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Madame Roland 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 The Bread Riots. 
 
 {Seep. 152.) 
 
o o 
 
 -<:^^ 
 
 ALTEA\US' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY 
 
 HISTORY 
 
 or 
 
 nne. ROLAND 
 
 BY 
 
 c^ar.r. -te-ve. 
 
 (JACOB ABBOTT 
 
 WITH rORTY-TWO ILLUSTR 
 
 Copyright 1900 by Henry Altemus Company 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 HENRY ALTE/nUS CO/nPANY 
 
 
 III 
 
 ill 
 
 v. 
 
 IWI 
 
53132 
 
 SEP 28 1900 
 
 . C«ty"ght onfry 
 
 StCOND COPV. 
 
 Lt)«-(lver«1 to 
 OfvOti? DIVISION, 
 OCT 16 1900 
 
 .Moo 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I. PAGE 
 
 Childhood 7 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 Youth 26 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Maidenhood . . . . . .46 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Marriage .67 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 The National Assembly . . . .89 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 The Ministry of M. Roland . . .110 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Madame Roland and the Jacobins . 131 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Last Struggles of the Girondists . .152 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Arrest of Madame Roland . . .173 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Fate of the Girondists . . . .194 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 Prison Life 218 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Trial and Execution of Madame Roland . 239 
 
 (v) 
 
^^--^-^^^'^^- 
 
 Madame Boland, vi 
 
 Enrolling Volunteers for the National Guard. 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Bread Riots .... 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
 Enrolling Volunteers for the National Guard, page vi 
 
 Jean Paul Marat .... 
 
 
 ' viii 
 
 Madame Roland . . . . 
 
 , ' 
 
 ' X 
 
 Headpiece, Chapter I. . . . 
 
 ( 
 
 ' 7 
 
 The Boulevards of Paris 
 
 facing ' 
 
 ' i6 
 
 Uniforms and Colors of the National Guard, . ' 
 
 ' 25 
 
 Headpiece, Chapter II. 
 
 
 ' 26 
 
 The National Assembly 
 
 facing ' 
 
 ' 28 
 
 Salon of an Aristocrat . 
 
 . ' 
 
 ' 45 
 
 Headpiece, Chapter III, 
 
 . ' 
 
 ' 46 
 
 Maximilien Marie Isidore Robespierre, 
 
 facing ' 
 
 ' 48 
 
 Headpiece, Chapter IV. 
 
 . ' 
 
 ' 67 
 
 George Jacques Danton 
 
 facing ' 
 
 ' 64 
 
 Louis XVI. and the Mob 
 
 U ( 
 
 ' 96 
 
 Jean Marie Roland de la Platiere . 
 
 
 ' 88 
 
 Headpiece, Chapter V. 
 
 
 ' 89 
 
 The Tuilleries .... 
 
 , . ' 
 
 ' 109 
 
 Headpiece, Chapter VI. 
 
 . ' 
 
 ' no 
 
 Sacking the House of a Royalist . 
 
 facing ' 
 
 ' 104 
 
 Danton in the Assembly 
 
 " ' 
 
 ' 120 
 
 The Prussians Marching on Paris . 
 
 
 ' 130 
 
 Headpiece, Chapter VII. 
 
 . ' 
 
 ' 131 
 
 The Tribunal of Maillard . 
 
 facing ' 
 
 ' 128 
 
 The Convent of the Jacobins 
 
 
 '151 
 
 Headpiece, Chapter VIII. . 
 
 
 ' 152 
 
 (vii) 
 
Vlll 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Marat in the Assembly . 
 
 A Jacobin Mob . 
 
 Headpiece, Chapter IX. 
 
 Church of St. Jacques de la Boucherie 
 
 The Guillotine , . . . 
 
 HeadjDiece, Chapter X. 
 
 The Last Night of the Girondists . 
 
 Execution of a Royalist 
 
 Headpiece, Chapter XL 
 
 The Girondists Going to Execution, 
 
 The Conciergerie 
 
 Headpiece, Chapter XII. 
 
 Mme. Roland Leaving the Conciergerie, 
 
 Finding the Dead Body of M. Roland 
 
 facing 
 
 facing page i6o 
 
 " 172 
 
 " 168 
 
 " 193 
 
 " 194 
 
 facing "184 
 
 . "217 
 
 . " 218 
 
 facing "224 
 
 '238 
 
 '239 
 facing "256 
 
 . " 262 
 
 Madame Iloland, viii 
 
 Jean Paul Marat. 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 The marble fountain in the Place de la 
 Concorde marks the spot where the pure soul 
 of Madame Roland took its flight in the high 
 noon of the French Revolution. 
 
 The child of an infidel father and a pious 
 mother, without playmates of her own age in 
 youth, she held intercourse with maturer minds 
 and made books her constant companions. 
 Her marriage made her the queen of a coterie 
 of young and eloquent enthusiasts that in- 
 cluded all the leaders of the Gironde — the in- 
 spiring genius of the most influential and elo- 
 quent party which had arisen amid the storms 
 of the Revolution. 
 
 The Girondists went down before the fury of 
 the Jacobins in their reckless onset upon 
 everything made venerable by time, and then 
 the woman whose talents, accomplishments 
 and fascinating conversational eloquence had 
 spread her renown over all Europe perished on 
 the guillotine at the hands of a capricious, in- 
 solent and degraded mob. 
 
 (ix) 
 
Madame Roland, x 
 
 Madame Roland 
 
MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 MAiiTY characters of unusual grandeur were 
 developed by the French Revolution. Among 
 them all, there are few more illustrious, or 
 more worthy of notice, than that of Madame 
 Roland. The eventful story of her life con- 
 tains much to inspire the mind with admiration 
 and with enthusiasm, and to stimulate one to 
 live worthily of those capabilities with which 
 every human heart is endowed. No person 
 can read the record of her lofty spirit and of 
 her heroic acts without a higher appreciation 
 of woman^s power, and of the mighty influence 
 one may wield, who combines the charms of a 
 noble and highly-cultivated mind with the fas- 
 cinations of female delicacy and loveliness. To 
 understand the secret of the almost miraculous 
 influence she exerted, it is necessary to trace 
 her career, with some degree of minuteness, 
 
 7 
 
8 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 from the cradle to the hour of her sublime and 
 heroic death. 
 
 In the year 1754, there was living, in an ob- 
 scure workshop in Paris, on the crowded Quai 
 des Orfevres, an engraver by the name of Gra- 
 tien Phlippon. He had married a very beau- 
 tiful woman, whose placid temperament and 
 cheerful content contrasted strikingly with the 
 restlessness and ceaseless repinings of her hus- 
 band. The comfortable yet humble apartments 
 of the engraver were over the shop where he 
 plied his daily toil. He was much dissatisfied 
 with his lowly condition in life, and that his 
 family, in the enjoyment of frugal competence 
 alone, were debarred from those luxuries which 
 were so profusely showered upon others. Bit- 
 terly and unceasingly he murmured that his lot 
 had been cast in the ranks of obscurity and of 
 unsparing labor, while others, by a more fortu- 
 nate, although no better merited destiny, were 
 born to ease and affluence, and honor and lux- 
 ury. This thought of the unjust inequality in 
 man's condition, which soon broke forth with 
 all the volcanic energy of the French Revolu- 
 tion, already began to ferment in the bosoms of 
 the laboring classes, and no one pondered these 
 wide diversities with a more restless spirit, or 
 murmured more loudly and more incessantly 
 than Phlippon. When the day's toil was 
 ended, he loved to gather around him asso- 
 
CHILDHOOD. 9 
 
 ciates whose feelings harmonized with his own, 
 and to descant upon their own grievous oppres- 
 sion, and upon the arrogance of aristocratic 
 greatness. With an eloquence which often 
 deeply moved his sympathizing auditory, and 
 fanned to greater intensity the fires which were 
 consuming his own hearty he contrasted their 
 doom of sleepless labor and of comparative 
 penury with the brilliance of the courtly 
 throng, living in idle luxury, and squander- 
 ing millions in the amusements at Versailles, 
 and sweeping in charioted splendor through the 
 Champs Elysee. 
 
 Phlippon was a philosopher, not a Christian. 
 Submission was a virtue he had never learned, 
 and never wished to learn. Christianity, as he 
 saw it developed before him only in the power- 
 ful enginery of the Eoman Catholic Church, 
 was, in his view, but a formidable barrier 
 against the liberty and the elevation of the peo- 
 ple — a bulwark, bristling with superstition and 
 bayonets, behind which nobles and kings were 
 securely intrenched. He consequently became 
 as hostile to the doctrines of the Church as he 
 was to the institutions of the state. The mon- 
 arch was, in his eye, a tyrant, and God a delu- 
 sion. The enfranchisement of the people, in 
 his judgment, required the overthrow of both 
 the earthly and the celestial monarch. In 
 these ideas, agitating the heart of Phlippon 
 
10 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 behold the origin of the French Eevolution. 
 They were diffused in pamphlets and daily 
 papers in theaters and cajes. They were urged 
 by workmen in their shops, by students in 
 their closets. They became the inspiring spirit 
 of science in encyclopedias and reviews, and 
 formed the chorus in all the songs of revelry 
 and libertinism. These sentiments spread 
 from heart to heart, through Paris, through 
 the provinces, till France rose like a demon in 
 its wrath, and the very globe trembled beneath 
 its gigantic and indignant tread. 
 
 Madame Phlippon was just the reverse of her 
 husband. She was a woman in whom faith, 
 and trust, and submission predominated. She 
 surrendered her will, without questioning, to all 
 the teachings of the Church of Eome. She was 
 placid, contented, and cheerful, and, though un- 
 inquiring in her devotion, undoubtedly sincere 
 in her piety. In every event of life she recog- 
 nized the overruling hand of Providence, and 
 feeling that the comparatively humble lot as- 
 signed her was in accordance with the will of 
 God, she indulged in no repinings, and envied 
 not the more brilliant destiny of lords and la- 
 dies. An industrious housewife, she hummed 
 the hymns of contentment and peace from 
 morning till evening. In the cheerful perform- 
 ance of her daily toil, she was ever pouring 
 the balm of her peaceful spirit upon the rest- 
 
CHILDHOOD. 11 
 
 less heart of her spouse. Phlippon loved his 
 wife, and often felt the superiority of her 
 Christian temperament. 
 
 Of eight children born to these parents, one 
 only, Jeanne Manon, or Jane Mary, survived 
 the hour of birth. Her father first received 
 her to his arms in 1754, and she became the ob- 
 ject of his painful and most passionate adora- 
 tion. Her mother pressed the coveted treas- 
 ure to her bosom with maternal love, more 
 calm, and deep, and enduring. And now Jane 
 became the central star in this domestic sys- 
 tem. Both parents lived in her and for her. 
 She was their earthly all. The mother wished 
 to train her for the Church and for heaven, 
 that she might become an angel and dwell by 
 the throne of God. These bright hopes gilded 
 a prayerful mother's hours of toil and care. 
 The father bitterly repined. Why should his 
 bright and beautiful child — who even in these 
 her infantile years was giving indication of the 
 most brilliant intellect — why should she be 
 doomed to a life of obscurity and toil, while 
 the garden of the Tuileries and the Elysian 
 Fields were thronged with children, neither so 
 beautiful nor so intelligent, who were reveling 
 in boundless wealth, and living in the world of 
 luxury and splendor which, to Phlippon's im- 
 agination, seemed more alluring than any idea 
 he could form of heaven ? These thoughts 
 
12 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 were a consuming fire in the bosom of the am* 
 bitious father. They burned with inextinguish- 
 able flame. 
 
 The fond parent made the sprightly and fas- 
 cinating child his daily companion. He led 
 her by the hand, and confided to her infantile 
 spirit all his thoughts, his illusions, his day- 
 dreams. To her listening ear he told the story 
 of the arrogance of nobles, of the pride of kings, 
 and of the oppression by which he deemed him- 
 self unjustly doomed to a life of penury and 
 toil. The light-hearted child was often weary 
 of these complainings, and turned for relief to 
 the placidity and cheerfulness of her mother's 
 mind. Here she found repose — a soothing, 
 calm, and holy submission. Still the gloom of 
 her father's spirit cast a pensive shade over her 
 own feelings, and infused a tone of melancholy 
 and an air of unnatural reflection into her 
 character. By nature, Jane was endowed with 
 a soul of unusual delicacy. From early child- 
 hood, all that is beautiful or sublime in nature, 
 in literature, in character, had charms to rivet 
 her entranced attention. She loved to sit alone 
 at her chamber window in the evening of a 
 summer's day, to gaze upon the gorgeous hues 
 of sunset. As her imagination roved through 
 those portals of a brighter world, which seemed 
 thus, through far-reaching vistas of glory, to 
 be opened to her, she peopled the sun-lit ex- 
 
CHILDHOOD. 13 
 
 panse with the creations of her own fancy, and 
 often wept in uncontrollable emotion through 
 the influence of these gathering thoughts. 
 Books of impassioned poetry, and descriptions 
 of heroic character and achievements, were her 
 especial delight. Plutarch's Lives, that book 
 which, more than any other, appears to be the 
 incentive of early genius, was hid beneath her 
 pillow, and read and re-read with tireless avid- 
 ity. Those illustrious heroes of antiquity be- 
 came the companions of her solitude and of 
 her hourly thoughts. She adored them and 
 loved them as her own most intimate personal 
 friends. Her character became insensibly 
 molded to their forms, and she was inspired 
 with restless enthusiasm to imitate their deeds. 
 When but twelve years of age, her father found 
 her, one day, weeping that she was not born a 
 Eoman maiden. Little did she then imagine 
 that, by talent, by suffering, and by heroism, 
 she was to display a character the history of 
 which would eclipse the proudest narratives in 
 Greek or Eoman story. 
 
 Jane appears never to have known the friv- 
 olity and thoughtlessness of childhood. Be* 
 fore she had entered the fourth year of her age 
 she knew how to read. From that time her 
 thirst for reading was so great, that her parents 
 found no little difficulty in furnishing her with 
 a sufficient supply. She not only read with 
 
14 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 eagerness every book which met her eye, but 
 pursued this uninterrupted miscellaneous read- 
 ing to singular advantage, treasuring up all 
 important facts in her retentive memory. So 
 entirely absorbed was she in her books, that 
 the only successful mode of withdrawing her 
 from them was by offering her flowers, of 
 which she was passionately fond. Books and 
 flowers continued, through all the vicissitudes 
 of her life, even till the hour of her death, to 
 aflord her the most exquisite pleasure. She 
 had no playmates, and thought no more of 
 play than did her father and mother, who were 
 her only and her constant companions. From 
 infancy she was accustomed to the thoughts 
 and the emotions of mature minds. In personal 
 appearance she was, in earliest childhood and 
 through life, peculiarly interesting rather than 
 beautiful. As mature years perfected her fea- 
 tures and her form, there was in the contour 
 of her graceful figure and her intellectual 
 countenance, that air of thoughtfulness, of 
 pensiveness, of glowing tenderness and delicacy, 
 which gave her a power of fascination over all 
 hearts. She sought not this power ; she 
 thought not of it ; but an almost resistless at- 
 traction and persuasion accompanied all her 
 words and actions. 
 
 It was, perhaps, the absence of playmates, 
 and the habitual converse with mature minds. 
 
CHILDHOOD. 15 
 
 which, at so early an age, inspired Jane with 
 that insatiate thirst for knoAvledge which she 
 ever manifested. Books were her only resource 
 in every unoccupied hour. From her walks 
 with her father, and her domestic employments 
 with her mother, she turned to her little library 
 and to her chamber window, and lost herself in 
 the limitless realms of thought, It is often im- 
 agined that character is the result of accident 
 — that there is a native and inherent tendency, 
 which triumphs over circumstances, and works 
 out its own results. Without denying that 
 there may be different intellectual gifts with 
 which the soul may be endowed as it comes 
 from the hand of the Creator, it surely is not 
 difficult to perceive that the peculiar training 
 through which the childhood of Jane was con- 
 ducted was calculated to form the peculiar 
 character which she developed. 
 
 In a bright summer's afternoon she might be 
 seen sauntering along the Boulevards, led by 
 her father's hand, gazing upon that scene of 
 gaiety with which the eye is never wearied. 
 A gilded coach, drawn by the most beautiful 
 horses in the richest trappings, sweeps along 
 the streets — a gorgeous vision. Servants in 
 showy livery, and out-riders proudly mounted, 
 invest the spectacle with a degree of grandeur 
 beneath which the imagination of a child sinks 
 exhausted. Phlippon takes his little daughter 
 
16 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 in his arms to show her the sight, and, as she 
 gazes in infantile wonder and delight, the dis- 
 contented father says, ^^ Look at that lord, and 
 lady, and child, lolling so yoluptuously in their 
 coach. They have no right there. Why must 
 I and my child walk on this hot pavement, 
 while they repose on velvet cushions and revel 
 in all luxury ? Oppressive laws compel me to 
 pay a portion of my hard earnings to support 
 them in their pride and indolence. But a time 
 will come when the people will awake to the 
 consciousness of their wrongs, and their tyrants 
 will tremble before them." He continues his 
 walk in moody silence, brooding over his sense 
 of injustice. They return to their home. Jane 
 wishes that her father kept a carriage, and liv- 
 eried servants and out-riders. She thinks of 
 politics, and of the tyranny of kings and nobles, 
 and of the unjust inequalities of man. She re- 
 tires to the solitude of her loved chamber win- 
 dow, and reads of Aristides the Just, of The- 
 mistocles with his Spartan virtues, of Brutus, 
 and of the mother of the Gracchi. Greece and 
 Rome rise before her in all their ancient re- 
 nown. She despises the frivolity of Paris, the 
 effeminacy of the moderns, and her youthful 
 bosom throbs with the desire of being noble in 
 spirit and of achieving great exploits. Thus, 
 when other children of her age were playing 
 with their dolls, she was dreaming of the pros- 
 
CHILDHOOD. 17 
 
 tration of nobles and of the overthrow of 
 thrones — of liberty, and fraternity, and equality 
 among mankind. Strange dreams for a child, 
 but still more strange in their fulfilment. 
 
 The infidelity of her father and the piety of 
 her mother contended, like counter currents of 
 the ocean, in her bosom. Her active intellect 
 and love of freedom sympathized with the spec- 
 ulations of the so-called philosopher. Her ami- 
 able and affectionate disposition and her pensive 
 meditations led her to seek repose in the sub- 
 lime conceptions and in the soul-soothing con- 
 solations of the Christian. Her parents were 
 deeply interested in her education, and were 
 desirous of giving her every advantage for se- 
 curing the highest attainments. The educa- 
 tion of young ladies, at that time, in France, 
 was conducted almost exclusively by nuns in 
 convents. The idea of the silence and solitude 
 of the cloister inspired the highly-imaginative 
 girl with a blaze of enthusiasm. Fondly as she 
 loved her home, she was impatient for the hour 
 to arrive when, with heroic self-sacrifice, she 
 could withdraw from the world and its pleas- 
 ures, and devote her whole soul to devotion, to 
 meditation, and to study Her mother's spirit 
 of religion was exerting a powerful influence 
 over her, and one evening she fell at her feet, 
 and, bursting into tears, besought that she 
 might be sent to a convent to prepare to receive 
 
18 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 her first Christian conimunion in a suitable 
 frame of mind. 
 
 The convent of the sisterhood of the Con- 
 gregation in Paris was selected for Jane. In 
 the review of her life which she subsequently 
 wrote while immured in the dungeons of the 
 Conciergerie, she says, in relation to this event, 
 *' While pressing my dear mother in my arms, 
 at the moment of parting with her for the first 
 time in my life, I thought my heart would 
 have broken ; but I was acting in obedience to 
 the voice of God, and I passed the threshold 
 of the cloister, tearfully offering up to him the 
 greatest sacrifice I was capable of making. 
 This was on the 7th of May, 1765, when I was 
 eleven years and two months old. In the 
 gloom of a prison, in the midst of political 
 storms which ravage my country, and sweep 
 away all that is dear to me, how shall I recall 
 to my mind, and how describe the rapture and 
 tranquillity I enjoyed at this period of my life ? 
 What lively colors can express the soft emo- 
 tions of a young heart endued with tenderness 
 and sensibility, greedy of happiness, beginning 
 to be alive to the beauties of nature, and per- 
 ceiving the Deity alone ? The first night I 
 spent in the convent was a night of agitation. 
 I was no longer under the paternal roof. I 
 was at a distance from that kind mother, who 
 was doubtless thinking of me with affectionate 
 
CHILDHOOD. 19 
 
 emotion. A dim light diffused itself through 
 the room in which I had been put to bed with 
 four children of my own age. I stole softly 
 from my couch, and drew near the window, 
 the light of the moon enabling me to distin- 
 guish the garden, which it overlooked. The 
 deepest silence prevailed around, and I listened 
 to it, if I may use the expression, with a sort 
 of respect. Lofty trees cast their gigantic 
 shadows along the ground, and promised a 
 secure asylum to peaceful meditation. I lifted 
 up my eyes to the heavens ; they were un- 
 clouded and serene. I imagined that I felt 
 the presence of the Deity smiling upon my 
 sacrifice, and already offering me a reward in 
 the consolatory hope of a celestial abode. 
 Tears of delight flowed down my cheeks. I 
 repeated my vows with holy ecstacy, and went 
 to bed again to taste the slumber of God's 
 chosen children." 
 
 Her thirst for knowledge was insatiate, and 
 with untiring assiduity she pursued her studies. 
 Every hour of the day had its appropriate 
 employment, and time flew upon its swiftest 
 wings. Every book which fell in her way she 
 eagerly perused, and treasured its knowledge 
 or its literary beauties in her memory. Her- 
 aldry and books of romance, lives of the saints 
 and fairy legends, biography, travels, history, 
 political philosophy, poetry, and treatises upon 
 
20 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 morals, were all read and meditated upon by 
 this young child. She had no taste for any 
 childish amusements ; and in the hours of 
 recreation, when the mirthful girls around her 
 were forgetting study and care in those games 
 appropriate to their years, she would walk 
 alone in the garden, admiring the flowers, and 
 gazing upon the fleecy clouds in the sky. In 
 all the beauties of nature her eye ever recog- 
 nized the hand of God, and she ever took 
 pleasure in those sublime thoughts of infinity 
 and eternity which must engross every noble 
 mind. Her teachers had but little to do. 
 Whatever study she engaged in was pursued 
 with such spontaneous zeal, that success had 
 crowned her efforts before others had hardly 
 made a beginning. 
 
 In music and drawing she made great profi- 
 ciency. She was even more fond of all that is 
 beautiful and graceful in the accomplishments 
 of a highly-cultivated mind, than in those more 
 solid studies which she nevertheless pursued 
 with so much energy and interest. 
 
 The scenes which she witnessed in the con- 
 vent were peculiarly calculated to produce an 
 indelible impression upon a mind so imagina- 
 tive. The chapel for prayer, with its somber 
 twilight and its dimly-burning tapers ; the 
 dirges which the organ breathed upon the 
 trembling ear ; the imposing pageant of prayer 
 
CHILDHOOD. 21 
 
 and praise, with the blended costumes of 
 monks and hooded nuns ; the knell which 
 tolled the requiem of a departed sister, as, in 
 the gloom of night and by the light of torches, 
 she was conveyed to her burial — all these con- 
 comitants of that system of pageantry, arranged 
 so skilfully to impress the senses of the young 
 and the imaginative, fanned to the highest 
 elevation the flames of that poetic temperament 
 she so eminently possessed. 
 
 God thus became in Jane's mind a vision of 
 poetic beauty. Religion was the inspiration of 
 enthusiasm and of sentiment. The worship of 
 the Deity was blended with all that was enno- 
 bling and beautiful. Moved by these glowing 
 fancies, her susceptible spirit, in these tender 
 years, turned away from atheism, from infidel- 
 ity, from irreligion, as from that which was 
 unrefined, revolting, vulgar. The conscious- 
 ness of the presence of God, the adoration of 
 his being, became a passion of her soul. This 
 state of mind was poetry, not religion. It in- 
 volved no sense of the spirituality of the Divine 
 Law, no consciousness of unworthiness, no 
 need of a Saviour. It was an emotion sublime 
 and beautiful, yet merely such an emotion as 
 any one of susceptible temperament might feel 
 when standing in the Vale of Chamouni at 
 midnight, or when listening to the crash of 
 thunder as the tempest wrecks the sky, or 
 
22 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 when one gazes entranced upon the fair face 
 of nature in a mild and lovely morning of 
 June, when no cloud appears in the blue 
 canopy above us, and no breeze ruffles the 
 leaves of the grove or the glassy surface of the 
 lake, and the songs of birds and the perfume 
 of flowers fill the air. Many mistake the 
 highly poetic enthusiasm which such scenes 
 excite for the spirit of piety. 
 
 While Jane was an inmate of the convent, 
 a very interesting young lady, from some dis- 
 appointment weary of the world, took the veil. 
 When one enters a convent with the intention 
 of becoming a nun, she first takes the white 
 veil, which is an expression of her intention, 
 and thus enters the grade of a novice. During 
 the period of her novitiate, which continues for 
 several months, she is exposed to the severest 
 discipline of vigils, and fastings, and solitude, 
 and prayer, that she may distinctly understand 
 the life of weariness and self-denial upon which 
 she has entered. If, unintimidated by these 
 hardships, she still persists in her determin- 
 ation, she then takes the black veil, and utters 
 her solemn and irrevocable vows to bury her- 
 self in the gloom of the cloister, never again to 
 emerge. From this step there is no return. 
 The throbbing heart, which neither cowls nor 
 veils can still, finds in the taper-lighted cell its 
 living tomb, till it sleeps in death. No one 
 
CHILDHOOD. 23 
 
 with even an ordinary share of sensibility can 
 witness a ceremony involving such conse- 
 quences without the deepest emotion. The 
 scene produced an effect upon the spirit of 
 Jane which was never effaced. The wreath of 
 flowers which crowned the beautiful victim ; 
 the veil enveloping her person ; the solemn and 
 dirge-like chant, the requiem of her burial to 
 all the pleasures of sense and time ; the pall 
 which overspread her, emblematic of her con- 
 signment to a living tomb, all so deeply affected 
 the impassioned child, that, burying her face 
 in her hands, she wept with uncontrollable 
 emotion. 
 
