“In all countries, in all times,” exclaims he departing, “the Aristocrats have implacably pursued every friend of the People; and with tenfold implacability, if such a one were himself born of the Aristocracy. It was thus that the last of the Gracchi perished, by the hands of the Patricians. But he, being struck with the mortal stab, flung dust towards heaven, and called on the Avenging Deities; and from this dust there was born Marius,—Marius not so illustrious for exterminating the Cimbri, as for overturning in Rome the tyranny of the Nobles.”[121] Casting up _which_ new curious handful of dust (through the Printing-press), to breed what it can and may, Mirabeau stalks forth into the Third Estate. That he now, to ingratiate himself with this Third Estate, “opened a cloth-shop in Marseilles,” and for moments became a furnishing tailor, or even the fable that he did so, is to us always among the pleasant memorabilities of this era. Stranger Clothier never wielded the ell-wand, and rent webs for men, or fractional parts of men. The _Fils Adoptif_ is indignant at such disparaging fable,[122]—which nevertheless was widely believed in those days.[123] But indeed, if Achilles, in the heroic ages, killed mutton, why should not Mirabeau, in the unheroic ones, measure broadcloth? More authentic are his triumph-progresses through that disturbed district, with mob jubilee, flaming torches, “windows hired for two louis,” and voluntary guard of a hundred men. He is Deputy Elect, both of Aix and of Marseilles; but will prefer Aix. He has opened his far-sounding voice, the depths of his far-sounding soul; he can quell (such virtue is in a spoken word) the pride-tumults of the rich, the hunger-tumults of the poor; and wild multitudes move under him, as under the moon do billows of the sea: he has become a world compeller, and ruler over men.