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.