Mirabeau was a man of this class: he did not invent the Revolution, but was its manifestation.
But for him it might perhaps have remained in a state of idea and tendency.

He was born, and it took in him the form, the passion, the language which make a multitude say when they see a thing--There it is.
He was born a gentleman and of ancient lineage, refugee and established in Provence, but of Italian origin: the progenitors were Tuscan.

The family was one of those whom Florence had cast from her bosom in the stormy excesses of her liberty, and for which Dante reproaches his country in such bitter strains for her exiles and persecutions.

The blood of Machiavel and the earthquake genius of the Italian republics were characteristics of all the individuals of this race.

The proportions of their souls exceed the height of their destiny: vices, passions, virtues are all in excess.