 The thought of the magnitude of the sacrifice 
 which the young novice was making appealed 
 irresistibly to her admiration of the morally 
 sublime. There was in that relinquishment of 
 all the joys of earth a self-surrender to a pas- 
 sionless life of mortification, and penance, and 
 prayer, an apparent heroism, which reminded 
 Jane of her much-admired Eoman maidens 
 and matrons. She aspired with most romantic 
 ardor to do, herself, something great and noble. 
 While her sound judgment could not but con- 
 demn this abandonment of life, she was inspired 
 with the loftiest enthusiasm to enter, in some 
 worthy way, upon a life of endurance, of sacri- 
 fice, and of martyrdom. She felt that she was 
 born for the performance of some great deeds. 
 
24 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 and she looked down with contempt upon all 
 the ordinary vocations of every-day life. These 
 were the dreams of a romantic girl. They were 
 not, however, the fleeting visions of a sickly 
 and sentimental mind, but the deep, soul-mov- 
 ing aspirations of one of the strongest intellects 
 over which imagination has ever swayed its 
 scepter. One is reminded by these early de- 
 velopments of character of the remark of 
 Napoleon, when some one said, in his presence, 
 ^^ It is nothing but imagination." ^^ Nothing 
 but imagination," replied this sagacious ob- 
 server ; '' imaginatioji rules the world I " 
 
 These dim visions of greatness, these lofty 
 aspirations, not for renown, but for the inward 
 consciousness of intellectual elevation, of moral 
 sublimity, of heroism, had no influence, as is, 
 ordinarily the case with day-dreams, to give 
 Jane a distaste for life's energetic duties. 
 They did not enervate her character, or con- 
 vert her into a mere visionary ; on the con- 
 trary, they but roused and invigorated her to 
 alacrity in the discharge of every duty. They 
 led her to despise ease and luxury, to rejoice 
 in self-denial, and to cultivate, to the highest 
 possible degree, all her faculties of body and 
 of mind, that she might be prepared for any 
 possible destiny. Wild as, at times, her imag- 
 inings might have been, her most vivid fancy 
 never could have pictured a career so extraor- 
 
CHILDHOOD. 
 
 25 
 
 dinary as that to which reality introduced 
 her ; and in all the annals of ancient story, she 
 could find no record of sufferings and priva- 
 
 fe3^f^s;:^^%^^ 
 
 Uniforms and Colors of the National Guard, 
 tions more severe than those which she was 
 called upon to endure. And neither heroine 
 nor hero of any age has shed greater luster 
 upon human nature by the cheerful fortitude 
 with which adversity has been braved. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 The influence of those intense emotions 
 which were excited in the bosom of Jane by 
 the scenes which she witnessed in her child- 
 hood in the nunnery were never effaced from 
 her imaginative mind. Nothing can be con- 
 ceived more strongly calculated to impress the 
 feelings of a romantic girl, than the poetic at- 
 tractions which are thrown around the Eoman 
 Catholic religion by nuns, and cloisters, and 
 dimly-lighted chapels, and faintly-burning ta- 
 pers, and matins, and vespers, and midnight 
 dirges. Jane had just the spirit to be most 
 deeply captivated by such enchantments. She 
 reveled in these imaginings which clustered in 
 the dim shades of the cloister, in an ecstacy of 
 luxurious enjoyment. The ordinary motives 
 which influence young girls of her age seem to 
 have had no control over her. Her joys were 
 most highly intellectual and spiritual, and her 
 aspirations were far above the usual concep- 
 tions of childhood. She, for a time, became 
 entirely fascinated by the novel scenes around 
 26 
 
YOUTH. 27 
 
 her, and surrendered her whole soul to the 
 dominion of the associations with which she 
 was engrossed. In subsequent years, by the 
 energies of a vigorous philosophy, she disen- 
 franchised her intellect from these illusions, 
 and, proceeding to another extreme, wandered 
 in the midst of the cheerless mazes of unbe- 
 lief ; but her fancy retained the traces of these 
 early impressions until the hour of her death. 
 Christianity, even when most heavily encum- 
 bered with earthly corruption, is infinitely pre- 
 ferable to no religion at all. Even papacy has 
 never swayed so bloody a scepter as infidelity. 
 Jane remained in the convent one year, and 
 then, with deep regret, left the nuns, to whom 
 she had become extremely attached. With one 
 of the sisters, who was allied to the nobility, 
 she formed a strong friendship, which con- 
 tinued through life. For many years she kept 
 up a constant correspondence with this friend, 
 and to this correspondence she attributes, in a 
 great degree, that facility in writing which 
 contributed so much to her subsequent celeb- 
 rity. This letter-writing is one of the best 
 schools of composition, and the parent who is 
 emulous of the improvement of his children in 
 that respect, will do all in his power to en- 
 courage the constant use of the pen in these 
 familiar epistles. Thus the most important 
 study, the study of the power of expression, is 
 
28 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 converted into a pleasure, and is pursued with 
 an avidity which will infallibly secure success. 
 It is a sad mistake to frown upon such efforts 
 as a waste of time. 
 
 AVhile in the convent, she, for the first time, 
 partook of 1ihe sacrament of the Lord's Supper. 
 Her spirit was most deeply impressed and over- 
 awed by the sacredness of the ceremony. Dur- 
 ing several weeks previous to her reception of 
 this solemn ordinance, by solitude, self-examin- 
 ation, and prayer, she endeavored to prepare 
 herself for that sacred engagement, which she 
 deemed the pledge of her union to God, and of 
 her eternal felicity. When the hour arrived, 
 her feelings were so intensely excited that she 
 wept convulsively, and she was entirely inca- 
 pable of walking to the altar. She was borne in 
 the arms of two of the nuns. This depth of 
 emotion was entirely unaffected, and secured 
 for her the peculiar reverence of the sacred 
 sisters. 
 
 That spirit of pensive reverie, so dangerous 
 and yet so fascinating, to which she loved to 
 surrender herself, was peculiarly in harmony 
 with all the influences with which she was sur- 
 rounded in the convent, and constituted the 
 very soul of the piety of its inmates. She was 
 encouraged by the commendations of all the 
 sisters to deliver her mind up to the dominion 
 of these day-dreams, with whose intoxicating 
 
YOUTH. 29 
 
 power every heart is more or less familiar. She 
 loved to retire to the solitude of the cloisters, 
 when the twilight was deepening into darkness, 
 and alone, with measured steps, to pace to and 
 fro. listening to the monotonous echoes of her 
 own footfall, which alone disturbed the solemn 
 silence. At the tomb of a departed sister she 
 would often linger, and, indulging in those 
 melancholy meditations which had for her so 
 many charms, long for her own departure to 
 the bosom of her heavenly Father, where she 
 might enjoy that perfect happiness for which, 
 at times, her spirit glowed with such intense 
 aspirations. 
 
 At the close of the year Jane left the peace- 
 ful retreat where she had enjoyed so much, and 
 where she had received so many impressions 
 never to be effaced. Her parents, engrossed 
 with care, were unable to pay that attention to 
 their child which her expanding mind required, 
 and she was sent to pass her thirteenth year 
 with her paternal grandmother and her aunt 
 Angelieu. Her grandmother was a dignified 
 lady, of much refinement of mind and grace- 
 fulness of demeanor, who laid great stress upon 
 all the courtesies of life and the elegances of 
 manners and address. Her aunt was gentle 
 and warm-hearted, and her spirit was deeply 
 imbued with that humble and docile piety, 
 which has so often shone out with pure luster 
 
 3— Roland 
 
30 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 even through all the encumbrances of the 
 Roman Catholic Church. With them she spent 
 a year, in a seclusion from the world almost as 
 entire as that which she found in the solitude 
 of the convent. An occasional visit to her 
 parents, and to her old friends the nuns, was 
 all that interrupted the quiet routine of daily 
 duties. Books continued still her employment 
 and her delight. Her habits of reverie con- 
 tinued unbroken. Her lofty dreams gained a 
 daily increasing ascendency over her character. 
 She thus continued to dwell in the boundless 
 regions of the intellect and the affections. 
 Even the most commonplace duties of life 
 were rendered attractive to her by investing 
 them with a mysterious connection with her 
 own limitless being. Absorbed in her own 
 thoughts, ever communing with herself, with 
 nature, with the Deity, as the object of her 
 highest sentiment and aspirations, though she 
 did not despise those of a more humble mental 
 organization, she gave them not a thought. 
 The evening twilight of every fine day still 
 found her at her chamber window, admiring 
 the glories of the setting sun, and feeding her 
 impassioned spirit with those visions of future 
 splendor and happiness which the scene ap- 
 peared to reveal. She fancied she could 
 almost see the wings of angels gleaming in the 
 purple sunlight. Through those gorgeous 
 
YOUTH. 31 
 
 avenues, where clouds were piled on golden 
 clouds, she imagined, far away, the mansions 
 of the blessed. These emotions glowing within 
 her, gave themselves utterance in prayers 
 earnest and ardent, while l.he tears oi' irrepres- 
 sible feeling filled her eyes as she thought of 
 that exalted Being, so worthy of her pure and 
 intensest homage. 
 
 The father of Jane was delighted with all 
 these indications of a marked and elevated char- 
 acter, and did all in his power to stimulate her 
 to greater zeal in her lofty studies and medita- 
 tions. Jane became his idol, and the more her 
 imaginative mind became imbued with the 
 spirit of romantic aspirations, the better was 
 he pleased. The ardor of her zeal enabled her 
 to succeed in everything which she under- 
 took. Invincible industry and energy were 
 united with these dreams. She was ambitious 
 of knowing everything ; and when her father 
 placed in her hands the hurin, wishing to teach 
 her to engrave, she immediately acquired such 
 skill as to astonish both of her parents. And 
 she afterward passed many pleasant hours in 
 engraving, on highly-polished plates of brass 
 beautiful emblems of flowers as tokens of affec- 
 tion for her friends. 
 
 The mother of Jane, with far better judg- 
 ment, endeavored to call back her daughter 
 from that unreal world in which she loved to 
 
^ MADAME BOLAKD. 
 
 dwell, and to interest her in the practical 
 duties of life. She began to be impatient for 
 her return home, that she might introduce her 
 to those household employments, the knowl- 
 edge of which is of such un^eakable impor- 
 tance to every lady. In this she was far from 
 being unsuccessful ; for while Jane continued 
 to dream in accordance with the encourage- 
 ment of her father, she also cordially recognized 
 the good sense of her mother's counsels, and 
 held herself ever in readiness to co-operate 
 with her in all her plans. 
 
 A little incident which took place at this 
 time strikingly illustrates the reflective ma- 
 turity which her character had already acquired. 
 Before the French Eevolution, the haughty 
 demeanor of the nobility of France assumed 
 such an aspect as an American, at the present 
 day, can but feebly conceive. One morning, 
 the grandmother of Jane, a woman of dignity 
 and cultivated mind, took her to the house of 
 Madame De Boismorel, a lady of noble rank, 
 whose children she had partly educated. It 
 was a great event, and Jane was dressed with 
 the utmost care to visit the aristocratic man- 
 sion. The aspiring girl, with no disposition to 
 come down to the level of those beneath her, 
 and with still less willingness to do homage to 
 those above her, was entirely unconscious of 
 the mortifying condescension with which she 
 
YOUTH. 38 
 
 was to be received. The porter at the door 
 saluted Madame Phlippon with politeness, and 
 all the servants whom she met in the hall ad- 
 dressed her with civility. She replied to each 
 with courtesy and with dignity. The grand- 
 mother was proud of her granddaughter, and 
 the servants paid the young lady many com- 
 pliments. The instinctive pride of Jane took 
 instant alarm. She felt that servants had no 
 right to presume to pay her compliments — that 
 they were thus assuming that she was upon 
 their level. Alas ! for poor human nature. 
 All love to ascend. Few are willing to favor 
 equality by stepping down. A tall footman 
 announced them at the door of the magnificent 
 saloon. All the furnishing and arrangements 
 of this aristocratic apartment were calculated 
 to dazzle the eye and bewilder the mind of one 
 unaccustomed to such splendor. Madame De 
 Boismorel, dressed with the most ostentatious 
 display of wealth, was seated upon an ottoman, 
 in stately dignity, employing her fingers with 
 fancy needlework. Her face was thickly 
 covered with rouge, and, as her guests were 
 announced, she raised her eyes from her em- 
 broidery, and fixing a cold and unfeeling 
 glance upon them, without rising to receive 
 them, or even making the slightest inclination 
 of her body, in a very patronizing and con- 
 descending tone said to the grandmother, 
 
34 MADAMEl ROLAND. 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Phlippon, good morning to 
 you!" 
 
 Jane, who was far from pleased with her re- 
 ception in the hall, was exceedingly displeased 
 with her reception in the saloon. The pride 
 of the Eoman maiden rose in her bosom, and 
 indignantly she exclaimed to herself, '^ So my 
 grandmother is called Miss in this house ! " 
 
 ^'1 am very glad to see you," continued 
 Madame De Boismorel ; ^^ and who is this fine 
 girl ? youi granddaughter, I suppose ? She 
 will make a very pretty woman. Come here, 
 my dear. Ah ! I see she is a little bashful. 
 How old is your granddaughter. Miss Phlip- 
 pon ? Her complexion is rather brown, to be 
 sure, but her skin is clear, and will grow fairer 
 in a few years. She is quite a woman already." 
 
 Thus she rattled on for some time, waiting 
 for no answers. At length, turning again to 
 Jane, who had hardly ventured to raise her 
 eyes from the floor, she said, '^^ What a beauti- 
 ful hand you have got. The hand must be a 
 lucky one. Did you ever venture in a lottery, 
 my dear ? " 
 
 " IS'ever, madam," replied Jane, promptly; 
 "I am not fond of gaming." 
 
 '' What an admirable voice ! " exclaimed the 
 lady. '' So sweet and yet so full-toned ! But 
 how grave she is ! Pray, my dear, are you not 
 a little of a devotee ? " 
 
YOUTH. 35 
 
 *^ I know my duty to God," replied Jane, 
 " and I endeavor to fulfil it." 
 
 " That's a good girl," the noble lady rejoined. 
 ** You wish to take the veil, do you not ? " 
 
 '^ I do not know what may be my destina- 
 tion, neither am I at present anxious to con- 
 jecture it." 
 
 ^' How very sententious ! " Madame De Bois- 
 morel replied. " Your granddaughter reads 
 a great deal, does she not, Miss Phlippon ? " 
 
 ^' Yes, madam, reading is her greatest de- 
 light." 
 
 " Aye, aye, " rejoined the lady ; *^^ I see how it 
 is. But have a care that she does not turn 
 author. That would be a pity indeed." 
 
 During this conversation the cheeks of Jane 
 were flushed with wounded pride, and her 
 heart throbbed most violently. She felt in- 
 dignant and degraded, and was exceedingly 
 impatient to escape from the humiliating visit. 
 Conscious that she was, in spirit, in no respect 
 inferior to the maidens of Greece and Eome 
 who had so engrossed -her admiration, she as 
 instinctively recoiled from the arrogance of 
 the haughty occupant of the parlor as she had 
 repelled the affected equality of the servants 
 in the hall. 
 
 A short time after this she was taken to pass 
 a week at the luxurious abodes of Maria An- 
 toinette. Versailles was in itself a city of 
 
86 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 palaces and of courtiers, where all that could 
 dazzle the eye in regal pomp and princely vo- 
 luptuousness was concentered. Most girls of 
 her age would have been enchanted and be- 
 wildered by this display of royal grandeur. 
 Jane was permitted to witness, and partially 
 to share, all the pomp of luxuriously-spread 
 tables, and presentations, and court balls, and 
 illuminations, and the gilded equipages of am- 
 bassadors and princes. But this maiden, just 
 emerging from the period of childhood and the 
 seclusion of the cloister, undazzled by all this 
 brilliance, looked sadly on the scene with the 
 condemning eye of a philosopher. The servility 
 of the courtiers excited her contempt. She 
 contrasted the boundless profusion and ex- 
 travagance which filled these palaces with the 
 absence of comfort in the dwellings of the over- 
 taxed poor, and pondered deeply the value of 
 that regal despotism, which starved the millions 
 to pander to the dissolute indulgence of the 
 few. Her personal pride was also severely 
 stung by perceiving that her own attractions, 
 mental and physical, were entirely overlooked 
 by the cr'owds which were bowing before the 
 shrines of rank and power. She soon became 
 weary of the painful spectacle. Disgusted 
 with the frivolity of the living, she sought 
 solace for her wounded feelings in companion- 
 ship with the illustrious dead. She chose the 
 
gardens for her resort, and lingering around 
 the statues which embellished these scenes of 
 almost fairy enchantment, surrendered herself 
 to the luxury of those oft-indulged dreams, 
 which lured her thoughts away from the 
 trivialities around her to heroic character and 
 brilliant exploits. 
 
 " How do you enjoy your visit, my daugh- 
 ter ? " inquired her mother. 
 
 '' I shall be glad when it is ended," was the 
 characteristic reply, " else, in a few more days, 
 I shall so detest al'l the persons I see that I 
 shall not know what to do with my hatred." 
 
 ^' Why, what harm have these persons done 
 you, my child ? " 
 
 " They make me feel injustice and look upon 
 absurdity," replied this philosopher of thirteen. 
 
 Thus early did she commence her political 
 meditations, and here were planted the germs 
 of that enthusiasm which subsequently nerved 
 her to such exertions for the disenthralment 
 of the people, and the establishment of republi- 
 can power upon the ruin of the throne of the 
 Bourbons. She thought of the ancient repub- 
 lics, encircled by a halo of visionary glory, and 
 of the heroes and heroines who had been the mar- 
 tyrs of liberty ; or to use her own energetic 
 language, '^I sighed at the recollection of 
 Athens, where I could have enjoyed the fine 
 arts without being annoyed at the sight of des- 
 
38 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 potism. 1 was out of all patience at being a 
 Frenchwoman. Enchanted with the golden 
 period of the Grecian republic, I passed over 
 the storm»s by which it had been agitated. I 
 forgot the exile of Aristides, the death of Soc- 
 rates, and the condemnation of Phocion. I 
 little thought that Heaven reserved me to be a 
 witness of similar errors, to profess the same 
 principles, and to participate in the glory of 
 the same persecutions." 
 
 Soon after Jane had entered her fourteenth 
 year, she left her grandmother's and returned 
 to her parental home. Her father, though 
 far from opulence, was equally removed from 
 poverty, and, without difficulty, provided his 
 family with a frugal competence. Jane now 
 pursued her studies and her limit-less reading 
 with unabated ardor. Her mind, demanding 
 reality and truth as basis for thought, in the 
 developments of character as revealed in biog- 
 r.aphy, in the rise and fall of empires as por- 
 trayed in history, in the facts of science, and in 
 the principles of mental and physical philoso- 
 phy, found its congenial aliment. She accus- 
 tomed herself to read with her pen in her 
 hand, taking copious abstracts of facts and 
 sentiments which particularly interested her. 
 Not having a large library of her own, many 
 of the books which she read were borrowed, 
 and she carefully extracted from them and 
 
YOUTH. 39 
 
 treasured in her common-place book those 
 passages which particularly interested her, 
 that she might read them again and again. 
 With these abstracts and extracts there were 
 freely intermingled her own reflections, and 
 thus all that she read was carefully stored up 
 in her own mind and became a portion of her 
 own intellectual being. 
 
 Jane's mother, conscious of the importance 
 to her child of a knowledge of doenestic duties, 
 took her to the market to obtain meat and 
 vegetables, and occasionally placed upon her 
 the responsibility of most of the family pur- 
 chases ; and yet the unaffected, queenly dig- 
 nity with which the imaginative girl yielded 
 herself to these most useful yet prosaic avoca- 
 tions was such, that when she entered the 
 market, the fruit-women hastened to serve her 
 before the other customers. The first comers, 
 instead of being offended by this neglect, 
 stepped aside, struck by those indescribable 
 indications of superiority which ever gave her 
 such a resistless influence over other minds. 
 It is quite remarkable that Jane, apparently 
 never turned with repugnance from these 
 humble avocations of domestic life. It speaks 
 most highly in behalf of the intelligence and 
 sound judgment of her mother, that she was 
 enabled thus successfully to allure her daugh- 
 ter from her proud imaginings and her realms 
 
40 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 of romance to those uiiattractive practical du- 
 ties which our daily necessities demand. At 
 one hour this ardent and impassioned maiden 
 might have been seen in her little chamber ab- 
 sorbed in studies of deepest research. The 
 highest themes which can elevate or engrqss 
 the mind of man claimed her profound and 
 delighted reveries. The next hour she might 
 be seen in the kitchen, under the guidance of 
 her placid and pious mother, receiving from her 
 judicious lips lessons upon frugality, and in- 
 dustry, and economy. The white apron was 
 bound around her waist, and her hands, which, 
 but a few moments before, were busy with the 
 circles of the celestial globe, were now occu- 
 pied in preparing vegetables for dinner. There 
 was thus united in the character of Jane the 
 appreciation of all that is beautiful, chivalric, 
 and sublime in the world of fact and the world 
 of imagination, and also domestic skill and 
 practical common sense. She was thus pre- 
 pared to fascinate by the graces and elegances 
 of a refined and polished mind, and to create 
 for herself, in the midst of all the vicissitudes 
 of life, a region of loveliness in which her spirit 
 could ever dwell ; and, at the same time, she 
 possessed that sagacity and tact, and those 
 habits of usefulness, which prepared her to 
 meet calmly all the changes of fortune, and 
 over them all to triumph. With that self-ap- 
 
YOUTH. 41 
 
 preciation, the expression of which, with her, 
 was frankness rather than vanity, she subse- 
 quently writes, ^* This mixture of serious stud- 
 ies, agreeable relaxations, and domestic cares, 
 was rendered pleasant by my mother's good 
 management, and fitted me for everything. It 
 seemed to forebode the vicissitudes of future 
 life, and enabled me to bear them. In every 
 place I am at home. I can prepare my own 
 dinner with as much address as Philopoemen 
 cut wood ; but no one seeing me thus engaged 
 would think it an office in which I ought to be 
 employed. " 
 
 Jane was thus prepared by Providence for 
 that career which she rendered so illustrious 
 through her talents and her sufferings. At this 
 early period there were struggling in her bosom 
 those very emotions which soon after agitated 
 every mind in France, and which overthrew in 
 chaotic ruin both the altar and the throne. 
 The dissolute lives of many of the Catholic 
 clergy, and their indolence and luxury, began 
 to alarm her faith. The unceasing denuncia- 
 tions of her father gave additional impulse to 
 every such suggestion. She could not but see 
 that the pride and power of the state were sus- 
 tained by the superstitious terrors wielded by 
 the Church. She could not be blind to the 
 trickery by which money was wrested from tor- 
 tured consciences, and from ignorance, imbecil- 
 
42 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 ity, and dotage. She could not but admire her 
 mother's placid piety, neither could she conceal 
 from herself that her faith was feeling, her prin- 
 ciples sentiments. De«eply as her own feelings 
 had been impressed in the convent, and much 
 as she loved the gentle sisters there, she sought 
 in vain for a foundation for the gigantic fabric 
 of spiritual dominion towering above her. She 
 looked upon the gorgeous pomp of papal wor- 
 ship, with its gormandizing pastors and its 
 starving flocks, with its pageants to excite the 
 sense and to paralyze the mind, with its friars 
 and monks loitering in sloth and uselessness, 
 and often in the grossest dissipation, and her 
 reason gradually began to condemn it as a 
 gigantic superstition for the enthralment of 
 mankind. Still, the influence of Christian sen- 
 timents, like a guardian angel; ever hovered 
 around her, and when her bewildered mind was 
 groping amid the labyrinths of unbelief, her 
 Iteart still clung to all that is pure in Christian 
 morals, and to all that is consolatory in the 
 hopes of immortality ; and even when be- 
 nighted in the most painful atheistic doubts, 
 conscience became her deity ; its voice she most 
 reverently obeyed. 
 
 She turned from the Church to the state. 
 She saw the sons and the daughters of aristo- 
 cratic pride, glittering in gilded chariots, and 
 surrounded by insolent menials, sweep by her. 
 
YOUTH. 43 
 
 through the Elysian Fields, while she trod the 
 dusty pathway. Her proud spirit revolted, 
 more and more, at the apparent injustice. She 
 had studied the organization of society. She 
 was familiar with the modes of popular op- 
 pression. She understood the operation of 
 that system of taxes, so ingeniously devised to 
 sink the mass of the people in poverty and deg- 
 radation, that princes and nobles might revel 
 in voluptuous splendor. Indignation nerved 
 her spirit as she reflected upon the usurpation 
 thus ostentatiously displayed. The seclusion 
 in which she lived encouraged deep musings 
 upon these vast inequalities of life. Piety had 
 not taught her submission. Philosophy had 
 not yet taught her the impossibility of adjust- 
 ing these allotments of our earthly state, so as 
 to distribute the gifts of fortune in accordance 
 with merit. Little, however, did the proud 
 grandees imagine, as in courtly splendor they 
 swept by the plebeian maiden, enveloping her 
 in the dust of their chariots, that her voice 
 would yet aid to upheave their castles from their 
 foundations, and whelm the monarchy and the 
 aristocracy of France in one common ruin. 
 
