What a glory for Provence to have
found a Mirabeau, to return the only statesman since 1830 that the
revolution of July had produced!
Under the pressure of this eloquence, all the audience believed it
great enough to become a splendid political instrument in the hands of
their representative. They all saw in Albert Savaron, Savarus the
great Minister. And, reading the secret calculations of his
constituents, the clever candidate gave them to understand that they
would be the first to enjoy the right of profiting by his influence.
This confession of faith, this ambitious programme, this retrospect of
his life and character was, according to the only man present who was
capable of judging of Savarus (he has since become one of the leading
men of Besancon), a masterpiece of skill and of feeling, of fervor,
interest, and fascination. This whirlwind carried away the electors.
Never had any man had such a triumph. But, unfortunately, speech, a
weapon only for close warfare, has only an immediate effect.
Reflection kills the word when the word ceases to overpower
reflection. If the votes had then been taken, Albert's name would
undoubtedly have come out of the ballot-box. At the moment, he was
conqueror. But he must conquer every day for two months.
Albert went home quivering. The townsfolk had applauded him, and he
had achieved the great point of silencing beforehand the malignant
talk to which his early career might give rise.
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