed in his short military career, the Marquis now appears to wish to turn him from it—as he himself says, "to make him rural!" and to this end he commands him to set to work to peruse books on economy and farming, studies ill-suited to his taste; but Gabriel complains of nothing whilst still permitted to reside with his uncle, whose simple, honest, affectionate nature exercised the greatest influence

over his own, and who never ceased interceding for him with all the power of his pen. He at last so far succeeded that the Marquis consented to receive his son.

"M. Pierre Buffière," wrote the excellent Bailli," will be the bearer of this letter, my dear brother. He leaves me today. Perhaps you will not find him very well up in the profession of economist, but in the first place I have not troubled him too much on the subject, since the way to succeed in any thing is not to set one's heart too much upon it; a strong wish makes one see double, and in general nothing turns out as one desires, except what is almost indifferent. Next, as your son has a great deal of intelligence, and even genius, there are always plenty of resources for such sort of men. Besides, if you will excuse me, the subject is rather a cold one for so hot a head. Surely it is unnecessary to tell you that it would be as ridiculous in a father to insist on his children conforming exactly to his ideas as to make them wear his shoes; and so long as the heart is all right one should not dispute about difference of taste.

"He is naturally very industrious, and I have given him your notions and my own upon work; telling him that nothing so steadies life, which, on the contrary, wastes away so sadly in idleness and pleasure; that the mind becomes stronger and more refined as the dregs and the refuse are cleared away, and that one of the physical proofs of the immortality of the soul is the spirit and fire of men who are active in their old age-who only half die; that part only perishing which was ever a burden.

"For the rest, your son fears, respects, and loves you; but I fancy I have got at his mind by showing how much I care for him. I think that without losing any of the weight of paternal authority, it is better to show him interest and kindness. Not only will you know him better, but your lessons will take more root; for a son, although he can not contradict his father, may very well not allow himself to be convinced by him. As I have been a son myself I know how it used to be with me; my education was only formed by those who treated me with friendship, and when my father blamed me, I held my tongue, but my private opinions took their own course."

A few months after this, the Marquis ac

tually consents that his son should bear his name; he takes him to Paris and presents him at Court and to his friends: somewhat proud, although unwilling to allow it, of his wit, sense, and the impression produced by his manners, "respectful but not servile, easy but not familiar." He even writes to the Bailli that his nephew might, after a few more years' association with himself, do honor to those belonging to him, and that a woman of good sense and amiability might do the rest. In this hope Mirabeau was married, in 1772, to Marie Emilie de Covet, only daughter of the Marquis de Marignane. She was plain, even rather common in appearance, dark, beautiful eyes and hair, bad teeth, a pretty smile, little, but wellmade, gay, agreeable, sensible, and clever. He has been accused of frittering away his wife's fortune, but that could not possibly have been the case, as he never received even a sou of it. She had the promise of three hundred thousand francs on the death of the Marquis de Marignane, who, however, survived his son-in-law, and the Marquis de Mirabeau had to endow the young couple with a small pension which proved utterly insufficient for all their "clothes, furniture, jewls, and gewgaws." As debts increased upon him Mirabeau appeared to get more reckless in his expenditure, and his father-only too ready as ever to believe every accusation against him-provided himself with a lettre de cachet, and used it without mercy, ordering him to quit the Château de Mirabeau and to confine himself to the little town of Manosque. It was the time when the powers of the Crown came in aid of aristocratic pride and aristocratic fury, and the State prisons yawned to receive whatever victim was required by the demon of family pride or domestic tyranny. The impulsive and turbulent Gabriel was not long before he furnished a new occasion for the exercise of that undue severity which was the original cause of misfortunes, henceforward to be without end and without remedy.

There had been a very innocent flirtation between the Countess de Mirabeau and a cousin of hers, the Chevalier de Gassaud, before her marriage, and some letters which had been exchanged containing more love of amusement on the one side, and coquetry on the other, than any

real feeling, fell into the hands of her husband. Jealousy was violent with him, like every other passion, and a duel became imminent. The parents of the Chevalier interfered, and Mirabeau, who felt himself in the wrong, accepted the necessary explanations; the more easily that he learned that the esclandre was likely to break off an advantageous marriage between the Chevalier and a daughter of the Marquis de Tourette.

Reproaching himself for his impetuosity, and regretting the error into which he had fallen, he forgot his legal bonds and hurried away to explain the circumstances of the case. His eloquence was successful, and he was about to return to his place of banishment, when unfortunately he met the Baron de Villeneuve Moans, who, under pretext of a public quarrel, had some time before very grievously insulted Mirabeau's sister, the Marquise de Caris. Mirabeau could not refuse himself the pleasure of horsewhipping the Baron then and there before several witnesses; a deed of violence which formed an excuse for sending him to the Château d'If, an arid rock at the entrance of the Port of Marseilles, although his uncle again attempted his exculpation, and declared that he saw nothing so extraordinary in the nephew of his uncle, and the son of his father, thrashing an insolent gentleman, and that in his place he should have done the same.

At the Château d'If, as under the tutelage of M. Choquart, in the Ile de Ré— the regiment his uncle's house, Mirabeau had been preceded by letters where the Marquis exaggerated every fault; but here, as elsewhere, the prejudices raised against him were speedily overcome by his genial nature, and the engaging mixture of impetuosity and sweetness which made his manners so seductive. He followed to the letter the advice given him by his wife-who however was the first to desert him in his misfortunes-when she wrote, "Make use, dear angel, of that magic which you possess when you want to enchant any one."

For some months Mirabeau remained sad and solitary in his new dungeon: he saw no one-all society, and even pen and ink were denied him-and patient as he habitually was under increasing persecution, he himself declared that, "to suffer at once every grief, and to lose in one