 At this time circumstances brought her in 
 contact with several ladies connected with no- 
 ble families. The ignorance of these ladies, 
 their pride, their arrogance, excited in Jane's 
 mind deep contempt. She could not but feel 
 
44 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 her own immeasurable superiority over them, 
 and yet she perceived with indignation that 
 the accident of birth invested them with a 
 factitious dignity, which enabled them to look 
 down upon her with condescension. A lady of 
 noble birth, who had lost fortune and friends 
 through the fraud and dissipation of those 
 connected with her, came to board for a short 
 time in her father's family. This lady was 
 forty years of age, insufferably proud of her 
 pedigree, and in her manners stiff and repul- 
 sive. She was exceedingly illiterate and unin- 
 formed, being unable to write a line with cor- 
 rectness, and having no knowledge beyond 
 ihat which may be picked up in the ball-room 
 and the theater. There was nothing in her 
 character to win esteem. She was trying, by 
 a law-suit, to recover a portion of her lost for- 
 tune. Jane wrote petitions for her, and let- 
 ters, and sometimes went with her to make 
 interest with persons whose influence would be 
 important. She perceived that, notwithstand- 
 ing her deficiency in every personal quality to 
 inspire esteem or love, she was treated, in con- 
 sequence of her birth, with the most marked 
 deference. Whenever she mentioned the 
 names of her high-born ancestry — and those 
 names were ever upon her lips — she was lis- 
 tened to with the greatest respect. Jane con- 
 trasted the receptioa which this illiterate de- 
 
YOUTH, 
 
 45 
 
 scendant of nobility enjoyed with the reception 
 which her grandmother encountered in the 
 visit to Madame De Boismorel, and it ap- 
 peared to her that the world was exceedingly 
 unjust, and that the institutions of society 
 were highly absurd. Thus was her mind train- 
 
 
 111 infill 1 1 1 11 Ir 1 Jiil li Ir'Siii nlll 
 
 ill 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 in 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 ^^^W?^B| liiK^B^sii 
 
 
 Salon of an Aristocrat, 
 ing for activity in the arena of revolution. 
 She was pondering deeply all the abuses of 
 society. She had become enamored of the 
 republican liberty of antiquity. She was 
 ready to embrace with enthusiasm any hopes 
 of change. All the games and amusements of 
 girlhood appeared to her frivolous, as, day 
 after day, her whole mental powers were en- 
 grossed by these profound contemplations, and 
 by aspirations for the elevation of herself and 
 of mankind. 
 
 4— Roland 
 
11 FJ 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 MAIDEKHOOD. 
 
 A SOUL SO active so imaginative, and so full 
 of feeling as that of Jane, could not long 
 slumber unconscious of the emotion of love. 
 In the unaffected and touching narrative which 
 she gives of her own character, in the Journal 
 which she subsequently wrote in the gloom of 
 a prison, she alludes to the first rising of that 
 mysterious passion in her bosom. With that 
 frankness which ever marked her character, 
 she describes the strange fluttering of her heart, 
 the embarrassment, the attraction, and the in- 
 stinctive diffidence she experienced when in the 
 presence of a young man who had, all uncon- 
 sciously, interested her affections. It seems 
 that there was a youthful painter named Tabo- 
 ral, of pale, and pensive, and intellectual coun- 
 tenance — an artist with soul-inspired enthu- 
 siasm beaming from his eye — who occasionally 
 called upon her father. Jane had just been 
 reading the Heloise of Eousseau, that gushing 
 fountain of sentimentality. Her young heart 
 took fire. His features mingled insensibly in 
 
 her dreamings and her visions, and dwelt, a wel- 
 
 46 
 
MAIDENHOOD. 47 
 
 come guest, in her castles in the air. The dif- 
 fident young man, with all the sensitiveness of 
 genius, could not speak to the daughter, of 
 whose accomplishments the father was so justly 
 proud, without blushing like a girl. When 
 Jane heard him in the shop, she always con- 
 trived to make some errand to go in*. There 
 was a pencil or something else to be sought for. 
 But the moment she was in the presence of 
 Taboral, instinctive embarrassment drove her 
 away, and she retired more rapidly than she en- 
 tered, and with a palpitating heart ran to hide 
 herself in her little chamber. 
 
 This emotion, however, was fleeting and 
 transient, and soon forgotten. Indeed, highly 
 imaginative as was Jane, her imagination was 
 vigorous and intellectual, and her tastes led her 
 far a'way from those enervating love-dreams, in 
 which a weaker m.ind would have indulged. A 
 young lady so fascinating in mind and person 
 could not but attract much attention. Many 
 suitors began to appear, one after another, but 
 she manifested no interest in any of them. The 
 customs of society in France were such at that 
 time, that it was difficult for any one who 
 sought the hand of Jane to obtain an introduc- 
 tion to her. Consequently, the expedient was 
 usually adopted of writing first to her parents. 
 These letters were always immediately shown 
 to Jane. She judged of the character of the 
 
48 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 writer by the character of the epistles. Her 
 father, knowing her intellectual superiority, 
 looked to her as his secretary to reply to all 
 these letters. She consequently wrote the an- 
 swers, which her father carefully copied, and 
 sent in his own name. She was often amused 
 with the gravity with which she, as the father 
 of herself, with parental prudence discussed her 
 own interests. In subsequent years she wrote 
 to kings and to cabinets in the name of her hus- 
 band ; and the sentiments which flowed from 
 her pen, adopted by the ministry of France as 
 their own, guided the councils of nations. 
 
 Her father, regarding commerce as the source 
 of wealth, and wealth as the source of power 
 and dignity, was very anxious that his daughter 
 should accept some of the lucrative offers she 
 was receiving from young men of the family 
 acquaintance who were engaged in trade. But 
 Jane had no such thought. Her proud spirit 
 revolted from such a connection. From her 
 sublimated position among the ancient heroes, 
 and her ambitious aspirings to dwelt in the loft- 
 iest regions of intellect, she could not think of 
 allying her soul with those whose energies were 
 expended in buying and selling ; and she de- 
 clared that she would have no husband but one 
 with whom she could cherish congenial sym- 
 pathies. 
 
 At one time a rich meat merchant of the 
 
Madame Roland, face j>. 48 
 
 Maximilien Marie Isidore Robespierre. {See p. 96.) 
 
MAIDENHOOD. 49 
 
 neighborhood solicited her hand. Her father, 
 allured by his wealth, was very anxious that 
 his (laughter should accept the offer. In reply 
 to his urgency Jane firmly replied. 
 
 " I can not, dear father, descend from my no- 
 ble imaginings. What I want in a husband is 
 a soul, not a fortune. I will die single rather 
 than prostitute my own mind in a union with; 
 a being with whom I have no sympathies.- 
 Brought up from my infancy in connection with 
 the great men of all ages — familiar with lofty 
 ideas and illustrious examples — have I lived 
 with Plato, with all the philosophers, all the 
 poets, all the politicians of antiquity, merely to 
 unite myself with a shop-keeper, who will nei- 
 ther appreciate nor feel anything as I do ? 
 Why have you suffered me, father, to contract 
 these intellectual habits and tastes, if you wish 
 me to form such an alliance ?/ I know not 
 whom I may marry ; but it must be one who 
 can share my thoughts and sympathize with my 
 pursuits." / 
 
 '^ But, my daughter, there are many men of 
 business who have extensive information and 
 polished manners." 
 
 " That may be," Jane answered, ''but they 
 do not possess the kind of information, and the 
 character of mind, and the intellectual tastes 
 which I wish any one who is my husband to 
 possess." 
 
60 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 *' Do you not suppose/' rejoined her father, 
 
 " that Mr. and his wife are happy ? 
 
 He has just retired from business with an 
 ample fortune. They have a beautiful house, 
 and receive the best of company." 
 
 " I am no judge," was the reply, '^ of other 
 people's happiness. But my own heart is not 
 fixed on riches. I conceive that the strictest 
 union of affection is requisite to conjugal 
 felicity. I cannot connect myself with any 
 man whose tastes and sympathies are not in 
 accordance with my own. My husband must 
 be my superior. Since both nature and the 
 laws give him the preeminence, I should be 
 ashamed if he did not really deserve it." 
 
 '^I suppose, then, you want a counselor for 
 your husband. But ladies are seldom happy 
 with these learned gentlemen. They have a 
 great deal of pride, and very little money." 
 
 '* Father," Jane earnestly replied, "I care 
 not about the profession. I wish only to marry 
 a man whom I can love." 
 
 " But you persist in thinking such a man 
 will never be found in trade. You will find it, 
 liowever, a very pleasant thing to sit at ease in 
 your own parlor while your husband is accum- 
 ulating a fortune. Now there is Madame 
 Dargens : she understands diamonds as well as 
 her husband. She can make good bargains in 
 his absence, and could carry on all his business 
 
MAIDENHOOD. 51 
 
 perfectly w*ll if she were left a widow. You 
 are intelligent. You perfectly understand that 
 branch of business since you studied the treat- 
 ise on precious stones. You might do what- 
 ever you please. You would have led a very 
 happy life if you could but have fancied De- 
 lorme, Dabrieul, or — '' 
 
 " Father," earnestly exclaimed Jane, ** I 
 have discovered that the only way to make a 
 fortune in trade is by selling dear that which 
 has been bought cheap ; by overcharging the 
 customer, and beating down the poor workman. 
 I could never descend to such practises ; nor 
 could I respect a man who made them his oc- 
 cupation from morning till night." 
 
 *' Do you then suppose that there are no 
 honest tradesmen ? " 
 
 ** I presume that there are," was the reply ; 
 '* but the number is not large ; and among 
 them I am not likely to find a husband who 
 will sympathize with me." 
 
 " And what will you do if you do not find 
 the idol of your imagination ? " 
 
 "I will live single." 
 
 '^ Perhaps you will not find that as pleasant 
 as you imagine. You may think that there is 
 time enough yet. But weariness will come at 
 last. The crowd of lovers will soon pass away, 
 and you know the fable." 
 
 *^ Well, then, by meriting happiness, 1 will 
 
62 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 take revenge upon the injustice which would 
 deprive me of it." 
 
 " Oh ! now you are in the clouds again, my / 
 child. It is very pleasant to soar to such a j 
 height, but it is not easy to keep the elevation.'' / 
 
 The judicious mother of Jane, anxious to 
 see her daughter settled in life, endeavored to 
 form a match for her with a young physician. 
 Much maneuvering was necessary to bring 
 about the desired result. The young practi- 
 tioner was nothing loth to lend his aid. The 
 pecuniary arrangements were all made, and 
 the bargain completed, before Jane knew any- 
 thing of the matter. The mother and 
 daughter went out one morning to make a call 
 upon a friend, at whose house the prospective 
 husband of Jane, by previous appointment, 
 was accidentally to be. It was a curious inter- 
 view. The friends so overacted their part, 
 that Jane, immediately saw through the plot. 
 Her mother was pensive and anxious. Her 
 friends were voluble, and prodigal of sly in- 
 timations. The young gentleman was very 
 lavish of his powers of pleasing, loaded Jane 
 with flippant compliments, devoured confec- 
 tionery with high relish, and chattered most 
 flippantly in the most approved style of fashion- 
 able inanition. The high-spirited girl had no 
 idea of being thus disposed of in the matri- 
 monial bazaar. The profession of the doctor 
 
MAIDENHOOD. 6S 
 
 was pleasing to her, as it promised an enlight- 
 ened mind, and she was willing to consent to 
 make his acquaintance. Her mother urged 
 her to decide at once. 
 
 ''What, mother ! " she exclaimed, '' would 
 you have me take one for my husband upon 
 the strength of a single interview ? " 
 
 " It is not exactly so/' she replied. '' This 
 young gentleman's intimacy with our friends 
 enables us to judge of his conduct and way of 
 life. We know his disposition. These are the 
 main points. You have attained the proper 
 age to be settled in the world. You have 
 refused many offers from tradesmen, and it is 
 from that class alone that you are likely to re- 
 ceive addresses. You seem fully resolved 
 never to marry a man in business. You may 
 never have another such offer. The present 
 match is very eligible in every external point 
 of view. Beware how you reject it too light- 
 
 ly." 
 
 Jane, thus urged, consented to see the young 
 physician at her father's house, that she might 
 become acquainted with him. She, however, 
 determined that no earthly power should in- 
 duce her to marry him, unless she found in 
 him a congenial spirit. Fortunately, she was 
 saved all further trouble in the matter by a 
 dispute which arose between her lover and her 
 father respecting the pecuniary arrangements. 
 
54 MadAmE iiOLAiTt). 
 
 and which broke oS all further connection be- 
 tween the parties. 
 
 Her mother's health now began rapidly to 
 decline. A stroke of palsy deprived her of her 
 accustomed elasticity of spirits, and secluding 
 herself from society, she became silent and 
 sad. In view of approaching death, she often 
 lamented that she could not see her daughter 
 well married before she left the world. An 
 offer which Jane received from a very honest, 
 industrious, and thrifty jeweler, aroused anew 
 a mother's maternal solicitude. 
 
 " Why," she exclaimed, with melancholy 
 earnestness, '^ will you reject this young man ? 
 He has an amiable disposition, and high repu- 
 tation for integrity and sobriety. He is al- 
 ready in easy circumstances, and is in a fair 
 way of soon acquiring a brilliant fortune. He 
 knows that you have a superior mind. He 
 professes great esteem for you, and will be 
 proud of following your advice. You might 
 lead him in any way you like." 
 
 " But, my d'ear mother, I do not want a 
 husband who is to be led. He would be too 
 cumbersome a child for me to take care of." 
 
 " Do you know that you are a very whimsical 
 girl, my child ? And how do you think you 
 would like a husband who was your master and 
 tyrant ? " 
 
 *' I certainly," Jane replied, ^'should not 
 
MAIDENHOOD. 55 
 
 like a man who assumed airs of authority, for 
 that would only provoke me to resist. But I 
 am sure that I could never love a husband 
 whom it was necessary for me to govern. I 
 should be ashamed of my own power." 
 
 " I understand you, Jane. You would like 
 to have a man think himself the master, while 
 he obeyed you in every particular." 
 
 *' No, mother, it is not that either. I hate 
 servitude ; but empire would only embarrass 
 me. I wish to gain the affections of a man 
 who would make his happiness consist in con- 
 tributing to mine, as his good sense and regard 
 for me should dictate." 
 
 " But, my daughter, there would be hardly 
 such a thing in the world as a happy couple, if 
 happiness could not exist without that perfect 
 congeniality of taste and opinions which you 
 imagine to be so necessary." 
 
 ** I do not know, mother, of a single, person 
 whose happiness I envy." 
 
 **Very well, but among those matches 
 which you do not envy, there may be some far 
 preferable to remaining always single. I may 
 be called out of the world sooner than you 
 imagine. Your father is still young. I can- 
 not tell you all the disagreeable things my 
 fondness for you makes me fear. I should be 
 indeed happy, could I see you united to some 
 worthy man before I die." 
 
56 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 This was the first time that the idea of her 
 mother's death ever seriously entered the mind 
 of Jane. With an eager gaze, she fixed her 
 eye upon her pale and wasted cheek and her 
 emaciate frame, and the dreadful truth, with 
 the suddenness of a revelation, burst upon her. 
 Her whole frame shook with emotion, and she 
 burst into a flood of tears. Her mother, much 
 moved, tried to console her. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed, my dear child," said 
 she, tenderly. *^I am not dangerously ill. 
 But in forming our plans, we should take into 
 consideration all chances. A worthy man 
 offers you his hand. You have now attained 
 your twentieth year. You cannot expect as 
 many suitors as you have had for the last five 
 years. I may be suddenly taken from you. 
 Do not, then, reject a husband who, it is true, 
 has not all the refinement you could desire, 
 but who will love you, and with whom you can 
 be happy." 
 
 '^ Yes, my dear mother," exclaimed Jane, 
 with a deep and impassioned sigh, '*as happy 
 as you have been. 
 
 The expression escaped her in the excite- 
 ment of the moment. Never before had she 
 ventured in the remotest way to allude to the 
 total want of congeniality which she could not 
 but perceive existed between her father and 
 her mother. Indeed her mother's character 
 
MAIDENHOOD. 57 
 
 for patience and placid submission was so re- 
 markable, that Jane did not know how deeply 
 she had suffered, nor what a life of martyrdom 
 she was leading. The effect of Jane's unpre- 
 meditated remark opened her eyes to the sad 
 reality. Her mother was greatly disconcerted. 
 Her cheek changed color. Her lip trembled. 
 She made no reply. She never again opened 
 her lips upon the subject of the marriage of 
 her child. 
 
 The father of Jane, with no religious belief 
 to control his passions or guide his conduct, 
 was gradually falling into those habits of dis- 
 sipation to which he was peculiarly exposed by 
 the character of the times. He neglected his 
 business. He formed disreputable acquaint- 
 ances. He became irritable and domineer- 
 ing over his wife, and was often absent from 
 home, with convivial clubs, until a late hour of 
 the night. Neither mother nor daughter ever 
 uttered one word to each other in reference to 
 the failings of the husband and father. Jane, 
 however, had so powerful an influence over him, 
 that she often, by her persuasive skill, averted 
 the storm which was about to descend upon 
 her meek and unresisting parent. 
 
 The poor mother, in silence and sorrow, was 
 sinking to the tomb far more rapidly than Jane 
 imagined. One summer's day, the father, 
 mother, and daughter took a short excursion 
 
68 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 into the country. The day was warm and 
 beautiful. In a little boat they glided over the 
 pleasant waters of the Seine, feasting their 
 eyes with the beauties of nature and art which 
 fringed the shores. The pale cheek of the 
 dying wife became flushed with animation as 
 she once again breathed the invigorating air 
 of the country, and the daughter beguiled her 
 fears with the delusive hope that it was the 
 flush of returning health. When they reached 
 their home, Madame Phlippon, fatigued with 
 the excursion, retired to her chamber for rest. 
 Jane, accompanied by her maid, went to the 
 convent to call upon her old friends the nuns. 
 She made a very short call. 
 
 "Why are you in such haste ?" inquired 
 Sister Agatha. 
 
 ** I am anxious to return to my mother." 
 ** But you told me that she was better." 
 '^ She is much better than usual. But I have 
 a strange feeling of solicitude about her. I 
 shall not feel easy until I see her again." 
 
 She hurried home and was met at the door by 
 a little girl, who informed her that her mother 
 was very dangerously ill. She flew to the 
 room, and found her almost lifeless. Another 
 stroke of paralysis had done its work, and she 
 was dying. She raised her languid eyes to her 
 child, but her palsied tongue could speak no 
 word of tenderness. One arm only obeyed the 
 
MAIDENHOOD. 59 
 
 impulse of her will. She raised it, and affec- 
 tionately patted the cheek of her beloved 
 daughter, and wiped the tears which were 
 flowing down her cheeks. The priest came to 
 administer the last consolations of religion. 
 Jane, with her eyes riveted upon her dying 
 parent, endeavored to hold the light. Over- 
 powered with anguish, the light suddenly 
 dropped from her hand, and she fell senseless 
 upon the floor. AYhen she recovered from this 
 swoon her mother was dead. 
 
 Jane was entirely overwhelmed with uncon- 
 trollable and delirious sorrow. For many days 
 it was apprehended that her own life would 
 fc*lLa sacrifice to the blow which her affections 
 had received. Instead of being a support to 
 the family in this hour of trial, she added to 
 the burden and the care. The Abb6 Legrand, 
 who stood by her bedside as her whole frame 
 was shaken by convulsions, very sensibly re- 
 marked, ** It is a good thing to possess sensi- 
 bility. It is very unfortunate to have so 
 much of it." Gradually Jane regained com- 
 posure, but life, to her, was darkened. She 
 now began to realize all those evils which her 
 fond mother had apprehended. Speaking of 
 her departed parent, she says, ^' The world 
 never contained a better or a more amiable 
 woman. There was nothing brilliant in her 
 character, but she possessed every quality to 
 
 5- Roland 
 
60 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 endear her to all by whom she was known. 
 Naturally endowed with the sweetest disposi- 
 tion, virtue seemed never to cost her any 
 effort. Her pure and tranquil spirit pursued 
 its even course like the docile stream that 
 bathes with equal gentleness, the foot of the 
 rock which holds it captive, and the valley 
 which it at once enriches and adorns. With 
 her death was concluded the tranquillity of my 
 youth, which till then was passed in the enjoy- 
 ment of blissful affections and beloved occupa- 
 tions." 
 
 Jane soon found her parental home, indeed, 
 a melancholy abode. She was truly alone in 
 the world. Her father now began to advance 
 with more rapid footsteps in the career of 
 dissipation. A victim to that infidelity which 
 presents no obstacle to crime, he yielded him- 
 self a willing captive to the dominion of 
 passion, and disorder reigned through the 
 desolated household. Jane had the morti- 
 fication of seeing a woman received into 
 the family to take her mother's place, in a 
 union unsanctified by the laws of God. A 
 deep melancholy settled down upon the mind 
 of the wounded girl, and she felt that she was 
 desolate and an alien in her own home. She 
 shut herself up in her chamber with her 
 thoughts and her books. All the chords of her 
 sensitive nature now vibrated only responsive 
 
MAIDENHOOD. 61 
 
 to those melanclioly tones which are the dirges 
 of the broken, heart. As there never was 
 genius untinged by melancholy, so may it be 
 doubted whether there ever was greatness of 
 character which had not been nurtured in the 
 school of great affliction. Her hsart now 
 began to feel irrepressible longings for the 
 sympathy of some congenial friend, upon 
 whose supporting bosom she could lean her 
 aching head. In lonely musings she solaced 
 herself, and nurtured her own thoughts by 
 writing. Her pen became her friend, and the 
 resource of every weary hour. She freely gave 
 utterance in her diary to all her feelings and 
 all her emotions. Her manuscripts of ab- 
 stracts, and extracts, and original thoughts, 
 became quite voluminous. In this way she 
 v/as daily cultivating that power of expression 
 and that force of eloquence which so often, in 
 subsequent life, astonished and charmed her 
 friends. 
 
 In every development of character in her 
 most eventful future career, one can distinctly 
 trace the influence of these vicissitudes of early 
 life, and of these impressions thus powerfully 
 stamped upon her nature. Philosophy, ro- 
 mance, and religious sentiment, an impassioned 
 mind and a glowing heart, admiration of 
 heroism, and emulation of martyrdom in 
 some noble cause; all conspired to give her 
 
6iJ MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 sovereignty over the affections of others, and 
 to enable her to sway human wills almost at 
 pleasure. 
 
 M. Boismorel, husband of the aristocratic 
 lady to whom Jane once paid so disagreeable a 
 visit, called one day at the shop of M. Phlip- 
 pon, and the proud father could not refrain 
 from showing him some of the writings of Jane. 
 The nobleman had sense enough to be very 
 much pleased with the talent which they dis- 
 played, and wrote her a very flattering letter, 
 offering her the free use of his very valuable 
 library, and urging her to devote her life to lit- 
 erary pursuits, and. at once to commence au- 
 thorship„ Jane was highly gratified by this 
 commendation, and most eagerly availed her- 
 self of his most valuable offer. In reply to his 
 suggestion respecting authorship, she inclosed 
 the following lines : 
 
 *' Aux homnies ouvrant la carriers 
 Des grands et des nobles talents, 
 lis n'ont mis aucune barriere 
 A leurs plus sublimes elans. 
 
 " De mon sexe foible et sensible, 
 
 lis ne veulent que des vertus ; 
 Nous pouvons imiter Titus, 
 Mais dans un sentier moins penible. 
 
 " Joussiez du bien d'etre admis 
 A toutes ces sortes de gloire 
 Pour nous le temple de memoire 
 Est dans le coeurs de nos amis." 
 
MAIDENHOOD. 68 
 
 These lines have been thus vigorously trans- 
 lated in the interesting sketch given by Mrs. 
 Child of Madame Eoland : 
 
 '* To man's aspiring sex 'tis given 
 To climb the highest hill of fame ; 
 To tread the shortest road to heaven, 
 And gain by death a deathless name. 
 
 ** Of well-fought fields and trophies won 
 The memory lives while ages pass ; 
 Graven on everlasting stone, 
 Or written on retentive brass. 
 
 " But to poor feeble womankind 
 The meed of glory is denied ; 
 Within a narrow sphere confined, 
 The lowly virtues are their pride. 
 
 -* Yet not deciduous is their fame, 
 Ending where frail existence ends ; 
 A sacred temple holds their name — 
 The heart of their surviving friends." 
 
 A friendly correspondence ensued between 
 Jane and M. De Boismorel, which continued 
 through his life. He was a very worthy and 
 intelligent man, and became so much interested 
 in his young friend, that he wished to connect 
 her in marriage with his son. This young 
 man was indolent and irresolute in character, 
 and his father thought that he would be great- 
 ly benefited by a wife of decision and judg- 
 ment. Jane, however, was no more disposed 
 to fall in love with rank than with wealth, and 
 took no fancy whatever to the characterless 
 
64 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 young nobleman. The judicious father saw 
 that it would be utterly unavailing to urge the 
 suit, and the matter was dropped. 
 
 Through the friendship of M. De Boismorel, 
 she was often introduced to the great world of 
 lords and ladies. Even his formal and haughty 
 wife became much interested in the fascinating 
 young lady, and her brilliant talents and ac- 
 complishments secured her invitations to many 
 social interviews to which she would not have 
 been entitled by her birth. This slight ac- 
 quaintance with the nobility of France did not, 
 however, elevate them in her esteem. She 
 found the conversation of the old marquises 
 and antiquated dowagers who frequented the 
 saloon of Madame De Boismorel more insipid 
 and illiterate than that of the tradespeople who 
 visited her father's shop, and upon whom these 
 nobles looked down with such contempt. Jane 
 was also disgusted with the many indications 
 she saw, not only of indolence and voluptuous- 
 ness, but of dissipation and utter want of prin- 
 ciple. Her good sense enabled her to move 
 among these people as a studious observer of 
 this aspect of human nature, neither adopting 
 their costume nor imitating their manners. 
 She was very unostentatious and simple in her 
 style of dress, and never, in the slightest de- 
 gree, affected the mannerism of mindless and 
 heartless fashion. 
 
Madame Roland, J"-' " 
 
 George Jacques Danton. {Seep. 120.) 
 
MAIDENHOOD. 65 
 
 Madame De Boismorel, at one time eulogiz- 
 ing her taste in these respects, remarked, 
 
 *^ You do not love feathers, do you. Miss 
 Phlippon ? How very different you are from 
 the giddy-headed girls around us ! " 
 
 '' I never wear feathers," Jane replied, 
 " because I do not think that they would cor- 
 respond with the condition in life of an artist's 
 daughter who is going about on foot." 
 
 "But, were you in a different situation in 
 life, would you then wear feathers ? " 
 
 "I do not know what I should do in that 
 case. I attach very slight importance to such 
 trifles. I merely consider what is suitable for 
 myself, and should be very sorry to judge of 
 others by the superficial information afforded 
 by their dress." 
 
 M. Phlippon now began to advance more rap- 
 idly in the career of dissipation. Jane did 
 everything in her power to lure him to love 
 his home. All her efforts were entirely un- 
 availing. Night after night he was absent un- 
 til the Fatest hours at convivial clubs and card- 
 parties. He formed acquaintance with those 
 with whom Jane could not only have no con- 
 geniality of taste, but who must have excited 
 in her emotions of the deepest repugnance. 
 These companions were often at his house; 
 and the comfortable property which M. Phlip- 
 pon possessed, under this course of dissipation 
 
66 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 was fast melting away. Jane's situation was 
 now painful in the extreme. Her mother, who 
 had been the guardian angel of her life, was 
 sleeping in the grave. Her father was advanc- 
 ing with the most rapid strides in the road to 
 r^uin. Jane was in danger of soon being left 
 an orphan and utterly penniless. Her father 
 was daily becoming more neglectful and un- 
 kind to his daughter, as he became more dis- 
 satisfied with himself and with the world. 
 Under these circumstances, Jane, by the ad- 
 vice of friends, had resort to a legal process, 
 by which there was secured to her, from the 
 wreck of her mother's fortune, an annual in- 
 come of about one hundred dollars. 
 
 In these gloomy hours which clouded the 
 morning of life's tempestuous day, Jane found 
 an unfailing resource and solace in her love 
 of literature. With pen in hand, extracting 
 beautiful passages and expanding suggested 
 thoughts, she forgot her griefs and beguiled 
 many hours, which would otherwise have 
 been burdened' with intolerable wretchedness. 
 Maria Antoinette, wo-worn and weary, in 
 tones of despair uttered the exclamation, 
 ** Oh ! what a resource, amid the casualties of 
 life, must there be in a highly-cultivated 
 mind." The plebeian maiden could utter the 
 same exclamation in accents of joyfulness. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MAKEIAQE. 
 
 Whek Jane was in the convent, she became 
 acquainted with a young lady from Amiens, 
 Sophia Cannet. They formed for each other 
 a strong attachment, and commenced a cor- 
 respondence which continued for many years. 
 There was a gentleman in Amiens by the name 
 of Eoland de la Platiere, born of an opulent 
 family, and holding the quite important office 
 of inspector of manufactures. His time was 
 mainly occupied in traveling and study. 
 Being deeply interested in all subjects relating 
 to political economy, he had devoted much at- 
 tention to that noble science, and had written 
 several treatises upon commerce, mechanics, 
 and agriculture, which had given him, in the 
 literary and scientific world, no little celebrity. 
 He frequently visited the father of Sophia. 
 She often spoke to him of her friend Jane, 
 showed him her portrait, and read to him ex- 
 .tracts from her glowing letters. The calm 
 philosopher became very much interested in 
 
 the enthusiastic maiden, and entreated Sophia 
 
 67 
 
68 MADAMS llbLAim. 
 
 to give him a letter of introduction to her, 
 upon one of his annual visits to Paris. Sophia 
 had also often written to Jane of her father's 
 friend, whom she regarded with so much rev- 
 erence. 
 
 One day Jane was sitting alone in her deso- 
 late home, absorbed in pensive musings, when 
 M. Eoland entered, bearing a letter of intro- 
 duction to her from Sophia. " You will re- 
 ceive this letter," her friend wrote, "by the 
 hand of the philosopher of whom I have so 
 often written to you. M. Eoland is an en- 
 lightened man, of antique manners, without 
 reproach, except for his passion for the an- 
 cients, his contempt for the moderns, and his 
 too high estimation of his own virtue." 
 
 The gentleman thus introduced to- her- was 
 about forty years old. He was tall, slender, 
 and well formed, with a little stoop in his gait, 
 and manifested in his manners that self-pos- 
 session which is the result of conscious worth 
 and intellectual power, while, at the same time, 
 he exhibited that slight and not displeasing 
 awkwardness which one unavoidably acquires 
 in hours devoted to silence and study. Still, 
 Madame Eoland says, in her description of his 
 person, that he was courteous and winning ; 
 and though his manners did not possess all the 
 easy elegance of the man of fashion, they 
 united the politeness of the well-bred man 
 
MARRIAGE. 69 
 
 with the unostentatious gravity of the philoso- 
 pher. He was thin, with a complexion much 
 tanned. His broad and intellectual brow, cov- 
 ered with but few hairs, added to the im- 
 posing attractiveness of his features. While 
 listening, his countenance had an expression 
 of deep thoughtf ulness, and almost of sadness ; 
 but when excited in speaking, a smile of great 
 cheerfulness spread over his animated features. 
 His voice was rich and sonorous ; his mode of 
 speech brief and sententious ; his conversation 
 full of information, and rich in suggestive 
 thought. 
 
 Jane, the enthusiastic, romantic Jane, saw 
 in the serene philosopher one of the sages of 
 antiquity, and almost literally bowed and wor- 
 shiped. All the sentiments of M. Eoland 
 were in accordance with the most cherished 
 emotions which glowed in her own mind. She 
 found what she had ever been seeking, but had 
 never found before, a truly sympathetic soul. 
 She thought not of love. She looked up to 
 M. Eoland as to a superior being — to an ora- 
 cle, by whose decisions she could judge 
 whether her own opinions were right or wrong. 
 It is true that M. Eoland, cool and unimpas- 
 sioned in all his mental operations, never en- 
 tered those airy realms of beauty and those 
 visionary regions of romance where Jane loved, 
 at times, to revel. And perhaps Jane vener- 
 
70 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 ated him still more for his more stern and 
 unimaginative philosophy. But his medita- 
 tive wisdom, his abstraction from the frivolous 
 pursuits of life, his high ambition, his elevated 
 pleasures, his consciousness of superiority over 
 the mass of his fellow-men, and his sleepless 
 desire to be a benefactor of humanity, were all 
 traits of character which resistlessly attracted 
 the admiration of Jane. She adored him as a 
 disciple adores his master. She listened 
 eagerly to all his words, and loved communion 
 with his thoughts. M. Eoland was by no 
 means insensible to this homage, and though 
 he looked upon her with none of the emotions 
 of a lover, he was charmed with her society 
 because she was so delighted with his own con- 
 versation. By the faculty of attentively listen- 
 ing to what others had to say, Madame Eoland 
 affirms that she made more friends than by 
 any remarks she ever made of her own. The 
 two minds, not heartSy were at once united ; 
 but this platonic union soon led to one more 
 tender. 
 
 M. Eoland had recently been traveling in 
 Germany, and had written a copious journal 
 of his tour. As he was about to depart from 
 Paris for Italy, he left this journal, with other 
 manuscripts, in the hands of Jane. " These 
 manuscripts," she writes, ''made me better 
 acquainted with him, during the eighteen 
 
MARRIAGE. 71 
 
 months he passed in Italy, than frequent visits 
 could have done. They consisted of travels, 
 reflections, plans of literary works, and personal 
 anecdotes. A strong mind, strict principles, 
 and personal taste, were evident in every 
 page.'' He also introduced Jane to his 
 brother, a Benedictine monk. During the 
 eighteen months of his absence from Paris, he 
 was traveling in Italy, Switzerland, Sicily, 
 and Malta, and writing notes upon those 
 countries, which he afterward published. 
 These notes he committed to his brother the 
 monk, and he transmitted them to Jane. She 
 read them with intense interest. At length 
 he returned again to Paris, and their acquaint- 
 ance was renewed. M. Eoland submitted to 
 her his literary projects, and was much grati- 
 fied in finding that she approved of all that 
 he did and all that he contemplated. She 
 found in him an invaluable friend. His grav- 
 ity, his intellectual life, his almost stoical phi- 
 losophy, impressed her imagination and cap- 
 tivated her understanding. Two or three 
 years passed away ere either of them seemed 
 to have thought of the other in the light of 
 a lover. She regarded him as a guide and 
 friend. There was no ardor of youthful love 
 warming her heart. There were no impas- 
 sioned affections glowing in her bosom and 
 impelling her to his side. Intellectual enthu- 
 
72 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 siasm alone animated her in welcoming an in^ 
 tellectual union with a noble mind. M. Eo- 
 land, on the other hand, looked with placid 
 and paternal admiration upon the brilliant 
 girl. He was captivated by her genius and 
 the charms of her conversation, and, above all, 
 by her profound admiration of himself. They 
 were mutually happy in each other's society, 
 and were glad to meet and loth to part. They 
 conversed upon literary projects, upon politi- 
 cal reforms, upon speculations in philosophy 
 and science. M. Roland was naturally self- 
 confident, opinionated, and domineering. 
 Jane regarded him with so much reverence 
 that she received his opinions for law. Thus 
 he was flattered and she was happy. 
 
 M. Roland returned to his official post at 
 Amiens, and engaged in preparing his work on 
 Italy for the press. They carried on a volumi- 
 nous and regular correspondence. He for- 
 warded to her, in manuscript, all the sheets of 
 his proposed publication, and she returned them 
 with the accompanying thoughts which their 
 perusal elicited. Now and then an expression 
 of decorous endearment would escape from each 
 pen in the midst of philosophic discussions and 
 political speculations. It was several years 
 after their acquaintance commenced before M. 
 Roland made an avowal of his attachment. 
 Jane knew very well the pride of the Roland 
 
MAKRIAGE. 73 
 
 family, and that her worldly circumstances 
 were such that, in their estimation, the connec- 
 tion would not seem an advantageous one. She 
 also was too proud to enter into a family who 
 might feel dishonored hy the alliance. She 
 therefore frankly told him that she felt much 
 honored hy his addresses, and that she esteemed 
 him more highly than any other man she 
 had ever met. She assured him that she should 
 be most happy to make him a full return for 
 his affection, but that her father was a ruined 
 man, and that, by his increasing debts and his 
 errors of character, still deeper disgrace might 
 be entailed upon all connected with him ; and 
 she therefore could not think of allowing M. 
 Roland to make his generosity to her a source 
 of future mortification to himself. 
 
 This was not the spirit most likely to repel 
 the philosophic lover. The more she manifest- 
 ed this elevation of soul, in which Jane was 
 perfectly sincere, the more earnestly did M. 
 Roland persist in his plea. At last Jane, influ- 
 enced by his entreaties, consented that he 
 should make proposals to her father. He wrote 
 to M. Phlippon. In reply, he received an in- 
 sulting letter, containing a blunt refusal. M. 
 Phlippon declared that he had no idea of hav- 
 ing for a son-in-law a man of such rigid princi- 
 ples, who would ever be reproaching him for 
 all his little errors. He also told his daughter 
 
 6— Roland 
 
74 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 that she would find in a man of such austere 
 yirtue, not a companion and an equal, but a 
 censor and a tyrant. Jane laid this refusal of 
 her father deeply to heart, and, resolving that 
 if she could not marry the man of her choice, 
 she would marry no one else, she wrote to M. 
 Roland, requesting him to abandon his design, 
 and not to expose himself to any further 
 affronts. She then requested permission of her 
 father to retire to a convent. 
 
 Her reception at the convent, where she was 
 already held in such high esteem, was cordial in 
 the extreme. The scanty income she had saved 
 from her mother's property rendered it neces- 
 sary for her to live with the utmost frugality. 
 She determined to regulate her expenses in 
 accordance with this small sum. Potatoes, 
 rice, and beans, with a little salt, and occasion- 
 ally the luxury of a little butter, were her only 
 food. She allowed herself to leave the convent 
 but twice a week : once, to call, for an hour 
 upon a relative, and once to visit her father, and 
 look over his linen. She had a little room un- 
 der the roof, in the attic, where the pattering 
 of the rain upon the tiles soothed to pensive 
 thought, and lulled her to sleep by night. She 
 carefully secluded herself from association with 
 the other inmates of the convent, receiving only 
 a visit of an hour each evening from the much 
 loyed Sister Agatha, Her time she devoted, 
 
with unremitting diligence, to those literary 
 avocations in which she found so much delight. 
 The quiet and seclusion of this life had many 
 charms for Jane. Indeed, a person with such 
 resources for enjoyment within herself could 
 never be very weary. The votaries of fashion 
 and gaiety are they to whom existence grows 
 languid and life a burden. Several months thus 
 glided away in tranquillity. She occasionally 
 walked in the gardeji, at hours when no one 
 else was there. The spirit of resignation, 
 which she had so long cultivated ; the peaceful 
 conscience she enjoyed, in view of duty per- 
 formed ; the elevation of spirit, which enabled 
 her to rise superior to misfortune ; the method- 
 ical arrangement of time, which assigned to 
 each hour its appropriate duty ; the habit of 
 close application, which riveted her attention 
 to her studies ; the highly-cultivated taste and 
 buoyantly-winged imagination, which opened 
 before her all the fairy realms of fancy, were 
 treasures which gilded her cell and enriched 
 her heart. She passed, it is true, some melan- 
 choly hours ; but even that melancholy had its 
 charms, and was more rich in enjoyment than 
 the most mirthful moments through which the 
 unreflecting flutter. M. Eoland continued a 
 very constant and kind correspondence with 
 Jane, but she was not a little wounded by the 
 philosophic resignation with which he submit- 
 
76 mabamj: eolakb. 
 
 ted to her father's stern refusal. In the course 
 of five or six months he again visited Paris, and 
 called at the convent to see Jane. He saw her 
 pale and pensive face behind a grating, and the 
 sight of one who had suffered so much from 
 her faithful love for him, and the sound of her 
 voice, which ever possessed a peculiar charm, 
 revived in his mind those Impressions which 
 had been somewhat fading away. He again 
 renewed his offer, and entreated her to allow 
 the marriage ceremony at once to be performed 
 by his brother the prior. Jane was in much 
 perplexity. She did not feel that her father 
 was in a situation longer to control her, and she 
 was a little mortified by the want of ardor which 
 her philosophical lover had displayed. The 
 illusion of romantic love was entirely dispelled 
 from her mind, and, at the same time, she felt 
 flattered by his perseverance, by the evidence 
 that his most mature judgment approved of his 
 choice, and by his readiness to encounter all the 
 uinpleasant circumstances in which he might be 
 involved by his alliance with her. Jane, with- 
 out much delay, yielded to his appeals. They 
 were married in the winter of 1780. Jane was 
 then twenty-five years of age. Her husband 
 was twenty years her senior. 
 
 The first year of their marriage life they 
 passed in Paris. It was to Madame Eoland a 
 year of great enjoyment. Her husband was 
 
MAERIAGE. 77 
 
 publishing a work upon the arts, and she, with 
 all the energy of her enthusiastic mind, entered 
 into all his literary enterprises. With great care 
 and accuracy, she prepared his manuscripts for 
 the press, and corrected the proofs. She lived 
 in the study with him, became the companion of 
 all his thoughts, and his assistant in all his 
 labors. The only recreations in which she in- 
 dulged, during the winter, were to attend a 
 course of lectures upon natural history and 
 botany. M. Roland had hired ready-furnished 
 lodgings. She, well instructed by her mother 
 in domestic duties, observing that all kinds of 
 cooking did not agree with him, took pleasure 
 in preparing his food with her own hands. Her 
 husband engrossed her whole time, and, being 
 naturally rather austere and imperious, he 
 wished so to seclude her from the society of 
 others as to monopolize all her capabilities of 
 friendly feeling. She submitted to the exaction 
 without a murmur, though there were hours in 
 which she felt that she had made, indeed, a 
 serious sacrifice of her youthful and buoyant 
 affections. Madame Roland devoted herself so 
 entirely to the studies in which her husband 
 was engaged that her health was seriously im- 
 paired. Accustomed as she was to share in all 
 his pursuits, he began to think that he could 
 not do without her at any time or on any 
 occasion. 
 
78 MADAME KOLAJin). 
 
 At the close of the year M. Roland returned 
 to Amiens with his wife. She soon gave birth 
 to a daughter, her only child, whom she nur- 
 tured with the most assiduous care. Her lit- 
 erary labors were, however, unremitted, and, 
 though a mother and a nurse, she still lived in 
 the study with her books and her pen. M. Ro- 
 land was writing several articles for an ency- 
 clopedia. She aided most efficiently in collect- 
 ing the materials and arranging the matter. 
 Indeed, she wielded a far more vigorous pen 
 than he did. Her copiousness of language, her 
 facility of expression, and the play of her fancy, 
 gave her the command of a very fascinating 
 style ; and M. Roland obtained the credit for 
 many passages rich in diction and beautiful in 
 imagery for which he was indebted to the glow- 
 ing imagination of his wife. Frequent sick- 
 ness of her husband alarmed her for his life. 
 The tenderness with which she watched over 
 him strengthened the tie which united them. 
 He could not but love a young and beautiful 
 wife so devoted to him. She could not but 
 love one upon whom she was conferring such 
 rich blessings. They remained in Amiens for 
 four years. Their little daughter Eudora was 
 a source of great delight to the fond parents, 
 and Madame Roland took the deepest interest 
 in the developments of her infantile mind. 
 The office of M. Roland was highly lucrative. 
 
MARRIAGE. 79 
 
 and his literary projects successful ; and their 
 position in society was that of an opulent family 
 of illustrious descent — for the ancestors of M. 
 Eoland had been nobles. He now, with his ac- 
 cumulated wealth, was desirous of being rein- 
 stated in that ancestral rank which the family 
 had lost with the loss of fortune. Neither 
 must we blame our republican heroine too much 
 that, under this change of circumstances, she 
 was not unwilling that he should resume that 
 exalted social position to which she believed 
 him to be so richly entitled. It could hardly 
 be unpleasant to her to be addressed as Lady 
 Eoland. It is the infirmity of our frail nature 
 that it is more agreeable to ascend to the heights 
 of those who are above us, than to aid those 
 below to reach the level we have attained. En- 
 countering some embarrassments in their ap- 
 plication for letters-patent of nobility, the sub- 
 ject was set aside for the time, and was never 
 after renewed. The attempt, however, sub- 
 sequently exposed them to great ridicule from 
 their democratic opponents. 
 
 About this time they visited England. They 
 were received with much attention, and Ma- 
 dame Eoland admired exceedingly the compar- 
 atively free institutions of that country. She 
 felt that the English, as a nation, were im- 
 measurably superior to the French, and returned 
 to her own home more than ever dissatisfied 
 
80 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 with the despotic monarchy by which the people 
 of French were oppressed. 
 
 From Amiens, M. Eoland removed to the 
 city of Lyons, his native place, in which wider 
 sphere he continued the duties of his office as 
 Inspector General of Commerce and Manufac- 
 tures. In the winter they resided in the city. 
 During the summer they retired to M. Roland's 
 paternal estate. La Platiere, a very beautiful 
 rural retreat but a few miles from Lyons, The 
 mother of M. Roland and an elder brother re- 
 sided on the same estate. They constituted 
 the ingredient of bitterness in their cup of joy. 
 It seems that in this life it must ever be that 
 each pleasure shall have its pain. No happiness 
 can come unalloyed. La Platiere possessed for 
 Madame Roland all the essentials of an earthly 
 paradise ; but those trials which are the unva- 
 rying lot of fallen humanity obtained entrance 
 there. Her mother-in-law was proud, imperi- 
 ous, ignorant, petulant, and disagreeable in 
 every development of character. There are 
 few greater annoyances of life than an irritable 
 woman, rendered doubly morose by the infirm- 
 ities of years. The brother was coarse and ar- 
 rogant, without any delicacy of feeling himself, 
 and apparently unconscious that others could 
 be troubled by any such sensitiveness. The 
 disciplined spirit of Madame Roland triumphed 
 over even these annoyances, and she gradually 
 
MARRIAGE. 81 
 
 infused through the discordant household, by 
 her own cheerful spirit, a great improvement 
 in harmony and peace. It is not, however, 
 possible that Madame Koland should have shed 
 many tears when, on one bright autumnal day, 
 this hasty tongue and turbulent spirit were 
 hushed in that repose from which there is no 
 awaking. Immediately after this event, at- 
 tracted by the quiet of this secluded retreat, 
 they took up their abode there for both sum- 
 mer and winter. 
 
 La Platiere, the paternal inheritance of M. 
 Roland, was an estate situated at the base of 
 the mountains of Beaujolais, in the valley of 
 the Saone. It is a region solitary and wild, 
 with rivulets, meandering down from the 
 mountains, fringed with willows and poplars, 
 and threading their way through narrow, yet 
 smooth and fertile meadows, luxuriant with 
 vineyards. A large, square stone house, with 
 regular windows, and a roof, nearly flat, of red 
 tiles, constituted the comfortable, spacious, and 
 substantial mansion. The eaves projected quite 
 a distance beyond the walls, to protect the 
 windows from the summer^s sun and the winter's 
 rain and snow. The external walls, straight, 
 and entirely unornamented, were covered with 
 white plaster, which, in many places, the storms 
 of years had cracked and peeled off. The 
 house stood elevated from the ground, and the 
 
82 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 front door was entered by ascending five mas- 
 sive stone steps, which were surmounted by a 
 rusty iron balustrade. Barns, wine-presses, 
 dove-cots and sheep-pens were clustered about, 
 so that the farm-house, with its out-buildings, 
 almost presented the aspect of a little village. 
 A vegetable garden ; a flower garden, with ser- 
 pentine walks and arbors embowered in odorifer- 
 ous and flowering shrubs ; an orchard, casting 
 the shade of a great variety of fruit-trees over 
 the closely-mown greensward, and a vineyard, 
 with long lines of low-trimmed grape vines, 
 gave a finish to this most rural and attractive 
 picture. In the distance was seen the rugged 
 range of the mountains of Beaujolais, while 
 still further in the distance rose towering above 
 them the snow-capped summits of the Alps. 
 Here, in this social solitude, in this harmony 
 of silence, in this wide expanse of nature, Ma- 
 dame Roland passed five of the happiest years 
 of her life — five such years as few mortals en- 
 joy on earth. She, whose spirit had been so 
 often exhilarated by the view of the tree tops 
 and the few square yards of blue sky which 
 were visible from the window of her city home, 
 was enchanted with the exuberance of the 
 prospect of mountain and meadow, water and 
 sky, so lavishly spread out before her. The ex- 
 panse, apparently so limitless, open to her 
 view, invited her fancy to a range equally 
 
MARRIAGE. 83 
 
 boundless. Nature and imagination were her 
 friends, and in their realms she found her 
 home. Enjoying an ample income, engaged 
 constantly in the most ennobling literary pur- 
 suits, rejoicing in the society of her husband 
 and her little Eudora, and superintending her 
 domestic concerns with an ease and skill which 
 made that superintendence a pleasure, time flew 
 upon its swiftest wings. 
 
 Her mode of life during these five calm and 
 sunny years which intervened between the 
 cloudy morning and the tempestuous evening 
 of her days, must have been exceedingly attrac- 
 tive. She rose with the sun, devoted sundry 
 attentions to her husband and child, and per- 
 sonally superintended the arrangements for 
 breakfast, taking an affectionate pleasure in pre- 
 paring very nicely her husband's frugal food with 
 her own hands. That social meal, ever, in a lov- 
 ing family, the most joyous interview of the day, 
 being passed, M. Roland entered the library 
 for his intellectual toil, taking with him, for 
 his silent companion, the idolized little Eudora. 
 She amused herself with her pencil, or reading, 
 or other studies, which her father and mother 
 superintended. Madame Roland, in the mean- 
 time, devoted herself, with most systematic 
 energy, to her domestic concerns. She was a 
 perfect housekeeper, and each morning all the 
 interests of her family, from the cellar to the 
 
84 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 garret, passed under her eye. She superintend- 
 ed the preservation of the fruit, the storage 
 of the wine, the sorting of the linen, and those 
 other details of domestic life which engross the 
 attention of a good housewife. The systematic 
 division of time, which seemed to be an instinc- 
 tive principle of her nature, enabled her to 
 accomplished all this in two hours. She had 
 faithful and devoted servants to do the work. 
 The superintendence was all that was required. 
 This genius to superintend and be the head, 
 while others contribute the hands, is not the 
 most common of human endowments. Ma- 
 dame Roland, having thus attended to her do- 
 mestic concerns, laid aside those cares for the 
 remainder of the day, and entered the study to 
 join her husband in his labors there. These 
 intellectual employments ever possessed for her 
 peculiar attractions. The scientific celebrity 
 of M. Roland, and his political position, at- 
 tracted many visitors to La Plati^re ; conse- 
 quently, they had, almost invariably, company 
 to dine. At the close of the literary labors of 
 the morning Madame Roland dressed for dinner, 
 and with all that fascination of mind and 
 manners so peculiarly her own, met her guests 
 at the dinner-table. The labor of the day was 
 then over. The repast was prolonged with 
 social converse. After dinner, they walked in 
 the garden, sauntered through the vineyard. 
 
MAEBIAGE. 85 
 
 and looked at the innumerable objects of in- 
 terest which are ever to be found in the yard 
 of a spacious farm. Madame Eoland frequent- 
 ly retired to the library, to write letters to her 
 friends, or to superintend the lessons of Eu- 
 dora. Occasionally, of a fine day, leaning upon 
 her husband^s arm, she would walk for 
 several miles, calling at the cottages of the peas- 
 antry, whom she greatly endeared to her by 
 her unvarying kindness. In the evening, after 
 tea, they again resorted to the library. Guests 
 of distinguished name and influence were fre- 
 quently with them, and the hours glided swift- 
 ly, cheered by the brilliance of philosophy and 
 genius. The journals of the day were read, 
 Madame Eoland being usually called upon as 
 reader. When not thus reading, she usually 
 sat at her work-table, employing her fingers 
 with her needle, while she took a quiet and 
 unobtrusive part in the conversation. " This 
 kind of life,*' says Madame Eoland, '' would be 
 very austere, were not my husband a man of 
 great merit, whom I love with my whole heart. 
 Tender friendship and unbounded confidence 
 mark every moment of existence, and stamp a 
 value upon all things, which nothing without 
 them would have. It is the life most favorable 
 to virtue and happiness. I appreciate its 
 worth. I congratulate myself on enjoying it ; 
 and I exert my best endeavors to make it last,^' 
 
86 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 Again she draws the captivating picture of 
 rural pleasures. '' I am preserving pears, which 
 will be delicious. We are drying raisins and 
 prunes. We make our breakfast upon wine ; 
 overlook the servants, busy in the vineyard ; 
 repose in the shady groves, and on the green 
 meadows ; gather walnuts from the trees ; 
 and having collected our stock of fruit for the 
 winter, spread it in the garret to dry. After 
 breakfast this morning, we are all going in a 
 body to gather almonds. Throw off, then, 
 dear friend, your fetters for a while, and come 
 and join us in our retreat. You will find 
 here true friendship and real simplicity of 
 heart." 
 
 Madame Eoland, among her other innumer- 
 able accomplishments, had acquired no little 
 skill in the science of medicine. Situated in a 
 region where the poor peasants had no access 
 to physicians, she was not only liberal in distrib- 
 uting among them many little comforts, but, 
 with the most self-denying assiduity, she visit- 
 ed them in sickness, and prescribed for their 
 maladies. She was often sent for, to go a dis- 
 tance of ten or twelve miles to visit the sick. 
 From such appeals she never turned away. On 
 Sundays, her courtyard was filled with peasants, 
 who had assembled from all the region round, 
 some as invalids, to seek relief, and others who 
 came with such little tokens of their gratitude as 
 
MARRIAGE. 87 
 
 their poverty enabled them to bring. Here 
 appears a little rosy-cheeked boy with a basket 
 of chestnuts ; or a care-worn mother, pale and 
 thin, but with a grateful eye, presenting to her 
 benefactress a few small, fragrant cheeses, made 
 of goat's milk ; and there is an old man, hob- 
 bling upon crutches, with a basket of apples 
 from his orchard. She was delighted with 
 these indications of gratitude and sensibility on 
 the part of the unenlightened and lowly peas- 
 antry. Her republican notions, which she had 
 cherished so fondly in her early years, but from 
 which she had somewhat swerved when seeking 
 a patent of nobility for her husband, began now 
 to revive in her bosom with new ardor. She 
 was regarded as peculiarly the friend of the 
 poor and the humble ; and at all the hearth- 
 fires in the cottages of that retired valley, her 
 name was pronounced in tones almost of adora- 
 tion. More and more Madame Roland and 
 her husband began to identify their interests 
 with those of the poor around them, and to 
 plead with tongue and pen for popular rights. 
 Her intercourse with the poor led her to feel 
 more deeply the oppression of laws, framed to 
 indulge the few in luxury, while the many 
 were consigned to penury and hopeless igno- 
 rance. She acquired boundless faith in the 
 virtue of the people, and thought that their 
 disenthralment would usher in a millennium 
 
88 
 
 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 of unalloyed happiness. She now saw the 
 ocean of human passions reposing in its perfect 
 calm. She afterwards saw that same ocean 
 when lashed by the tempest. 
 
 Jean Marie Roland de la Platiere. 
 
j^*Jti^^^)^m 
 
 1^ 
 
 {^ ^'MK'cS'^^iVf 
 
 i| 
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 
 
 Madame Roland was thus living at La 
 Platiere, in the enjoyment of all that this 
 world can give of peace and happiness, when 
 the first portentous mutterings of that terrible 
 moral tempest, the French Revolution, fell 
 upon her ears. She eagerly caught the sounds, 
 and, believing them the precursor of the most 
 signal political and social blessings, rejoiced 
 in the assurance that the hour was approaching 
 when long-oppressed humanity would reassert 
 its rights and achieve its triumph. Little did 
 she dream of the woes which in surging billows 
 were to roll over her country, and which were 
 to ingulf her, and all whom she loved, in their 
 resistless tide. She dreamed — a very pardon- 
 able dream for a philanthropic lady — that an 
 ignorant and enslaved people could be led from 
 Egyptian bondage to the promised land with- 
 out the weary sufferings of the wilderness and 
 the desert. Her faith in the regenerative ca- 
 pabilities of human nature was so strong, that 
 she could foresee no obstacles and no dangers 
 
 89 
 
90 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 in the way of immediate and universal disfranch- 
 isement from every custom, and from all laws 
 and usages which her judgment disapproved. 
 Her whole soul was aroused, and she devoted 
 all her affections and every energy of her mind 
 to the welfare of the human race. It is hardly 
 to be supposed, human nature being such as 
 it is, but that the mortifications she met in 
 early life from the arrogance of those above 
 her, and the difficulties she encountered in 
 obtaining letters-patent of nobility, exerted 
 some influence in animating her zeal. Her en- 
 thusiastic devotion stimulated the ardor of her 
 less excitable spouse ; and all her friends, by her 
 fascinating powers of eloquence both of voice 
 and pen, were gradually inspired by the same 
 intense emfotions which had absorbed her whole 
 being. 
 
 Louis XVI. and Maria Antoinette had but 
 recently inherited the throne of the Bourbons. 
 Louis was benevolent, but destitute of the de- 
 cision of character requisite to hold the reins of 
 government in so stormy a period. Maria An- 
 toinette had neither culture of mind nor knowl- 
 edge of the world. She was an amiable but 
 spoiled child, with great native nobleness of 
 character, but with those defects which are the 
 natural and inevitable consequence of the friv- 
 olous education she had received. She thought 
 never of duty and responsibility ; always and 
 
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 91 
 
 only of pleasure. It was her misfortune rather 
 than her fault, that the idea never entered her 
 mind that kings and queens had aught else to 
 do than to indulge in luxury. It would be 
 hardly possible to conceive of two characters 
 less quafified to occupy the throne in stormy 
 times than were Louis and Maria. The peo- 
 ple were slowly, but with resistless power, ris- 
 ing against the abuses, enormous and hoary 
 with age, of the aristocracy and the monarchy. 
 Louis, a man of unblemished kindness, integ- 
 rity, and purity, was made the scape-goat for 
 the sins of haughty, oppressive, profligate 
 princes, who for centuries had trodden, with 
 iron hoofs upon the necks of their subjects. 
 The accumulated hate of ages was poured upon 
 his devoted head. The irresolute monarch 
 had no conception of his position. 
 
 The king, in pursuance of his system of con- 
 ciliation, as the clamors of discontent swelled 
 louder and longer from all parts of France, con- 
 vened the National Assembly. This body con- 
 sisted of the nobility, the higher clergy, and rep- 
 resentatives, chosen by the people from all parts 
 of France. M. Eoland, who was quite an idol 
 with the populace of Lyons and its vicinity, 
 and who now was beginning to lose caste with 
 the aristocracy, was chosen, by a very strong 
 vote, as the representative to the Assembly 
 from the city of Lyons. In that busy city the 
 
92 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 revolutionary movement had commenced with 
 great power, and the name of Roland was the 
 rallying point of the people now struggling to 
 escape from ages of oppression. M. Roland 
 spent some time in his city residence, drawn 
 thither by the intense interest of the times, and 
 in the saloon of Madame Roland meetings were 
 every evening held by the most influential gen- 
 tlemen of the revolutionary party. Her ardor 
 stimulated their zeal, and her well-stored mind 
 and fascinating conversational eloquence guid- 
 ed their councils. The impetuous young men 
 of the city gathered around this impassioned 
 woman, from whose lips words of liberty fell so 
 enchantingly upon their ears, and with chival- 
 ric devotion surrendered themselves to the 
 guidance of her mind. 
 
 In this rising conflict between plebeian and 
 patrician, between democrat and aristocrat, the 
 position in which M. Roland and wife were 
 placed, as most conspicuous and influential 
 members of the revolutionary party, arrayed 
 against them, with daily increasing animosity, 
 all the aristocratic community of Lyons. Each 
 day their names were pronounced by the advo- 
 cates of reform with more enthusiasm, and by 
 their opponents with deepening hostility. The 
 applause and censure alike invigorated Ma- 
 dame Roland, and her whole soul became ab- 
 sorbed in the one idea of popular liberty. This 
 
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 9S 
 
 object became her passion, and she devoted her- 
 self to it with the concentration of every energy 
 of mind and heart. 
 
 On the 20th of February, 1791, Madame Eo- 
 land accompanied her husband to Paris, as he 
 took his seat, with a name already prominent, 
 in the National Assembly. Five years before, 
 she had left the metropolis in obscurity and de- 
 pression. She now returned with wealth, with 
 elevated rank, with brilliant reputation, and ex- 
 ulting in conscious power. Her persuasive in- 
 fluence was dictating those measures which 
 were driving the ancient nobility of France 
 from their chateaux, and her vigorous mind was 
 guiding those blows before which the throne of 
 the Bourbons trembled. The unblemished and 
 incorruptible integrity of M. Roland, his sim- 
 plicity of manners and acknowledged ability, 
 invested him immediately with much authority 
 among his associates. The brilliance of his 
 wife, and her most fascinating colloquial powers, 
 also reflected much luster upon his name. 
 Madame Roland, with her glowing zeal, had 
 just written a pamphlet upon the new order of 
 things, in language so powerful and impressive 
 that more than sixty thousand copies had been 
 sold — an enormous number, considering the 
 comparative fewness of readers at that time. 
 She, of course, was received with the most flat- 
 tering attention, and great deference was paid 
 
94 MADAME EOLANfi. 
 
 to her opinions. She attended daily the sit- 
 tings of the Assembly, and listened with the 
 deepest interest to the debates. The king and 
 queen had already been torn from their palaces 
 at Versailles, and were virtually prisoners in 
 the Tuileries. Many of the nobles had fled 
 from the perils which seemed to be gathering 
 around them, and had joined the army of emi- 
 grants at Coblentz. A few, however, of the 
 nobility, and many of the higher clergy, re- 
 mained heroically at their posts, and, as mem- 
 bers of the Assembly, made valiant but unavail- 
 ing efforts to defend the ancient prerogatives of 
 the crown and of the Church. Madame Koland 
 witnessed with mortification, which she could 
 neither repress nor conceal, the decided supe- 
 riority of the court party in dignity, and polish 
 of manners, and in general intellectual culture, 
 over those of plebeian origin, who were strug- 
 gling, with the energy of an infant Hercules, 
 for the overthrow of despotic power. All her 
 tastes were with the ancient nobility and their 
 defenders. All her 'principles were with the 
 people. And as she contrasted the unrefined 
 exterior and clumsy speech of the democratic 
 leaders with the courtly bearing and elegant 
 diction of those who rallied around the throne, 
 she was aroused to a more vehement desire for 
 the social and intellectual elevation of those 
 with whom she had cast in her lot. The con- 
 
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 95 
 
 flict with the nobles was of short continuance. 
 The energy of rising democracy soon vanquished 
 them. Violence took the place of law. And 
 now the conflict for power arose between those 
 of the Eepnblicans who were mQre and those 
 who were less radical in their plans of reform. 
 The most moderate party, consisting of those 
 who would sustain the throne, but limit its 
 powers by a free constitution, retaining many 
 of the institutions and customs which antiquity 
 had rendered venerable, was called the Giron- 
 dist party. It was so called because their most 
 prominent leaders were from the department 
 of the Gironde. They would deprive the king 
 of many of his prerogatives, but not of his crown. 
 They would take from him his despotic power, 
 but not his life. They would raise the mass of 
 the people to the enjoyment of liberty, but to 
 liberty controlled by vigorous law. Opposed 
 to them were the Jacobins — far more radicalin 
 their views of reform. They would overthrow 
 both throne and altar, break down all privileged 
 orders, confiscate the property of the nobles, 
 and place prince and beggar on the footing of 
 equality. These were the two great parties 
 into which revolutionary France was divided, 
 and the conflict between them was the most 
 fierce and implacable earth has ever witnessed, 
 M. Roland and wife, occupying a residence in 
 Paris, which was a convenient place of rendez- 
 
% MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 vous, by their attractions gathered around them 
 every evening many of the most influential 
 members of the Assembly. They attached 
 themselves, with all their zeal and energy, to 
 the Girondists. Four evenings of every week 
 the leaders of this party met in the saloon of 
 Madame Koland, to deliberate respecting their 
 measures. Among them there was a young 
 lawyer from the country, with a stupid expres- 
 sion of countenance, sallow complexion, and un- 
 gainly gestures, who had made himself excess- 
 ively unpopular by the prosy speeches with 
 which he was ever wearying the Assembly. 
 He had often been floored by argument and 
 coughed down by contempt, but he seemed alike 
 insensible to sarcasm and to insult. Alone in 
 the Assembly, without a friend, he attacked all 
 parties alike, and was by all disregarded. But 
 he possessed an indomitable energy, and un- 
 wavering fixedness of purpose, a profound con- 
 tempt for luxury and wealth, and a stoical in- 
 difference to reputation and to personal indul- 
 gence, which secured to him more and more of 
 an ascendency, until, at the name of Robes- 
 pierre, all France trembled. This young man, 
 silent and moody, appeared with others in the 
 saloon of Madame Roland. She was struck 
 with his singularity, and impressed with an in- 
 stinctive consciousness of his peculiar genius. 
 He was capti^ ated Ly those charme of conver- 
 
Madame Roland, 
 
 Louis XVI. and the Mob. [See p. 122. ) 
 
TH?J NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 97 
 
 sation in which Madame Roland was unrivaled. 
 Silently — for he had no conversational powers 
 — he lingered around her chair, treasured up 
 her spontaneous tropes and metaphors, and ab- 
 sorbed her sentiments. He had a clear percep- 
 tion of the state of the times, was perhaps a 
 sincere patriot, and had no ties of friendship, 
 no scruples of conscience, no instincts of mercy, 
 to turn him aside from any measures of blood 
 or wo which might accomplish his plans. 
 
 Though the Girondists and the Jacobins were 
 the two great parties now contending in the tu- 
 multuous arena of French revolution, there still 
 remained the enfeebled and broken remains of 
 the court party, with their insulted and humil- 
 iated king at their head, and also numerous 
 cliques and minor divisions of those struggling 
 for power. At the political evening reunions 
 in the saloon of Madame Roland, she was inva- 
 riably present, not as a prominent actor in the 
 scenes, taking a conspicuous part in the social 
 debates, but as a quiet and modest lady, of well- 
 known intellectual supremacy, whose active 
 mind took the liveliest interest in the agitations 
 of the hour. The influence she exerted was 
 the polished, refined, attractive influence of an 
 accomplished woman, who moved in her own 
 appropriate sphere. She made no Amazonian 
 speeches. She mingled not with men in the 
 clamor of debate. With an invisible band she 
 
98 MADAME BOLAKD. 
 
 gently and winningly touched the springs of 
 action in other hearts. With feminine conyer- 
 sational eloquence, she threw out sagacious sug- 
 gestions, which others eagerly adopted, and ad- 
 vocated, and carried into vigorous execution. 
 She did no violence to that delicacy of percep- 
 tion which is woman's tower and strength. She 
 moved not from that sphere where woman 
 reigns so resistlessly, and dreamed not of lay- 
 ing aside the graceful and polished weapons of 
 her own sex, to grasp the heavier and coarser 
 armor of man, which no woman can wield. By 
 such an endeavor, one does but excite the re- 
 pugnance of all except the unfortunate few, 
 who can see no peculiar sacredness in woman's 
 person, mind, or heart. 
 
 As the gentlemen assembled in the retired 
 parlor, or rather library and study, appropriated 
 to these confidential interviews, Madame Ro- 
 land took her seat at a little work-t^ble, aside 
 from the circle where her husband and his 
 friends were discussing their political measures. 
 Busy with her needle or with her pen, she lis- 
 tened to every word that was uttered, and often 
 bit her lips to check the almost irrepressible 
 desire to speak out in condemnation of some 
 feeble proposal or to urge some bolder action. 
 At the close of the evening, when frank and 
 social converse ensued, her voice was heard in 
 low, but sweet and winning tones, as one after 
 
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 99 
 
 another of the members were attracted to her 
 side. Kobespierre, at such times silent and 
 thoughtful, was ever bending over her chair. 
 He studied Madame Roland with even more of 
 stoical apathy than another man would study a 
 book which he admires. The next day his com- 
 panions would smile at the effrontery with 
 which Robespierre would give utterance, in the 
 Assembly, not only to the sentiments, but even 
 to the very words and phrases which he had so 
 carefully garnered from the exuberant diction 
 of his eloquent instructress. Occasionally, 
 every eye would be riveted upon him, and every 
 ear attentive, as he gave utterance to some lofty 
 sentiment, in impassioned language, which had 
 been heard before, in sweeter tones, from more 
 persuasive lips. 
 
 But the Revolution, like a spirit of destruc- 
 tion, was now careering onward with resistless 
 power. Liberty was becoming lawlessness. 
 Mobs rioted through the streets, burned cha- 
 teaux, demolished convents, hunted, even to 
 death, priests and nobles, sacked the palaces of 
 the king, and defiled the altars of religion. The 
 Girondists, illustrious, eloquent, patriotic men, 
 sincerely desirous of breaking the arm of des- 
 potism and of introducing a well-regulated lib- 
 erty, now began to tremble. They saw that a 
 spirit was evoked which might trample every- 
 thing sacred in the dust. Their opponents, the 
 
loo MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 Jacobins, rallying the populace around them 
 with the cry, " Kill, burn destroy," were for 
 rushing onward in this career of demolition, till 
 every vestige of gradations of rank and every 
 restraint of religion should be swept from the 
 land. The Girondists paused in deep embar- 
 rassment. They could not retrace their steps 
 and try to re-establish the throne. The en- 
 deavor would not only be utterly unavailing, 
 but would, with certainty, involve them in 
 speedy and retrieveless ruin. They could not 
 unite with the Jacobins in their reckless onset 
 upon everything which time had rendered 
 venerable, and substitute for decency, and law, 
 and order, the capricious volitions of an inso- 
 lent, ignorant, and degraded mob. The only 
 hope that remained for them was to struggle 
 to continue firm in the position which they 
 had already assumed. It was the only hope 
 for France. The restoration of the monarchy 
 was impossible. The triumph of the Jacobins 
 was ruin. Which of these two parties in the 
 Assembly shall array around its banners the 
 millions of the populace of France, now 
 aroused to the full consciousness of their power ? 
 Which can bid highest for the popular vote ? 
 Which can pander most successfully to the 
 popular palate ? The Girondists had talent, 
 and integrity, and incorruptible patriotism. 
 They foresaw their peril, but they resolved to 
 
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 101 
 
 meet it, and, if they must perish, to perish with 
 their armor on. No one discerned this danger 
 at an earlier period than Madame Eoland. She 
 warned her friends of its approach, even be- 
 fore they were conscious of the gulf to which 
 were tending. She urged the adoption of pre- 
 cautionary measures, by which a retreat might 
 be effected when their post should be no longer 
 tenable. ^' I once thought,^' said Madame Ro- 
 land, ''that there were no evils worse than 
 regal despotism. I now see that there are* 
 other calamities vastly more to be dreaded.^' 
 
 Robespierre, who had associated with the 
 Girondists with rather a sullen and Ishmaelitisk 
 spirit, holding himself in readiness to go here or 
 there, as events might indicate to be politic, 
 began now to incline toward the more popular 
 party, of which he subsequently became the in- 
 spiring demon. Though he was daily attracting 
 more attention, he had not yet risen to populari- 
 ty. On one occasion, being accused of advocat- 
 ing some unpopular measure, the clamors of the 
 multitude were raised against him, and vows of 
 vengeance were uttered, loud and deep, through 
 the streets of Paris. His enemies in the Assem- 
 bly took advantage of this to bring an act of 
 accusation against him, which would relieve 
 them of his presence by the decisive energy of 
 the ax of the guillotine. Robespierre's danger 
 was most imminent, and he was obliged to con- 
 
102 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 ceal himself. Madame Roland, inspired by 
 those courageous impulses which ever enno- 
 bled her, went at midnight, accompanied by 
 her husband, to his retreat, to invite him to a 
 more secure asylum in their own house. 
 Madame Roland then hastened to a very in- 
 fluential friend, M. Busot, allowing no weari- 
 ness to interrupt her philanthropy, and entreated 
 him to hasten immediately and endeavor to 
 exculpate Robespierre, before an act of accusa- 
 tion should be issued against him. M. Busot 
 hesitated, but, unable to resist the earnest 
 appeal of Madame Roland, replied, *' I will do 
 all in my power to save this unfortunate young 
 man, although I am far from partaking the 
 opinion of many respecting him. He thinks 
 too much of himself to love liberty ; but he 
 serves it, and that is enough for me. I will 
 defend him." Thus was the life of Robespierre 
 saved. He lived to reward his benefactors by 
 consigning them all to prison and to death. 
 Says Lamartine sublimely, '^Beneath the dun- 
 geons of the Conciergerie, Madame Roland 
 remembered that night with satisfaction. If 
 Robespierre recalled it in his power, this 
 memory must have fallen colder upon his heart 
 than the ax of the headsman." 
 
 The powerful influence which Madame Ro- 
 land was thus exerting could not be concealed. 
 Her husband became more illustrious through 
 
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 103 
 
 that brilliance she was ever anxious to reflect 
 upon him. She appeared to have no ambition 
 for personal renown. She sought only to elevate 
 the position and expand the celebrity of her 
 companion. It was whispered from ear to ear, 
 and now and then openly asserted in the 
 Assembly, that the bold and decisive measures 
 of the Girondists received their impulse from 
 the youthful and lovely wife of M. Roland. 
 
 In September, 1791, the Assembly was dis- 
 solved, and M. and Madame Roland returned 
 to the rural quiet of La Platiere. But in 
 pruning the vines, and feeding the poultry, and 
 cultivating the flowers which so peacefully 
 bloomed in their garden, they could not forget 
 the exciting scenes through which they had 
 passed, and the still more exciting scenes 
 which they foresaw were to come. She 
 kept up a constant correspondence with 
 Robespierre and Busot, and furnished many 
 very able articles for a widely-circulated journal, 
 established by the Girondists for the advocacy 
 of their political views. The question now 
 arose between herself and her husband whether 
 they should relinquish the agitations and the 
 perils of a political life in these stormy times, 
 and cloister themselves in rural seclusion, in 
 the calm luxury of literary and scientific enter- 
 prise, or launch forth again upon the storm- 
 swept ocean of revolution and anarchy. Few 
 
 8— Boland 
 
104 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 who understand the human heart will doubt of 
 the decision to which they came. The chickens 
 were left in the yard, the rabbits in the warren, 
 and the flowers were abandoned to bloom in 
 solitude; and before the snows of December 
 had whitened the hills, they were again installed 
 in tumultuous Paris. A new Assembly had 
 just been convened, from which all the mem- 
 bers of the one but recently dissolved were by 
 law excluded. Their friends were rapidly 
 assembling in Paris from their summer re- 
 treats, and influential men, from all parts of 
 the empire, were gathering in the metropolis, 
 to watch the progress of affairs. Clubs were 
 formed to discuss the great questions of the 
 day, to mold public opinion, and to overawe 
 the Assembly. It was a period of darkness 
 and of gloom ; but there is something so 
 intoxicating in the draughts of homage and 
 power, that those who have once quaffed them 
 find all milder stimulants stale and insipid. 
 No sooner were M. and Madame Roland estab- 
 lished in their city residence, than they were 
 involved in all the plots and the counterplots 
 of the Revolution. M. Roland was grave, taci- 
 turn, oracular. He had no brillance of talent 
 to excite envy. He displayed no ostentation in 
 dress, or equipage, or manners, to provoke the 
 desire in others to humble him. His reputation 
 for stoical virtue gave a wide sweep to his influ- 
 
-L k'^. 
 
 '^ 
 
 
 Madame Roland, " ,' if g 
 
 Sacking the House of a Royalist. [See p. 134-) 
 
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 106 
 
 ence. His very silence invested him with a 
 mysterious wisdom. Consequently, no one 
 feared him as a rival, and he was freely thrust 
 forward as the unobjectionable head of a party 
 by all who hoped through him to promote their 
 own interests. He was what we call in America 
 an available candidate. Madame Roland, on 
 the contrary, was animated and brilliant. Her 
 genius was universally admired. Her bold 
 suggestions, her shrewd counsel, her lively 
 repartee, her capability of cutting sarcasm, 
 rarely exercised, her deep and impassioned be- 
 nevolence, her unvarying cheerfulness, the 
 sincerity and enthusiasm of her philanthrop}", 
 and ' the unrivaled brilliance of her conversa- 
 tional powers, made her the center of a system 
 around which the brightest intellects were 
 revolving. Vergniaud, Petion, Brissot, and 
 others, whose names were then comparatively 
 unknown, but whose fame has since resounded 
 through the civilized world, loved to do her 
 homage. 
 
 The spirit of the devolution was still advanc- 
 ing with gigantic strides, and the already shat- 
 tered throne was reeling beneath the redoubled 
 blows of the insurgent people. Massacres were 
 rife all over the kingdom. The sky was night- 
 ly illumined by conflagrations. The nobles 
 were abandoning thefp estates, and escaping 
 ff^m pei'ils au4 death io take refuge in th© 
 
106 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 bosom of the little army of emigrants at Coblentz, 
 The king, insulted and a prisoner, reigned but 
 in name. Under these circumstances, Louis 
 was compelled to dismiss his ministry and to 
 call in another more acceptable to the people. 
 The king hoped, by the appointment of a Ee- 
 publican ministry, to pacify the democratic 
 spirit. There was no other resource left him 
 but abdication. It was a bitter cup for him to 
 drink. His proud and spirited queen declared 
 that she would rather die than throw herself 
 into the arms of Repuhlicayis for protection. 
 He yielded to the pressure, dismissed his min- 
 isters, and surrendered himself to the Girond- 
 ists for the appointment of a new ministry. 
 The Girondists called upon M. Eoland to take 
 the important post of Minister of the Interior. 
 It was a perilous position to fill, but what dan- 
 ger will not ambition face ? In the present 
 posture of affairs, the Minister of the Interior 
 was the monarch of France. M. Roland, whose 
 quiet and hidden ambition had been feeding 
 upon its success, smiled nervously at the power 
 which, thus unsolicited, was passing into his 
 hands. Madame Eoland, whose all-absorbing 
 passion it now was to elevate her husband to 
 the highest summits of greatness, was gratified 
 in view of the honor and agitated in view of the 
 peril ; but, to her exalted spirit, the greater the 
 danger, the more heroic the act. ^* The burden 
 
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 107 
 
 is heavy/' she said ; " but Koland has a great 
 consciousness of his own powers, and would de- 
 rive fresh strength from the feeling of being 
 useful to liberty and his country/^ 
 
 In March, 1792, he entered upon his arduous 
 and exalted office. The palace formerly occu- 
 pied by the Controller General of Finance, most 
 gorgeously furnished by Madame Necker in the 
 days of her glory, was appropriated to their use. 
 Madame Roland entered this splendid establish- 
 ment, and, elevated in social eminence above 
 the most exalted nobles of France, fulfilled all 
 the complicated duties of her station with a 
 grace and dignity which have never been sur- 
 passed. Thus had Jane risen from that hum- 
 ble position in which the daughter of the en- 
 graver, in solitude, communed with her books, 
 to be the mistress of a palace of aristocratic 
 grandeur, and the associate of statesmen and 
 princes. 
 
 When M. Roland made his first appearance 
 at court as the minister of his royal master, 
 instead of arraying himself in the court-dress 
 which the customs of the times required, he af- 
 fected, in his costume, the simplicity of his 
 principles. He wished to appear in his exalted 
 station still the man of the people. He had not 
 forgotten the impression produced in France by 
 Franklin, as in the most republican simplicity 
 jf dress he moved among the glittering throng 
 
108 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 at Versailles. He accordingly presented him- 
 self at the Tuileries in a plain black coat, with 
 a round hat, and dusty shoes fastened with rib- 
 bons instead of buckles. The courtiers were 
 indignant. The king was highly displeased at 
 what he considered an act of disrespect. The 
 master of ceremonies was in consternation, and 
 exclaimed with a look of horror to General Da- 
 muriez, '^ My dear sir, he has not even buckles 
 in his shoes ! " '^ Mercy upon us ! '' exclaimed 
 the old general, with the most laughable ex- 
 pression of affected gravity, *' we shall then all 
 go to ruin together !^' 
 
 The king, however, soon forgot the neglect 
 of etiquette in the momentous questions which 
 were pressing upon his attention. He felt the 
 importance of securing the confidence and good 
 will of his ministers, and he approached them 
 with the utmost affability and conciliation. M. 
 Eoland returned from his first interview with 
 the monarch quite enchanted with his excellent 
 disposition and his patriotic spirit. He assured 
 his wife that the community had formed a 
 totally erroneous estimate of the king ; that he 
 was sincerely a friend to the reforms which 
 were taking place, and was a hearty supporter 
 of the Constitution which had been apparently 
 forced upon him. The prompt reply of Ma- 
 dame Eoland displayed even more than her 
 characteristic sagacity, * ' If Louis is sincerely 
 
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 
 
 109 
 
 a friend of the Constitution, he must be virtu- 
 ous beyond the common race of mortals. Mis- 
 trust your own virtue, M. Eoland. You are 
 only an honest countryman wandering amid a 
 crowd of courtiers — virtue and danger amid a 
 
 The Taileries. 
 myriad of vices. They speak our language ; 
 we do not know theirs. No ! Louis cannot 
 love the chains that fetter him. He may feign 
 to caress them. He thinks only of how he can 
 spurn them. Fallen greatness loves not its 
 decadence. ISTo man likes his humiliation. 
 Trust in human nature ; that never deceives. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE MIKISTKY OF M. KOLAN'D. 
 
 From all the spacious apartments of the mag- 
 nificent mansion allotted as the residence of 
 the Minister of the Interior, Madame Koland 
 selected a small and retired parlor, which she 
 had furnished with every attraction as a li- 
 brary and a study. This was her much-loved 
 retreat, and here M. Roland, in the presence of 
 his wife, was accustomed to see his friends in 
 all their confidential intercourse. Thus she 
 was not only made acquainted with all the im- 
 portant occurrences of the times, but she formed 
 an intimate personal acquaintance with the 
 leading actors in these eventful movements. 
 Louis, adopting a vacillating policy, in his 
 endeavors to conciliate each party was losing 
 the confidence and the support of all. The 
 Girondists, foreseeing the danger which threat- 
 ened the king and all the institutions of gov- 
 ernment, were anxious that he should be per- 
 suaded to abandon these mistaken measures, 
 
 and firmly and openly advocate the reforms 
 no 
 
THE MINISTEY OF M. ROLAND. Ill 
 
 which had already taken place. They felt that 
 if he would energetically take his stand in the 
 position which the Girondists had assumed, 
 there was still safety for himself and the 
 nation. The Girondists, at this time, wished 
 to sustain the throne, but they wished to limit 
 its power and surround it by the institutions of 
 republican liberty. The king, animated by his 
 far more strong-minded, energetic, and ambi- 
 tious queen, was slowly and reluctantly sur- 
 rendering point by point as the pressure of the 
 multitude compelled, while he was continually 
 hoping that some change in affairs would enable 
 him to regain his lost power. 
 
 The position of the Girondists began to be 
 more and more perilous. The army of emi- 
 grant nobles at Coblentz, within the dominions 
 of the King of Prussia, was rapidly increasing 
 in numbers. Frederic was threatening, in al- 
 liance with all the most powerful crowns of 
 Europe, to march with a resistless army to 
 Paris, reinstate the king in his lost authority, 
 and take signal vengeance upon the leaders of 
 Kevolution. There were hundreds of thousands 
 in France, the most illustrious in rank and opu- 
 lence, who would join such an army. The Ko- 
 man Catholic priesthood, to a man, would lend 
 to it the influence of all its spiritual authority. 
 Paris was every hour agitated by rumors of the 
 approach of the armies of invasion. The peo- 
 
112 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 pie all believed that Louis wished to escape 
 from Paris and head that army. The king was 
 spiritless, undecided, and ever vacillating in his 
 plans. Maria Antoinette would have gone 
 through fire and blood to have rallied those 
 hosts around her banner. Such was the posi- 
 tion of the Girondists in reference to the Koy- 
 alists. They were ready to adopt the most 
 energetic measures to repel the interference of 
 this armed confederacy. 
 
 On the other hand, they saw another party, 
 noisy, turbulent, sanguinary, rising beneath 
 them, and threatening with destruction all con- 
 nected in any way with the execrated throne. 
 This new party, now emerging from the lowest 
 strata of society, upheaving all its superincum- 
 bent masses, consisted of the wan, the starving, 
 the haggard, the reckless. All of the abandoned 
 and the dissolute rallied beneath its banners. 
 They called themselves the people. Ama- 
 zonian fishwomen ; overgrown boys, with the 
 faces and the hearts of demons ; men and girls, 
 who had no homes but the kennels of Paris, in 
 countless thousands swelled its demonstrations 
 of power, whenever it pleased its leaders to call 
 them out. This was the Jacobin party. 
 
 The Girondists trembled before this mysterious 
 apparition now looming up before them, and 
 clamoring for the overthrow of all human dis- 
 tinctions. The crown had been struck from the 
 
THE MINISTKY OF M. ROLAND. 113 
 
 head of the king, and was snatched at by the 
 most menial and degraded of his subjects. The 
 Girondists, through Madame Roland, urged the 
 Minister of the Interior that he should demand 
 of the king an immediate proclamation of war 
 against the emigrants and their supporters, and 
 that he should also issue a decree against the 
 Catholic clergy who would not support the 
 measures of the Revolution. It was, indeed, 
 a bitter draught for the king to drink. Louis 
 declared that he would rather die than sign 
 such a decree. The pressure of the populace was 
 so tremendous, displayed in mobs, and conflagra- 
 tions and massacres, that these decisive measures 
 seemed absolutely indispensable for the preserva- 
 tion of the Grirondist party and the safety of the 
 king. M. Roland was urged to present to the 
 throne a most earnest letter of expostulation and 
 advice. Madame Roland sat down at her desk 
 and wrote the letter for her husband. It was 
 expressed in that glowing and impassioned style 
 so eminently at her command. Its fervid 
 eloquence was inspired by the foresight she had 
 of impending perils. M. Roland, impressed by 
 its eloquence, yet almost trembling in view of its 
 boldness and its truths, presented the letter to 
 the king. Its last paragraphs will give one some 
 idea of its character. 
 
 '' Love, serve the Revolution, and the people 
 will love it and serve it in you. Deposed priests 
 
114 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 agitate the provinces. Ratify the measures to 
 extirpate their fanaticism. Paris trembles in 
 view of its danger. Surround its walls with an 
 army of defense. Delay longer, and you will be 
 deemed a conspirator and an accomplice. Just 
 Heaven ! hast thou stricken kings with blind- 
 ness ? I know that truth is rarely welcomed at 
 the foot of thrones. I know, too, that the 
 withholding of truth from kings renders rovolu- 
 tions so often necessary. As a citizen, a min- 
 ister, I owe truth to the king, and nothing shall 
 prevent me from making it reach his ear." 
 
 The advice contained in this letter was most 
 unpalatable to the enfeebled monarch. The 
 adoption of the course it recommended was 
 apparently his only chance of refuge from cer- 
 tain destruction. We must respect the mag- 
 nanimity of the king in refusing to sign the 
 decree against the firmest friends of his throne, 
 and we must also respect those who were strug- 
 gling against despotic power for the establish- 
 ment of civil and religious freedom. When we 
 think of the king and his suffering family, our 
 sympathies are so enlisted in behalf of their 
 woes that we condemn the letter as harsh and 
 unfeeling. When we think for how many ages 
 the people of France had been crushed into 
 poverty and debasement, we rejoice to hear stern 
 and uncompromising truth fall upon the ear of 
 royalty. And yet Madame Roland's letter rather 
 
THE MINISTRY OF M. ROLAND. 116 
 
 excites our admiration for her wonderful abilities 
 than allures us to her by developments of female 
 loveliness. This celebrated letter was presented 
 to the king on the 11th of June, 1792. On the 
 same day M. Koland received a letter from the 
 king informing him that he was dismissed from 
 office. It is impossible to refrain from applaud- 
 ing the king for this manifestation of spirit and 
 self-respect. Had he exhibited more of this 
 energy, he might at least have had the honor of 
 dying more gloriously ; but, as the intrepid 
 wife of the minister dictated the letter to the 
 king, we cannot doubt that it was the imperious 
 wife of the king who dictated the dismissal in 
 reply. Maria Antoinette and Madame Roland 
 met as Greek meets Greek. 
 
 "Here am I, dismissed from office," was M. 
 Roland's exclamation to his wife on his return 
 home. 
 
 " Present your letter to the Assembly, that 
 the nation may see for what counsel you have 
 been dismissed," replied the undaunted wife. 
 
 M. Roland did so. He was received as a 
 martyr to patriotism. The letter was read amid 
 the loudest applauses. It was ordered to be 
 printed, and circulated by tens of thousands 
 through the eighty-three departments of the 
 kingdom ; and from all those departments there 
 came rolling back upon the metropolis the echo 
 of the most tumultuous indignation and 
 
116 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 applause. The famous letter was read by all 
 France — ^nay, more, by all Europe. Roland 
 was a hero. The plaudits of the million fell upon 
 the ear of the defeated minister, while the 
 execrations of the million rose more loudly, and 
 ominously around the tottering throne. This 
 blow, struck by Madame Roland, was by far 
 the heaviest the throne of Prance had yet 
 received. She who so loved to play the part of 
 a heroine was not at all dismayed by defeat, 
 when it came with such an aggrandizement of 
 power. Upon this wave of enthusiastic popu- 
 larity Madame Roland and her husband retired 
 from the magnificent palace where they had 
 dwelt for so short a time, and, with a little 
 pardonable ostentation, selected for their retreat 
 very humble apartments in an apparently 
 obscure street of the agitated metropolis. It 
 was the retirement of a philosopher proud of the 
 gloom of his garret. But M. Roland and wife 
 were more powerful now than ever before. The 
 famous letter had placed them in the front 
 ranks of the friends of reform, and enshrined 
 them in the hearts of the ever fickle populace. 
 Even the Jacobins were compelled to swell the 
 universal voice of commendation. M. Roland's 
 apartments were ever thronged. All important 
 plans were discussed and shaped by him and 
 his wife before they were presented in the As- 
 
tUK MINISTRY OF M. BOLAND. lit 
 
 There was a youn^ statesman then in Paris 
 named Barbaroux, of remarkable beauty of per- 
 son, and of the richest mental endowments. 
 The elegance of his stature and the pensive 
 melancholy of his classic features invested him 
 with a peculiar power of fascination. Between 
 him and Madame Roland there existed the most 
 pure, though the strongest friendship. One day 
 he was sitting with M. Roland and wife, in so- 
 cial conference upon the desperate troubles of 
 the times, when the dismissed minister said to 
 him, '^ What is to be done to save France ? 
 There is no army upon which we can rely to 
 resist invasion. Unless we can circumvent the 
 plots of the court, all we have gained is lost. 
 In six weeks the Austrians will be at Paris. 
 Have we, then, labored at the most glorious of 
 revolutions for so many years, to see it over- 
 thrown in a single day ? If liberty dies in 
 France, it is lost forever to mankind. All the 
 hopes of philosophy are deceived. Prejudice 
 and tyranny will again grasp the world. Let 
 us prevent this misfortune. If the armies of 
 despotism overrun the north of France, let us 
 retire to the southern provinces, and there 
 establish a republic of freemen.'' 
 
 The tears glistened in the eyes of his wife as 
 she listened to this bold proposal, so heroic in 
 its conception, so full of hazard, and demanding 
 such miracles of self-sacrifice and devotion. 
 
 9-Roland 
 
118 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 Madame Koland, who perhaps originally sng- 
 gested the idea to her husband, urged it with 
 all her impassioned energy. Barbaroux was 
 just the man to have his whole soul inflamed 
 by an enterprise of such grandeur. He drew a 
 rapid sketch of the resources and hopes of lib- 
 erty in the south, and, taking a map, traced the 
 limits of the republic, from the Doubs, the Aire, 
 and the Ehone, to La Dordogne ; and from the 
 inaccessible mountains of Auvergne, to Du- 
 rance and the sea. A serene joy passed over 
 the features of the three> thus quietly originat- 
 ing a plan which was, with an earthquake's 
 power, to make every throne in Europe tottle, 
 and to convulse Christendom to its very center. 
 Barbaroux left them deeply impressed with a 
 sense of the grandeur and the perils of the en- 
 terprise, and remarked to a friend, " Of all the 
 men of modern times, Eoland seems to me most 
 to resemble Cato ; but it must be owned that 
 it is to his wife that his courage and talents are 
 due.'' Previous to this hour the Girondists had 
 wished to sustain the throne, and merely to sur- 
 round it with free institutions. They had tak- 
 en the government of England for their model. 
 From this day the Girondists, freed from all 
 obligations to the king, conspired secretly in 
 Madame Eoland's chamber, and publicly in the 
 tribune, for the entire overthrow of the mon- 
 archy, and the establishment of a republic like 
 
THE MINISTRY OF M. EOLAND. 119 
 
 that of the United States. They rivaled the 
 Jacobins in the endeavor to see who could strike 
 the heaviest blows against the throne. It was 
 now a struggle between like and death. The 
 triumph of the invading army would be the ut- 
 ter destruction of all connected with the revo- 
 lutionary movement. And thus did Madame 
 Eoland exert an influence more powerful, per- 
 haps, than that of any other one mind in the 
 demolition of the Bourbon despotism. 
 
 Her influence over the Girondist party was 
 such as no man ever can exert. Her conduct, 
 frank and open-hearted, was irreproachable, 
 ever above even the slightest suspicion of indis- 
 cretion. She could not be insensible to the 
 homage, the admiration of those she gathered 
 around her. Buzot adored Madame Eoland as 
 the inspiration of his mind, as the idol of his 
 worship. She had involuntarily gained that 
 entire ascendency over his whole being which 
 made her the world to him. The secret of this 
 resistless enchantment was concealed until her 
 death ; it was then disclosed, and revealed the 
 mystery of a spiritual conflict such as few can 
 comprehend. She writes of Buzot, " Sensible, 
 ardent, melancholy, he seems born to give and 
 share happiness. This man would forget the 
 universe in the sweetness of private virtues. 
 Capable of sublime impulses and unvarying af- 
 fections, the vulgar, who like to depreciate what 
 
120 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 it cannot equal, accuse him of being a dreamer. 
 Of sweet countenance, elegant figure, there is 
 always in his attire that care, neatness, and 
 propriety which announce the respect of self 
 as well as of others. While the dregs of the na- 
 tion elevate the flatterers and corrupters of the 
 people to station — while cut-throats swear, 
 drink, and clothe themselves in rags, in order 
 to fraternize with the populace, Buzot possesses 
 the morality of Socrates, and maintains the de- 
 corum of Scipio. So they pull down his house, 
 and banish him as they did Aristides. I am 
 astonished that they hare not issued a decree 
 that his name should be forgotten." 
 
 These words Madame Eoland wrote in her 
 dungeon the night before her execution. Bu- 
 zot was then an exile, j^ursued by unrelenting 
 fury, and concealed in the caves of St. Emilion. 
 When the tidings reached him of the death of 
 Madame Eoland, he fell to the ground as if 
 struck by lightning. For many days he was 
 in a state of frenzy, and was never again re- 
 stored to cheerfulness. 
 
 Danton now appeared in the saloon of Ma- 
 dame Roland, with his gigantic stature, and 
 shaggy hair, and voice of thunder, and crouched 
 at the feet of this mistress of hearts, whom 
 his sagacity perceived was soon again to be the 
 dispenser of power. She comprehended at a 
 glance his lierculemi abilities, an4 th^ impor- 
 
Madame Roland, 
 
 Danton in the Assembly. {Seep. 132.) 
 
THE MINISTKY OF M. ROLAND. 121 
 
 tant aid he could render the Eepublican cause. 
 She wished to win his co-operation, and at first 
 tried to conciliate him, *' as a woman would pat 
 a lion ; '' but soon, convinced of his heartless- 
 ness and utter want of principle, she spurned 
 him with abhorrence. He subsequently en- 
 deavored, again and again, to reinstate himself 
 in her favor, but in vain. Every hour scenes 
 of new violence were being enacted in Paris 
 and throughout all France. Roland was the 
 idol of the nation. The famous letter was the 
 subject of universal admiration. The outcry 
 against his dismission was falling in thunder 
 tones .on the ear of the king. This act had 
 fanned to increased intensity those flames of re- 
 volutionary frenzy wbich were now glaring with 
 portentous flashes in every part of France. The 
 people, intoxicated and maddened by the dis- 
 covery of their power, were now arrayed, with 
 irresistible thirstings for destruction and blood, 
 against the king, the court, and the nobility. 
 The royal family, imprisoned in the Tuileries, 
 were each day drinking of the cup of humilia- 
 tion to its lowest dregs. Austria and Prussia, 
 united with the emigrants at Coblentz, prepared 
 to march to Paris to reinstate the king upon 
 his throne. Excitement; consternation, fren- 
 zy, pervaded all hearts. A vast assemblage of 
 countless thousands of women, and boys, and 
 wan and starving men, gathered in the streets 
 
122 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 of Paris. Harangues against the king and the 
 aristocrats rendered them delirious with rage. 
 They crowded all the avenues to the Tuileries, 
 burst through the gates and over the walls, 
 dashed down the doors and stove in the win-, 
 dows, and, with obscene ribaldry, rioted through 
 all the apartments sacred to royalty. They 
 thrust the dirty red cap of Jacobinism upon the 
 head of the king. They poured into the ear of 
 the humiliated queen the most revolting and 
 loathsome execrations. There was no hope for 
 Louis but in the recall of M. Eoland. The 
 eourt party could give no protection. The 
 Jacobins were upon him in locust legions. M. 
 Eoland alone could bring the Girondists, as a 
 shield, between the throne and the mob. He 
 was recalled, and agaia moved, in calm tri- 
 umph, from his obscure chambers to the regal 
 palace of the minister. If Madame Eoland's 
 letter dismissed him from office, her letter also 
 restored him again with an enormous accumu- 
 lation of power. 
 
 His situation was not an enviable one. El- 
 evated as it was in dignity and influence, it was 
 full of perplexity, toil, and peril. The spirit 
 of revolution was now rampant, and no earthly 
 power could stay it. It was inevitable that 
 those who would not recklessly ride upon its 
 billows must be overwhelmed by its resistless 
 surges, Madame Eoland was far more con- 
 
THE MINISTRY OF M. EOLAND. 123 
 
 scious of the peril than her husband. With in- 
 tense emotion, but calmly and firmly, she 
 looked upon the gathering storm. The pecul- 
 iarity of her character,, and her great moral cour- 
 age, was illustrated by the mode of life she vig- 
 orously adopted. Raised from obscurity to a 
 position so commanding-, with rank and wealth 
 bowing obsequiously around her, she was en- 
 tirely undazzled, and resolved that, consecrat- 
 ing all her energies to the demands of the tem- 
 pestuous times, she would waste no time in 
 fashionable parties and heartless visits. " My 
 love of study,^' she said, '* is as great as my de- 
 testation of cards, and the society of silly peo- 
 ple affords me no amusement.''' Twice a week 
 she gave a dinner to the members of the minis- 
 try, and other influential men in the political 
 world, with whom her husband wished to con- 
 verse. The palace was furnished to their hands 
 by its former occupants with Oriental luxury. 
 Selecting for her own use, as before, one of the 
 smallest parlors, she furnished it as her library. 
 Here she lived, engrossed in study, busy with 
 her pen, and taking an unostentatious and un- 
 seen, but most active part, in all those meas- 
 ures which were literally agitating the whole 
 civilized world. Her little library was the sanc- 
 tuary for all confidential conversation upon 
 matters of state. Here her husband met his 
 political friends to mature their measures. The 
 
124 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 gentlemen gathered, evening after evening, 
 around the table in the center of the room, M. 
 Roland, with his serene, reflective brow, pre- 
 siding at their head, while Madame Eoland, at 
 her work-table by the fireside, employed herself 
 with her needle or her pen. Her mind, how- 
 ever, was absorbed by the conversation which 
 was passing. M. Roland, in fact, in giving his 
 own views, was bat recapitulating those senti- 
 ments with which his mind was imbued from 
 previous conference with his companion. 
 
 It is not possible that one endowed with the 
 ardent and glowing imagination of Madame 
 Roland should not, at times, feel inwardly the 
 spirit of exultation in the consciousness of this 
 vast power. From the windows of her palace 
 she looked down upon the shop of the mechan- 
 ic where her infancy was cradled, and upon 
 those»dusty streets where she had walked an 
 obscure child, while proud aristocracy swept by 
 her in splendor — that very aristocracy looking 
 now imploringly to her for a smile. She pos- 
 sessed that peculiar tact, which enabled her 
 often to guide the course of political measures 
 without appearing to do so. She was only anx- 
 ious to promote the glory of her husband, and 
 was never more happy than when he was re- 
 ceiving plaudits for works which she had per- 
 formed. She wrote many of his proclama- 
 tions, his letters, his state papers, and with all 
 
THE MINISTRY 0^ M. ftOLAND. 125 
 
 the glowing fervor of an enthusiastic woiiiau. 
 " Without me," she writes, '* my husband would 
 have been quite as good a minister, for his 
 knowledge, his activity, his integrity were all 
 his own ; but with me he attracted more at- 
 tention, because I infused into his writings that 
 mixture of spirit and gentleness, of authorita- 
 tive reason and seducing sentiment, which is, 
 perhaps, only to be found in the language of a 
 woman who has a clear head and a feeling 
 heart/^ This frank avowal of just self -appre- 
 ciation is not vanity. A vain woman could not 
 have won the love and homage of so many of 
 the noblest men of France. 
 
 A curious circumstance occurred at this time, 
 which forcibly and even ludicrously struck Ma- 
 dame Roland's mind, as she reflected upon the 
 wonderful changes of life, and the peculiar posi- 
 tion which she now occupied. Some French 
 artists had been imprisoned by the Pope at 
 Rome. The Executive Council of France 
 wished to remonstrate and demand their release. 
 Madame Roland sat down to write the letter, 
 severe and authoritative, to his holiness, threat- 
 ening him with the severest vengeance if he re- 
 fused to comply with the request. As in her 
 little library she prepared this communication 
 to the head of the Papal States and of the Catho- 
 lic Church, she paused, with her pen in her 
 hand, and reflected upon her situation but a few 
 
126 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 years before as the humble daughter of an en- 
 graver. She recalled to mind the emotions of 
 superstitious awe and adoration with which, in 
 the nunnery, she had regarded his holiness as 
 next to the Deity, and almost his equal. She 
 read oyer some of the imperious passages which 
 she had now addressed to the Pope in the unaf- 
 fected dignity of conscious power, and the con- 
 trast was so striking, and struck her as so lu- 
 dicrous, that she burst into an uncontrollable 
 paroxysm of laughter. 
 
 When Jane was a diffident maiden of seven- 
 teen, she went once with her aunt to the resi- 
 dence of a nobleman of exalted rank and vast 
 wealth, and had there been invited to dine with 
 the servants. The proud spirit of Jane was 
 touched to the quick. With a burning brow she 
 sat down in the servants' hall, with stewards, 
 and butlers, and cooks, and footmen, and valet 
 de chambres, and ladies' maids of every degree, 
 all dressed in tawdry finery, and assuming the 
 most disgusting airs of self-importance. She 
 went home despising in her heart both lords and 
 menials, and dreaming, with new aspirations, 
 of her Eoman republic. One day, when Ma- 
 dame Eoland was in power, she had just passed 
 from her splendid dining-room , where she had 
 been entertaining the most distinguished men 
 of the empire, into her drawing-room, when a 
 gray-headed gentleman entered, and bowing 
 
THE MINISTKY OF M. ROLAND. 127 
 
 profoundly and most obsequiously before her, 
 entreated the honor of an introduction to the 
 Minister of the Interior. This gentleman was 
 M. Haudry, with whose servants she had been 
 invited to dine. This once proud aristocrat, 
 who, in the wreck of the Eevolution, had lost 
 both wealth and rank, now saw Madame Roland 
 elevated as far above him as he had formerly 
 been exalted above her. She remembered the 
 many scenes in which her spirit had been hu- 
 miliated by haughty assumptions. She could 
 not but feel the triumph to which circum- 
 stances had borne her, though magnanimity 
 restrained its manifestation. 
 
 Anarchy now reigned throughout France. 
 The king and the royal family were im- 
 prisoned in the Temple. The Girondists in the 
 Legislative Assembly, which had now assumed 
 the name of the National Convention, and M. 
 Roland at the head of the ministry, were strug- 
 gling, with herculean exertions, to restore the 
 dominion of law, and, if possible, to save the 
 life of the king. The Jacobins, who, unable to 
 resist the boundless popularity of M. Roland, 
 had, for a time, co-operated with the Girondists, 
 now began to separate themselves again more 
 and more widely from them. They flattered the 
 mob. They encouraged every possible demon- 
 stration of lawless violence. They pandered to 
 the passions of the multitude by affecting gross- 
 
128 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 ness and vulgarity in person, and language, and 
 manners ; by clamoring for the division of prop- 
 erty, and for the death of the king. In tones 
 daily increasing in boldness and elB&ciency, they 
 declared the Girondists to be the friends of the 
 monarch, and the enemies of popular liberty. 
 Upon this tumultuous wave of polluted democ- 
 racy, now rising with resistless and crested bil- 
 low, Danton and Kobespierre were riding into 
 their terrific power. Humanity shut its eyes in 
 view of the hideous apparition of want and hag- 
 gard beggary and crime. The deep mutterings 
 of this rising storm, which no earthly hand 
 might stay, rolled heavily upon the ear of 
 Europe. Christendom looked astounded upon 
 the spectacle of a barbarian invasion bursting 
 forth from the cellars and garrets of Paris. Op- 
 pressed and degraded humanity was about to 
 take vengeance for its ages of accumulated 
 wrongs. The throne was demolished. The in- 
 sulted royal family, in rags and almost in star- 
 vation, were in a dungeon. The universal cry 
 from the masses of the people was now for a re- 
 public. Jacobins and Girondists united in this 
 cry ; but the Jacobins accused the Girondists of 
 being insincere, and secretly plotting for the res- 
 toration of the king. 
 
 Madame Boland, in the name of her husband, 
 drew up for the Convention the plan of a re- 
 publio as a substitute for th© throae. From 
 
Madame Roland, 
 
 The Tribunal of Maillard. 
 
 {Seep. 138.) 
 
THE MINISTRY OF M. ROLAND. 129 
 
 childhood she had yearned for a republic, with 
 its liberty and purity, fascinated by the ideal of 
 Eoman virtue, from which her lively imagina- 
 tion had banished all human corruption. But 
 now that the throne and hereditary rank were 
 virtually abolished, and all France clamoring 
 for a republic, and the pen in her hand to pre- 
 sent to the national Assembly a Constitution of 
 popular liberty, her heart misgave her. Her 
 husband was nominally Minister of the Interior, 
 but his power was gone. The mob of Paris had 
 usurped the place of king, and Constitution, 
 and law. The Jacobins were attaining the de- 
 cided ascendency. The guillotine was daily 
 crimsoned with the blood of the noblest citizens 
 of France. The streets and prisons were polluted 
 with the massacre of the innocent. The soul 
 of Madame Eoland recoiled with horror at the 
 scenes she daily witnessed. The Girondists 
 struggled in vain to resist the torrent, but they 
 were swept before it. The time had been when 
 the proclamation of a republic would have filled 
 her soul with inexpressible joy. Now she could 
 see no gleam of hope for her country. The res- 
 toration of the monarchy was impossible. The 
 substitution of a republic was inevitable. No 
 earthly power could prevent it. In that re- 
 public she saw only the precursor of her own 
 ruin, the ruin of all dear to her, and general 
 anarchy. With a dejected spirit she wrote to 
 
130 
 
 MADAME liOLAND. 
 
 a friend, " We are under the knife of Kobes- 
 pierre and Marat. Yon know my enthusiasm 
 for the Eevolution. I am ashamed of it now. 
 It has been sullied by monsters. It is hideous.'^ 
 
 ^mmsBiMm 
 
 
 The Prussians Marching on Paris. 
 
CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 MADAME KOLAl^D Al^B THE JACOBINS. 
 
 The Prussians were now advancing on their 
 march, to Paris. One after another of the 
 frontier cities of France were capitulating to 
 the invaders as the storm of bomb-shells from 
 the batteries of the allied army, was rained down 
 upon their roofs. The French were retreating 
 before their triumphant adversaries. Sanguine 
 hopes sprung up in the bosoms of the friends of 
 the monarchy that the artillery of the Prussians 
 would soon demolish the iron doors of the Tem- 
 ple, where the king and the royal family were 
 imprisoned, and reinstate the captive monarch 
 upon his throne. The Eevolutionists were al- 
 most frantic in view of their peril. They knew 
 that there were tens of thousands in Paris, of 
 the most wealthy and the most influential, and 
 hundreds of thousands in France, who would, 
 at the slightest prospect of success, welcome 
 the Prussians as their deliverers. Should the 
 king thus prove victorious, the leaders in the 
 revolutionary movement had sinned too deeply 
 to hope for pardon. Death was their inevitable 
 
 10-Eoland 131 
 
132 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 doom. Consternation pervaded the metropolis. 
 The magnitude of this peril united all the rev- 
 olutionary parties for their common defense. 
 Even Vergniaud, the most eloqi:.3nt leader of 
 the Girondists, proposed a decree of death 
 against every citizen of a besieged city who 
 should speak of surrender. 
 
 It was midnight in the Assembly. The most 
 extraordinary and despotic measures were 
 adopted by acclamation to meet the fearful 
 emergence. " We must rouse the whole pop- 
 ulace of France/' exclaimed Danton, in those 
 tones which now began to thrill so portentously 
 upon the ear of Europe, '' and hurl them, en 
 masse, upon our invaders. There *are traitors 
 in Paris, ready to join our foes. "We must ar- 
 rest them all, however numerous they may be. 
 The peril is imminent. The precautions adopt- 
 ed must be correspondingly prompt and deci- 
 sive. With the morning sun we must visit 
 every dwelling in Paris, and imprison those 
 whom we have reason to fear will join the ene- 
 mies of the nation, even though they be thirty 
 thousand in number. '' 
 
 The decree passed without hesitation. The 
 gates of Paris were to be locked, that none might 
 escape. Carriages were to be excluded from 
 the streets. All citizens were ordered to be at 
 home. The sections, the tribunals, the clubs 
 were to suspend their sittings, that the public 
 
MADAME KOLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 133 
 
 attention might not be distracted. All houses 
 were to be brilliantly lighted in the evening, 
 that the search might be more effectually con- 
 ducted. Commissaries, accompanied by armed 
 soldiers, were, in the name of the law, to enter 
 every dwelling. Each citizen should show what 
 arms he had. If anything excited suspicion, 
 the individual and his premises were to be 
 searched with the utmost vigilance. If the 
 slightest deception had been practised, in deny- 
 ing or in not fully confessing any suspicious ap- 
 pearances, the person was to be arrested and 
 imprisoned. If a person were found in any 
 dwelling but his own, he was to be imprisoned 
 as under suspicion. Guards were to be placed 
 in all unoccupied houses. A double cordon of 
 soldiers were stationed around the walls, to arrest 
 all who should attempt to escape. Armed boats 
 floated upon the Seine, at the two extremities 
 of Paris, that every possible passage of escape 
 might be closed. Gardens, groves, promenades, 
 all were to be searched. 
 
 With so much energy was this work con- 
 ducted, that that very night a body of workmen 
 were sent, with torches and suitable tools, to 
 open an access to the subterranean burial- 
 grounds extending under a portion of Paris, 
 that a speedy disposal might be made of the an- 
 ticipated multitude of dead bodies. The decree, 
 conveying terror to ten thousand bosoms, spread 
 
134 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 with the rapidity of lightning through the 
 streets and the dwellings of Paris. Every one 
 who had expressed a sentiment of loyalty ; every 
 one who had a friend who was an emigrant or 
 a loyalist ; every one who had uttered a word of 
 censure in reference to the sanguinary atrocities 
 of the Kevolution ; every one who inherited an 
 illustrious name^ or who had an unfriendly 
 neighbor or an inimical servant, trembled at 
 the swift approach of the impending doom. 
 
 Bands of men, armed with pikes, brought 
 into power from the dregs of society, insolent, 
 merciless, and relentless, accompanied by mar- 
 tial music, traversed the streets in all direc- 
 tions. As the commissaries knocked at a door, 
 the family within were pale and paralyzed with 
 terror. The brutal inquisitors appeared to de- 
 light in the anguish which their stern office ex- 
 torted, and the more refined the family in cul- 
 ture, or the more elevated in rank, the more 
 severely did vulgarity in power trample them in 
 the dust of humiliation. They took with them 
 workmen acquainted with all possible modes of 
 concealment. They broke locks, burst in pan- 
 els, cut open beds and mattresses, tore up floors, 
 sounded wells, explored garrets and cellars 
 for secret doors and vaults, and could they find 
 in any house an individual whom affection or 
 hospitality had sheltered, a rusty gun, an old 
 picture of any member of the royal family, a 
 
MADAME KOLAND AND THE JACOBIKS. 185 
 
 button with the royal arms, a letter from a 
 suspected person, or containing a sentiment 
 against the '' Reign of Terror/' the father was 
 instantly and rudely torn from his home, his 
 wife, his children, and hurried with ignomini- 
 ous violence, as a traitor unfit to live, through 
 the streets, to the prison. It was a night of 
 woe in Paris. 
 
 The friends of the monarchy soon found all 
 efforts at concealment unavailing. They had 
 at first crept into chimneys, from which they 
 were soon smoked out. They had concealed 
 themselves behind tapestry. But pikes and 
 bayonets were with derision thrust through 
 their bodies. They had burrowed in holes in 
 the cellars, and endeavored to blind the eye of 
 pursuit by coverings of barrels, or lumber, or 
 wood, or coal. But the stratagems of affection 
 were equally matched by the sagacity of revo- 
 lutionary frenzy, and the doomed were dragged 
 to light. Many of the Royalists had fled to the 
 hospitals, where, in the wards of infection, 
 they shared the beds of the dead and the dying. 
 But even there they were followed and arrested. 
 The domiciliary visits were continued for three 
 days. '^ The whole city was like a prisoner, 
 whose limbs are held while he is searched and 
 fettered." Ten thousand suspected persons 
 were seized and committed to the prisons. 
 Many were massacred in their dwellings or in 
 
136 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 the streets. Some were subsequently liberated, 
 as having been unjustly arrested. 
 
 Thirty priests were dragged into a room at 
 the Hotel de Ville. Five coaches, each con- 
 taining six of the obnoxious prisoners, started 
 to convey them to the prison of the Abbaye. 
 A countless mob gathered around them as an 
 alarm-gun gave the signal for the coaches to 
 proceed on their way. The windows were 
 open, that the populace might seo those whom 
 they deemed traitors to their country, and 
 whom they believed to be ready to join the 
 army of invasion, now so triumphantly ap- 
 proaching. Every moment the mob increased 
 in density, and with difficulty the coaches 
 wormed their way through the tumultuous 
 gatherings. Oaths and execrations rose on 
 every side. Gestures and threats of violence 
 were fearfully increasing, when a vast multitude 
 of men, and women, and boys came roaring 
 down a cross-street, and so completely blocked 
 up the way that a peaceful passage was impos- 
 sible. The carriages stopped. A man with 
 his shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a 
 glittering saber in his hand, forced his way 
 through the escort, and, deliberately standing 
 upon the steps of one of the coaches, clinging 
 with one hand to the door, plunged again, and 
 again, and again his saber into the bodies of 
 the priests, wherever chance might direct it. 
 
MADAME ROLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 137 
 
 He drew it out reeking with blood, and waved 
 it before the people. A hideous yell of ap- 
 plause rose from the multitude, and again he 
 plunged his saber into the carriage. The as- 
 sassin then passed to the next coach, and again 
 enacted the same act of horrid butchery upon 
 the struggling priests crowded into the car- 
 riages, with no shield and with no escape. Thus 
 he went, from one to the other, through the 
 whole line of coaches, while the armed escort 
 looked on with derisive laughter, and shouts of 
 fiendish exultation rose from the frenzied 
 multitude. The mounted troops slowly forced 
 open a passage for the carriages, and they moved 
 along, marking their passage by the streams of 
 blood which dripped, from their dead and dying 
 inmates, upon the pavements. When they ar- 
 rived at the prison, eight dead bodies were 
 dragged from the floor of the vehicles, and 
 many of those not dead were horridly muti- 
 lated and clotted with gore. The wretched 
 victims precipitated themselves with the utmost 
 consternation into the prison, as a retreat from 
 the billows of rage surging and roaring around 
 them. 
 
 But the scene within was still more terrible 
 than that without. In the spacious hall open- 
 ing into the courtyard of the prison there was 
 a table, around which sat twelve men. Their 
 brawny limbs, and coarse and brutal counte- 
 
138 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 nances, proclaimed them familiar with debanch 
 and blood. Their attire was that of the lowest 
 class in society, with woolen caps on their 
 heads, shirt-sleeves rolled np, unembarrassed 
 by either vest or coat, and butchers' aprons 
 bound around them. At the head of the table 
 sat Maillard, at that time the idol of the blood- 
 thirsty mob of Paris. These men composed a 
 self-constituted tribunal 'to award life or instant 
 death to those brought before them. First ap- 
 peared one hundred and fifty Swiss officers and 
 soldiers who had been in the employ of the 
 king. They were brought en masse before the 
 tribunal. '' You have assassinated the people,^' 
 said Maillard, ''and they demand vengeance." 
 The door was open. The assassins in tne court- 
 yard, with weapons reeking with blood, were 
 howling for their prey. The soldiers were 
 driven into the yards, and they fell beneath the 
 blows of bayonets, sabers, and clubs, and their 
 gory bodies were piled up, a hideous mound, in 
 the corners of the court. The priests, without 
 delay, met with the same fate. A moment 
 sufficed for tria/, and verdict, and execution. 
 Night came. Brandy and excitement had 
 roused the demon in the human heart. Life 
 was a plaything, murder a pastime. Torches 
 were lighted, refreshments introduced, songs 
 of mirth and joviality rose upon the night air, 
 and still the horrid carnage continued unabated. 
 
MADAME BOLAND AND THfi JACOBINS. 130 
 
 Now and then, from caprice, one was liberated ; 
 but the innocent and the guilty fell alike. 
 Suspicion was crime. An illustrious name was 
 guilt. There was no time for defense. A 
 frown from the judge was followed by a blow 
 from the assassin. A similar scene was trans- 
 piring in all the prisons of Paris. Carts were 
 continually arriving to remove the dead bodies, 
 which accumulated much faster than they could 
 be borne away. The courtyards became wet 
 and slippery with blood. Straw was brought 
 in and strewn thickly over the stones, and 
 benches were placed against the walls to ac- 
 commodate those women who wished to gaze 
 upon the butchery. The benches were imme- 
 diately filled with females, exulting in the 
 death of all whom they deemed tainted with 
 aristocracy, and rejoicing to see the exalted 
 and the refined falling beneath the clubs of the 
 ragged and the degraded. The murderers 
 made use of the bodies of the dead for seats, 
 upon which they drank their brandy mingled 
 with gunpowder, and smoked their pipes. In 
 the nine prisons of Paris these horrors con- 
 tinued unabated till they were emptied of their 
 victims. Men most illustrious in philanthropy, 
 rank, and virtue, were brained with clubs by 
 overgrown boys, who accompanied their blows 
 with fiendish laughter. Ladies of the highest 
 accomplishments, of exalted beauty and of 
 
140 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 spotless purity, were hacked in pieces by the 
 lowest wretches who had crawled from the dens 
 of pollution, and their dismembered limbs were 
 borne on the points of pikes in derision through 
 the streets of the metropolis. Children, even, 
 were involved in this blind slaughter. They 
 were called the cubs of aristocracy. 
 
 We cannot enter more minutely into the 
 details of these sickening scenes, for the soul 
 turns from them weary of life ; and yet thus 
 far we must go, for it is important that all eyes 
 should read this dreadful yet instructive lesson 
 — that all may hnoiu that there is no despotism 
 so dreadful as the despotism of anarchy — that 
 there are no laws more to be abhorred than the 
 absence of all law. 
 
 In the prison of the Bic^tre there were three 
 thousand five hundred captives. The ruffians 
 forced the gates, drove in the dungeon doors 
 with cannon, and for five days and five nights 
 continued the slaughter. The frenzy of the 
 intoxicated mob increased each day, and hordes 
 came pouring out from all the foul dens of pol- 
 lution greedy for carnage. The fevered thirst 
 for blood was inextinguishable. No tongue can 
 now tell the number of the victims. The man- 
 gled bodies were hurried to the catacombs, and 
 thrown into an indiscriminate heap of corrup- 
 tion. By many it is estimated that more than 
 ten thousand fell during these massacres. The 
 
MADAME EOLAKD AND THE JACOBINS. 141 
 
 tidings of these ontrages spread through all the 
 provinces of France, and stimnlated to similar 
 atrocities the mob in every city. At Orleans 
 the houses of merchants were sacked, the mer- 
 chants and others of wealth or high standing 
 massacred, while some who had offered resist- 
 ance were burned at slow fires. 
 
 In one town, in the vicinity of the Prussian 
 army, some Loyalist gentlemen, sanguine in 
 view of the success of their friends, got up an 
 entertainment in honor of their victories. At 
 this entertainment their daughters danced. 
 The young ladies were all arrested, fourteen in 
 number, and taken in a cart to the guillotine. 
 These young and beautiful girls, all between 
 the ages of fourteen and eighteen, and from the 
 most refined and opulent families, were behead- 
 ed. The group of youth and innocence stood 
 clustered at the foot of the scaffold, while, one by 
 one, their companions ascended, were bound to 
 the plank, the ax fell, and their heads dropped 
 into the basket. It seems that there must 
 have been some supernatural power of support 
 to have sustained children under so awful an 
 ordeal. There were no fain tings, no loud lam- 
 entations, no shrieks of despair. With the se- 
 renity of martyrs they met their fate, each one 
 emulous of showing to her companions how 
 much like a heroine she could die. 
 
 These scenes were enacted at the instigation 
 
142 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 of the Jacobins. Danton and Marat urged on 
 these merciless measures of lawless violence. 
 "We must/' said they, "strike terror into the 
 hearts of our foes. It is our only safety.-*' 
 They sent agents into the most degraded quar- 
 ters of the city to rouse and direct the mob. 
 They voted abundant supplies to the wretched 
 assassins who had broken into the prisons, and 
 involved youth and age, and innocence and 
 guilt, in indiscriminate carnage. The murder- 
 ers, reeking in intoxication and besmeared with 
 blood, came in crowds to the door of the mu- 
 nicipality to claim their reward. ^^ Do you 
 think,^' said a brawny, gigantic wretch, with 
 tucked-up sleeves, in the garbof a butcher, and 
 with his whole person bespattered with blood 
 and brains, " do you think that I have earned 
 but twenty-four francs to-day ? I have killed 
 forty aristocrats with my own hands ! " The 
 money was soon exhausted, and still the crowd 
 of assassins thronged the committee. Indig- 
 nant that their claims were not instantly dis- 
 charged, they presented their bloody weapons at 
 the throats of their instigators, and threatened 
 them with immediate death if the money were 
 not furnished. Thus urged, the committee suc- 
 ceeded in paying one half the sum, and gave 
 bonds for the rest. 
 
 M. Eoland was almost frantic in view of these 
 horrors, which he had no power to quell. The 
 
MADAME ROLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 143 
 
 mob, headed by the Jacobins, had now the com- 
 plete ascendency, and he was minister but in 
 name. He urged upon the Assembly the adop- 
 tion of immediate and energetic measures to ar- 
 rest these execrable deeds of lawless violence. 
 Many of the Girondists in the Assembly gave 
 vehement but unavailing utterance to their ex- 
 ecration of the massacres. Others were intim- 
 idated by the weapon which the Jacobins were 
 now so effectually wielding ; for they knew that 
 it might not be very difficult so to direct the 
 fury of the mob as to turn those sharp blades, 
 now dripping with blood, from the prisons into 
 the hall of Assembly, and upon the throats of 
 all obnoxious to Jacobin power. The Girond- 
 ists trembled in view of their danger. They 
 had aided in opening the sluice-ways of a tor- 
 rent which was now sweeping everything be- 
 fore it. Madame Koland distinctly saw and 
 deeply felt the peril to which she and her friends 
 were exposed. She knew, and they all knew, 
 that defeat was death. The great struggle now 
 in the Assembly was for the popular voice. 
 The Girondists hoped, though almost in de- 
 spair, that it was not yet too late to show the 
 people the horrors of anarchy, and to rally 
 around themselves the multitude to sustain a 
 well-established and law-revering republic. 
 The Jacobins determined to send their oppo- 
 nents to the scaffold, and by the aid of the 
 
144 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 terrors of the mob, now enlisted on their side, 
 resistlessly to carry all their measures. A hint 
 from the Jacobin leaders surrounded the As- 
 sembly with the hideous bowlings of a haggard 
 concourse of beings, just as merciless and de- 
 moniac as lost spirits. They exhibited these 
 allies to the Girondists as a bull-dog shows his 
 teeth. 
 
 In speeches, and placards, and proclamations 
 they declared the Girondists to be, in heart, the 
 enemies of the Eepublic. They accused them 
 of hating the Eevolution in consequence of its 
 necessary severity, and of plotting in secret for 
 the restoration of the king. With great adroit- 
 ness, they introduced measures which the Gi- 
 rondists must either support, and thus aid the 
 Jacobins, or oppose, and increase the suspicion 
 of the populace, and rouse their rage against 
 them. The allied army, with seven thousand 
 French emigrants and over a hundred thousand 
 highly-disciplined troops, under the most able 
 and experienced generals, was slowly but surely 
 advancing toward Paris, to release the king, 
 replace him on the throne, and avenge the in- 
 sults to royalty. The booming of their artil- 
 lery was heard reverberating among the hills 
 of France, ever drawingnearer and nearer to 
 the insurgent metropolis, and sending conster- 
 nation into all hearts. Under these circum- 
 stances, the Jacobins, having massacred those 
 
MADAME EOLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 145 
 
 deemed the friends of the aristocrats, now gath- 
 ered their strength to sweep before them all their 
 adversaries. They passed a decree ordering 
 every man in Paris, capable of bearing arms, 
 to shoulder his musket and march to the fron- 
 tiers to meet the invaders. If money was wanted, 
 it was only necessary to send to the guillotine 
 the aristocrat who possessed it, and to confiscate 
 his estate. 
 
 Eobespierre and Danton had now broken off 
 all intimacy with Madame Eoland and her 
 friends. They no longer appeared in the little 
 library where the Girondist leaders so often 
 met, but, placing themselves at the head of the 
 unorganized and tumultuous party now so rap- 
 idly gaining the ascendency, they were swept 
 before it as the crest is borne by the billow. 
 Madame Eoland urged most strenuously upon 
 her friends that those persons in the Assembly, 
 the leaders of the Jacobin party, who had insti- 
 gated the massacres in the prisons, should be 
 accused, and brought to trial and punishment. 
 It required peculiar boldness, at that hour, 
 to accuse Eobespierre and Danton of crime. 
 Though thousands in France were horror- 
 stricken at these outrages, the mob, who now 
 ruled Paris, would rally instantaneously at the 
 sound of the tocsin for the protection of their 
 idols. 
 
 Madame Eoland was one evening urging 
 
146 MAr> AMy. ROLAND. 
 
 Vergniaud to take that heroic and desperate 
 stand. ^^ The only hope for France/' said she, 
 '* is in the sacredness of law. This atrocious 
 carnage causes thousands of bosoms to thrill 
 with horror, and all the wise and the good in 
 France and in the world will rise to sustain 
 those who expose their own hearts as a barrier 
 to arrest such enormities." 
 
 " Of what avail/' was the reply, in tones of 
 sadness, *^ can such exertions be ? The assas- 
 sins are supported by all the power of the street. 
 Such a conflict must necessarily terminate in a 
 street fight. The cannon are with onr foes. 
 The most prominent of the friends of order are 
 massacred. Terror will restrain the rest. We 
 shall only provoke our own destruction."" 
 
 " Of what use is life," rejoins the intrepid 
 woman, "if we must live in this base subjec- 
 tion to a degraded mob ? Let us contend for 
 the right, and if we must die, let us rejoice to 
 die with dignity and with heroism." 
 
 Though despairing of success, and apprehen- 
 sive that their own doom was already sealed, 
 M. Eoland and Vergniaud, roused to action by 
 this ruling spirit, the next day made their ap- 
 pearance in the Assembly with the heroic re- 
 solve to throw themselves before the torrent 
 now rushing so wildly. They stood there, how- 
 ever, but the representatives of Madame Ro- 
 land, inspired by her energies, and giving utter- 
 
MADAME EOLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 147 
 
 ance to those eloquent sentiments which had 
 burst from her lips. 
 
 The Assembly listened in silence as M. Eo- 
 land, in an energetic discourse, proclaimed the 
 true principles of law and order, and called upon 
 the Assembly to defend its own dignity against 
 popular violence, and to raise an armed force 
 consecrated to the security of liberty and jus- 
 tice. Encouraged by these appearances of re- 
 turning moderation, others of the Girondists 
 rose, and, with great boldness and yehemence, 
 urged decisive action. " It requires some cour- 
 age,^' said Kersaint, '^ to rise up here against as- 
 sassins, but it is time to erect scaffolds for those 
 who provoke assassination.-'^ The strife con- 
 tinued for two or three days, with that intense 
 excitement which a conflict for life or death 
 must necessarily engender. The question be- 
 tween the Girondist and the Jacobin was, '* Who 
 shall lie down on the guillotine ? '' For some 
 time the issue of the struggle was uncertain. 
 The Jacobins summoned their allies, the mob. 
 They surrounded the doors and the windows of 
 the Assembly, and with their bowlings sustained 
 their friends. " I have just passed through the 
 crowd," said a member, " and have witnessed 
 its excitement. If the act of accusation is car- 
 ried, many a head will lie low before another 
 morning dawns/^ The Girondists found them- 
 selves, at the close of the struggle, defeated, yet 
 
 11— Roland 
 
148 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 not SO decidedly but that they still clung to 
 hope. 
 
 M. Roland, who had not yet entirely lost, 
 with the people, that popularity which swept 
 him, on so triumphant a billow, again into the 
 office of Minister of the Interior, now, conscious 
 of his utter impotency, presented to the As- 
 sembly his resignation of power which was 
 merely nominal. Great efforts had for some 
 time been made, by his adversaries, to turn the 
 tide of popular hatred against him, and espe- 
 cially against his wife, whom Danton and Eobes- 
 pierre recognized and proclaimed as the animat- 
 ing and inspiring soul of the Girondist party. 
 
 The friends of Roland urged, with high enco- 
 miums upon his character, that he should be 
 invited to retain his post. The sentiment of 
 the Assembly was wavering in his favor. Dan- 
 ton, excessively annoyed, arose and said, with a 
 sneer, ^' I oppose the invitation. Nobody ap- 
 preciates M. Roland more justly than myself. 
 But if you give him this invitation, you must 
 give his wife one also. Every one knows that 
 M. Roland is not alone in his department. As 
 for myself, in my department I am alone. I 
 have no wife to help me." 
 
 These indecorous and malicious allusions 
 were received with shouts of derisive laughter 
 from the Jacobin benches. The majority, how- 
 ever, frowned upon Danton with deep reproaches 
 
MADAME KOLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 149 
 
 for such an attack upon a lady. One of the 
 Girondists immediately ascended the tribune. 
 '' What signifies it to the country/' said he, 
 ^' whether Roland possesses an intelligent wife, 
 who inspires him with her additional energy, or 
 whether he acts from his own resolution alone ? " 
 The defense was received with much applause. 
 
 The next day, Roland, as Minister of the In- 
 terior, presented a letter to the Convention, ex- 
 pressing his determination to continue in office. 
 It was written by Madame Roland in strains 
 of most glowing eloquence, and in the spirit of 
 the loftiest heroism and the most dignified de- 
 fiance. '' The Convention is wise," said this 
 letter, '^in not giving a solemn invitation to a 
 man to remain in the ministry. It would at- 
 tach too great importance to a name. But the 
 deliberation honors me, and clearly pronounces 
 the desire of the Convention. That wish sat- 
 isfies me. It opens to me the career. I es- 
 pouse it with courage. I remain in the minis- 
 try. I remain because there are perils to face. 
 I am not blind to them, but I brave them fear- 
 lessly. The salvation of my country is the ob- 
 ject in view. To that I devote myself, even to 
 death. I am accused of wanting courage. Is 
 no courage requisite in these times in denounc- 
 ing the protectors of assassins ? " 
 
 Thus Madame Roland, sheltered in the 
 seclusion of her library, met, in spirit, in the 
 
150 MADAMU EOLANl:>. 
 
 fierce struggle of the tribune, Robespierre, Dan- 
 ton, and Marat. They knew from whose shafts 
 these keen arrows were shot. The G-irondists 
 knew to whom they were indebted for many of 
 the most skilful parries and retaliatory blows. 
 The one party looked to her almost with ado- 
 ration ; the other, with implacable hate. Never 
 before, probably, in the history of the world, 
 has a woman occupied such a position, and never 
 by a woman will such a position be occupied 
 again. Danton began to recoil froni the gulf 
 opening before him, and wished to return to al- 
 liance with the Girondists. He expressed the 
 most profound admiration for the talents, en- 
 ergy, and sagacity of Madame Roland. '' We 
 must act together," said he, ^' or the wave of 
 the Revolution will overwhelm us all. United, 
 we can stem it. Disunited, it will overpower 
 us." Again he appeared in the library of Ma- 
 dame Roland, in a last interview with the Gi- 
 rondists. He desired a coalition. They could 
 not agree. Danton insisted that they must 
 overlook the massacres, and give at least an 
 implied assent to their necessity. '^ We will 
 agree to all," said the G-irondists, '' except im- 
 punity to murderers and their accomplices." 
 The conference was broken up. Danton, irri- 
 tated, withdrew, and placed himself by the side 
 of Robespierre. Again the Jacobins and the 
 Girondists prepared for the renewal of their 
 
MADAME ROLAND AND THE JACOBINS. 151 
 
 struggle. It was not a struggle for power 
 merely, but for life. The Girondists, knowing 
 that the fury of the Kevolution would soon 
 sweep over everything, unless they could bring 
 back the people to a sense of justice — would 
 punish with the scaffold those who had incited 
 the massacre of thousands of uncondemned cit- 
 
 Convent of the Jacobins. 
 
 izens. The Jacobins would rid themselves of 
 their adversaries by overwhelming them in the 
 same carnage to which they had consigned the 
 Loyalists. Madame Eoland might have fled 
 from these perils, and have retired with her 
 husband to regions of tranquillity and of safety ; 
 but she urged M. Eoland to remain at his post, 
 and resolved to remain herself and meet her 
 destiny, wjiatoyer it might be. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 
 
 The Jacobins now resolved to bring the king 
 to trial. By placards posted in the streets, by 
 inflammatory speeches in the Convention, in 
 public gatherings, and in the clubs, by false 
 assertions and slanders of every conceivable nat- 
 ure, they had roused the ignorant populace to 
 the full conviction that the king was the au- 
 thor of every calamity now impending. The 
 storm of the Eevolution had swept desolation 
 through all the walks of peaceful industry. 
 Starvation, gaunt and terrible, began to stare 
 the population of Paris directly in the face. 
 The infuriated mob hung the bakers upon the 
 lamp-posts before their own doors for refusing 
 to supply them with bread. The peasant dared 
 not to carry provisions into the city, for he was 
 sure of being robbed by the sovereign people, 
 who had attained the freedom of committing 
 all crimes with impunity. The multitude fully 
 believed that there was a conspiracy formed by 
 the king in his prison, and by the friends of 
 royalty, to starve the people into siibjection. 
 152 ~ ' 
 
LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 153 
 
 Portentous murmnrs were now also borne on 
 every breeze, uttered by a thousand unseen 
 voices, that the Girondists were accomplices in 
 this conspiracy ; that they hated the Revolution ; 
 that they wished to save the life of the king ; 
 that they would welcome the army of invasion, 
 as affording them an opportunity to reinstate 
 Louis upon the throne. The Jacobins, it was 
 declared, were the only true friends of the 
 people. The Girondists were accused of being 
 in league with the aristocrats. These suspicions 
 rose and floated over Paris like the mist of the 
 ocean. They were everywhere encountered, 
 and yet presented 'no resistance to be assailed. 
 They were intimated in the Jacobin journals ; 
 they were suggested, with daily increasing dis- 
 tinctness, at the tribune. And in those multi- 
 tudinous gatherings, where Marat stood in 
 filth and rags to harangue the miserable, and 
 the vicious, and the starving, they were pro- 
 claimed loudly, and with execrations. The 
 Jacobins rejoiced that they had now, by the 
 force of circumstances, crowded their adversa- 
 ries into a position from which they could not 
 easily extricate themselves. Should the Giron- 
 dists vote for the death of the king, they would 
 thus support the Jacobins in those sanguinary 
 measures, so popular with the mob, which had 
 now become the right arm of Jacobin power. 
 The glory would also all redound to the Jaco- 
 
154 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 bins for it would not be difficult to convince the 
 multitude that the Girondists merely submit- 
 ted to a measure which they were unable to re- 
 sist. Should the Girondists, on the other hand, 
 true to their instinctive abhorrence of these 
 deeds of blood, dare to vote against the death 
 of the king, they would be ruined irretrievably. 
 They would then stand unmasked before the 
 people as traitors to the Eepublic and the friends 
 of royalty. Like noxious beasts, they would 
 be hunted through the streets and massacred 
 at their own firesides. The Girondists per- 
 ceived distinctly the vortex of destruction to- 
 ward which they were so rapidly circling. 
 Many and anxious were their deliberations, 
 night after night, in the library of Madame 
 Roland. In the midst of the fearful peril, it 
 was not easy to decide what either duty or ap- 
 parent policy required. 
 
 The Jacobins now made a direct and infa- 
 mous attempt to turn the rage of the populace 
 against Madame Roland. Achille Viard, one 
 of those unprincipled adventurers with which 
 the stormy times had filled the metropolis, was 
 employed, as a spy, to feign attachment to the 
 Girondist party, and to seek the acquaintance, 
 and insinuate himself into the confidence of 
 Madame Roland. By perversions and exaggera- 
 tions of her language, he was to fabricate an 
 accusation against her which would bring her 
 
LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 155 
 
 head to the scaffold. Madame Eoland instant- 
 ly penetrated his character, and he was repulsed 
 from her presence by the most contemptuous 
 neglect. He, however, appeared before the As- 
 sembly as her accuser, and charged her with 
 carrying on a secret correspondence with per- 
 sons of influence at home and abroad, to protect 
 the king. She was summoned to present her- 
 self before the Convention, to confront her ac- 
 cuser, and defend herself from the scaffold. 
 Her gentle yet imperial spirit was undaunted 
 by the magnitude of the peril. Her name had 
 often been mentioned in the Assembly as the 
 inspiring genius of the most influential and elo- 
 quent party which had risen up amid the storms 
 of the Eevolution. Her talents, her accomplish- 
 ments, her fascinating conversational eloquence, 
 had spread her renown widely through Europe. 
 A large number of the most illustrious men in 
 that legislative hall, both ardent young men 
 and those venerable with age, regarded her 
 with the most profound admiration — almost 
 with religious homage. Others, conscious of 
 her power, and often foiled by her sagacity, 
 hated her with implacable hatred, and deter- 
 mined, either by the ax of the guillotine or by 
 the poniard of the assassin, to remove her from 
 their way. 
 
 The aspect of a young and beautiful woman, 
 combining in her person and mind all the at- 
 
156 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 tractions of nature and genius, with her cheek 
 glowing with heroic resolution, and her demean- 
 or exhibiting the most perfect feminine loveli- 
 ness and modesty, entering this vast assembly 
 of irritated men to speak in defense of her life^ 
 at once hushed the clamor of hoarse voices, and 
 subdued the rage of angry disputants. Silence 
 the most respectful instantly filled the hall. 
 Every eye was fixed upon her. The hearts of 
 her friends throbbed with sympathy and with 
 love. Her enemies were more than half dis- 
 armed, and wished that they, also, were hon- 
 ored as her friends. She stood before the bar. 
 
 ** What is your name ?^' inquired the pres- 
 ident. 
 
 She paused for a moment, and then, fixing 
 her eye calmly upon her interrogator, in those 
 clear and liquid tones which left their vibration 
 upon the ear long after her voice was hushed in 
 death, answered, 
 
 " Eoland ! a name of which I am proud, for 
 it is that of a good and an honorable man.^' 
 
 " Do you know Achille Viard ? " the presi- 
 dent inquired. 
 
 '^ I have once, and but once, seen him.'' 
 
 " What has passed between you ? " 
 
 " Twice he has written to me, soliciting an 
 interview. Once I saw him. After a short con- 
 versation, I perceived that he was a spy, and 
 dismissed him with the contempt he deserved. ^^ 
 
LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 157 
 
 The calm dignity of her replies, the ingenu- 
 ous frankness of her manners, and the mani- 
 fest malice and falsehood of Viard's accusation, 
 made even her enemies ashamed of their un- 
 chivalrous prosecution. Briefly, in tremulous 
 tones of voice, but with a spirit of firmness 
 which no terrors could daunt, she entered upon 
 her defense. It was the first time that a female 
 voice had been heard in the midst of the clamor 
 of these enraged combatants. The Assembly, 
 unused to such a scene, were fascinated by 
 her attractive eloquence. Viard, convicted of 
 meanness, and treachery, and falsehood, dared 
 not open his lips. Madame Eoland was ac- 
 quitted by acclamation. Upon the spot the 
 president proposed that the marked respect of 
 the Convention be conferred upon Madame 
 Roland. With enthusiasm the resolution was 
 carried. As she retired from the hall, her 
 bosom glowing with the excitement of the per- 
 fect triumph she had won, her ear was greeted 
 with the enthusiastic applause of the whole 
 assembly. The eyes of all France had been 
 attracted to her as she thus defended herself 
 and her friends, and confounded her enemies. 
 Marat gnashed his teeth with rage. Danton 
 was gloomy and silent. Eobespierre, van- 
 quished by charms which had so often before 
 enthralled him, expressed his contempt for the 
 conspiracy, and, for the last time, smiled upon 
 
168 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 his early friend, whom he soon, with the most 
 stoical indifference, dragged to the scaffold. 
 
 The evening after the overthrow of the mon- 
 archy and the establishment of the Eepublic, 
 when there was still some faint hope that there 
 might yet be found intelligence and virtue in 
 the people to sustain the Constitution, the Gi- 
 rondists met at Madame Eoland% and cele- 
 brated, with trembling exultation, the birth of 
 popular liberty. The constitution of the United 
 States was the heau ideal of the Girondists, 
 and, vainly dreaming that the institutions which 
 Washington and his compatriots had established 
 in Christian America were now firmly planted 
 in infidel France, they endeavored to cast the 
 veil of oblivion over the past, and to spread 
 over the future the illusions of hope. The men 
 here assembled were the most illustrious of the 
 nation. Noble sentiments passed from mind to 
 mind. Madame Koland, pale with emotion, 
 conscious of the perils which were so porten- 
 tously rising around them, shone with a preter- 
 natural brilliance in the solemn rejoicing of that 
 evening. The aged Koland gazed with tears 
 of fond affection and of gratified pride upon his 
 lovely wife, as if in spirit asking her if all the 
 loftiest aspirations of their souls were not now 
 answered. The victorious Eepublicans hardly 
 knew whether to sing triumphant songs or 
 funeral dirges. Vergniaud, the renowned ora- 
 
LAST STRUGGIiES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 159 
 
 tor of the party, was prominent above them 
 all. With a pale cheek, and a serene and pen- 
 sive smile, he sat in silence, his mind evidently- 
 wandering among the rising apparitions of the 
 future. At the close of the supper he filled 
 his glass, and rising, proposed to drink to the 
 eternity of the Republic. Madame Roland, 
 whose mind was ever filled with classic recol- 
 lections, scattered from a bouquet which she 
 held in her hand, some rose leaves on the wine 
 in his glass. Vergniaud drank the wine, and 
 then said, in a low voice, ''We should quaff 
 cypress leaves, not rose leaves, in our wine to- 
 night. In drinking to a republic, stained, at 
 its birth, with the blood of massacre, who 
 knows but that we drink to our own death. 
 But no matter. Were this wine my own blood, 
 I would drain it to liberty and equality. '^ All 
 the guests, with enthusiasm, responded, '' Vive 
 la RepuUique ! " After dinner, Roland read to 
 the company a paper drawn up by himself and 
 wife in reference to the state of the Republic, 
 which views were to be presented the next day 
 at the Convention. 
 
 The royal family were still in the dungeons 
 of the Temple, lingering through the dreary 
 hours of the most desolate imprisonment. 
 Frenzied mobs, rioting through the streets 
 of Paris, and overawing all law, demanded, with 
 loudest execrations, the death of the king. A 
 
160 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 man having ventured to say that he thought 
 that the Eepublic might be established without 
 shedding the blood of Louis, was immediately 
 stabbed to the heart, and his mutilated remains 
 were dragged through the streets of Paris in 
 fiendish revelry. A poor vender of pamphlets 
 and newspapers, coming out of a reading-room, 
 was accused of selling books favorable to 
 royalty. The suspicion was crime, and he fell, 
 pierced by thirty daggers. Such warnings as 
 these were significant and impressive, and few 
 dared utter a word in favor of the king. 
 
 It was the month of January, 1793, when 
 the imprisoned monarch was brought into the 
 hall of the Convention for his trial. It was a 
 gloomy day for France, and all external nature 
 seemed shrouded in darkness and sorrow. 
 Clouds of mist were sweeping through the chill 
 air, and a few feeble lamps glimmered along 
 the narrow avenues and gloomy passages, 
 which were darkened by the approach of a 
 winter's night. Armed soldiers surrounded the 
 building. Heavy pieces of artillery faced every 
 approach. Cannoneers, ^h. lighted matches, 
 stood at their side, ready to scatter a storm of 
 grape-shot upon every toe? A mob of count- 
 less thousands were surging to and fro through 
 all the neighboring streets. The deep, dull 
 murmurings of the multifcde swelled in uni- 
 son with the sighings of the storm rising upon 
 
LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 161 
 
 the somber night. It was with no little difficulty 
 that the deputies could force their way through 
 the ocean of human beings surrounding the 
 Assembly. The coarse garb, the angry features, 
 the harsh voices, the fierce and significant 
 gestures, proclaimed too clearly that the mob 
 had determined to have the life of the king, 
 and that, unless the deputies should vote his 
 death, both king and deputies should perish 
 together. As each deputy threaded his way 
 through the thronging masses, he heard, in 
 threatening tones, muttered into his ear deep 
 and emphatic, * ' His death or thine I " 
 
 Persons who were familiar with the faces of 
 all the members were stationed at particular 
 points, and called out aloud to the multitude 
 the names of the deputies as they elbowed 
 their way through the surging multitudes. 
 At the names of Danton, Marat, Robespierre, 
 the ranks opened to make way for these idols 
 of the populace, and shouts of the most enthu- 
 siastic greeting fell upon their ears. When the 
 names of Yergniaud, Brissot, and others of the 
 leading Girondists were mentioned, clinched 
 fists, brandished daggers, and angry menaces 
 declared that those who refused to obey the 
 wishes of the people should encounter dire 
 revenge. The very sentinels placed to guard 
 the deputies encouraged the mob to insult and 
 violence. The lobbies were filled with the 
 
 12— Roland 
 
162 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 most sanguinary ruffians of Paris. The in- 
 terior of the hall was dimly lighted. A chan- 
 delier, suspended from the center of the ceiling, 
 illuminated certain portions of the room, while 
 the more distant parts remained in deep obscu- 
 rity. That all might act under the full sense 
 of their responsibility to the mob, Robespierre 
 had proposed and carried the vote that the 
 silent form of ballot .should be rejected, and that 
 each deputy, in his turn, should ascend the 
 tribune, and, with a distinct voice, announce 
 his sentence. For some time after the voting 
 commenced it was quite uncertain how the de- 
 cision would turn. In the alternate record of 
 the vote, death and exile appeared to be equally 
 balanced. All now depended upon the course 
 which the Girondists should pursue. If they 
 should vote for death, the doom of the king 
 was sealed. Vergniaud was the first of that 
 party to be called to record his sentence. It 
 was well known that he looked with repugnance 
 and horror upon the sanguinary scenes with 
 which the Revolution had been deformed, and 
 that he had often avowed his sympathy for the 
 hard fate of a prince whose greatest crime was 
 weakness. His vote would unquestionably be 
 the index of that of the whole party, and thus 
 the life or death of the king appeared to be 
 suspended from his lips. It was known that 
 the very evening before, while supping with a 
 
LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 163 
 
 lady who expressed much commiseration for 
 the captives iu the Temple, he had declared 
 that he would save the life of the king. The 
 courage of Vergniaud was above suspicion, and 
 his integrity above reproach. Difficult as it was 
 to judge impartially, with the cannon and the 
 pikes of the mob leveled at his breast, it was not 
 doubted that he would vote conscientiously. 
 
 As the name of Vergniaud was called, all 
 conversation instantly ceased. Perfect silence 
 pervaded the hall, and every eye was riveted 
 upon him. Slowly he ascended the steps of the 
 tribune. His brow was calm, but his mouth 
 closely compressed, as if to sustain some firm 
 resolve. He paused for a molnent, and the 
 Assembly was breathless with suspense. He 
 contracted his eyebrows, as if again reflecting 
 upon his decision, and then, in a low, solemn, 
 firm voice, uttered the word ^' Death." 
 
 The most profound silence reigned for a 
 moment, and then again the low murmur of 
 suppressed conversation filled the hall. Ver- 
 gniaud descended from the tribune and disap- 
 peared in the crowd. All hope for the king was 
 now gone. The rest of the Girondists also 
 voted for death, and Louis was condemned to 
 the scaffold. 
 
 This united vote upon the death of the king 
 for a short time mingled together again the 
 Girondists and the Jacobins. But the dom- 
 
164 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 inant party, elated by the yictory whicli they 
 had gained over their adversaries, were en- 
 couraged to fresh extortions. Perils increased. 
 Europe was rising in arms against the blood- 
 stained Eepublic. The execution of the king 
 aroused emotions of unconquerable detestation 
 in the bosoms of thousands who had previouslj' 
 looked upon the Eevolution with favor. Thos^ 
 who had any opulence to forfeit, or any posi- 
 tion in society to maintain, were ready to wel 
 come as deliverers the allied army of invasion, 
 It was then, to meet this emergency, that tha^ 
 terrible Eevolutionary Tribunal was organized, 
 which raised the ax of the guillotine as the one 
 all-potent instrument of government, and which 
 shed such oceans of innocent blood. '^Two 
 hundred and sixty thousand heads,^' said Marat, 
 ''must fall before France will be safe from 
 internal foes." Danton, Marat, and Robes- 
 pierre were now in the ascendency, riding with 
 resistless power upon the billows of mob vio- 
 lence. Whenever they wished to carry any 
 measure, they sent forth their agents to the 
 dens and lurking-places of degradation and 
 crime, and surrounded and filled the hall of the 
 Assembly with bloodthirsty assassins. ''Those 
 who call themselves respectable," said Marat, 
 "wish to give laws to those whom they call the 
 rablle. We will teach them that the time is 
 come in which the rahhle is to reign. •*' 
 
LAST STBUGGLES OF THE GLKONDISTS. 165 
 
 This Eevolutionary Tribunal, consisting of 
 five judges, a jury, and a public accuser, all ap- 
 pointed by the Convention, was proposed and 
 decreed on the same evening. It possessed un- 
 limited powers to confiscate property and take 
 life. The Girondists dared not vote against 
 this tribunal. The public voice would pro- 
 nounce them the worst of traitors. France was 
 now a charnel-house. Blood flowed in streams 
 which were never dry. Innocence had no pro- 
 tection. Virtue was suspicion, suspicion a 
 crime, the guillotine the penalty, and the con- 
 fiscated estate the bribe to accusation. Thus 
 there was erected, in the name of liberty and 
 popular rights, over the ruins of the French 
 monarchy, a system of despotism the most atro- 
 cious and merciless under which humanity has 
 ever groaned. 
 
 Again and again had the Jacobins called the 
 mob into the Assembly, and compelled the 
 members to vote with the poniards of assassins 
 at their breasts. Madame Eoland now despaired 
 of liberty. Calumny, instead of gratitude, was 
 unsparingly heaped upon herself and her hus- 
 band. This requital, so unexpected, was more 
 dreadful to her than the scaffold. All the prom- 
 ised fruits of the Eevolution had disappeared, 
 and desolation and crime alone were realized. 
 The Girondists still met in Madame Eoland's 
 library to deliberate concerning measures tox 
 
166 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 averting the impending ruin. All was unavail- 
 ing. 
 
 The most distressing embarrassments now 
 surrounded M. Eoland. He could not abandon 
 power without abandoning himself and his sup- 
 porters in the Assembly to the guillotine ; and 
 while continuing in power, he was compelled to 
 witness deeds of atrocity from which not only 
 his soul revolted, but to which it was necessary 
 for him apparently to give his sanction. His 
 cheek grew pale and wan with care. He could 
 neither eat nor sleep. The Kepublic had proved 
 an utter failure, and France was but a tem- 
 pest-tossed ocean of anarchy. 
 
 Thus situated, M. Eoland, with the most 
 melancholy forebodings, sent in his final resig- 
 nation. He retired to humble lodgings in one 
 of the obscure streets of Paris. Here, anxiously 
 watching the progress of events, he began to 
 make preparations to leave the mob-enthralled 
 metropolis, and seek a retreat, in the calm se- 
 clusion of La Platiere, from these storms which 
 no human power could allay. Still, the influ- 
 ence of Roland and his wife was feared by those 
 who were directing the terrible enginery of law- 
 less violence. It- was well known by them both 
 that assassins had been employed to silence 
 them with the poniard. Madame Eoland 
 seemed, however, perfectly insensible to per- 
 sonal fear. She thought only of her husband 
 
LAST STRUGGLES OF THE GIRONDISTS. 167 
 
 and her child. Desperate men were seen lurk- 
 ing about the house, and their friends urged 
 them to remove as speedily as possible from the 
 perils by which they were surrounded. Neither 
 the sacredness of law nor the weapons of their 
 friends could longer afford them any protection. 
 The danger became so imminent that the 
 friends of Madame Roland brought her the 
 dress of a peasant girl, and entreated her to put 
 it on, as a disguise, and escape by night, that 
 her husband might follow after her, unencum- 
 bered by his family ; but she proudly repelled 
 that which she deemed a cowardly artifice. 
 She threw the dress aside, exclaiming, '* I am 
 ashamed to resort to any such expedient. I 
 will neither disguise myself, nor make any 
 attempt at secret escape. My enemies may 
 find me always in my place. If I am assassin- 
 ated, it shall be in my own home. I owe my 
 country an example of firmness, and I will give 
 it." 
 
 She, however, was so fully aware of her peril, 
 and each night was burdened with such atroc- 
 ities, that she placed loaded pistols under her 
 pillow, to defend herself from those outrages, 
 worse than death, of which the Revolution af- 
 forded so many examples. While the influence 
 of the Girondists was entirely overborne by the 
 clamors of the mob in Paris, in the more virtu- 
 ous rural districts, far removed from the cor- 
 
168 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 ruption of the capital, their influence was on 
 the increase. The name of M. Koland, uttered 
 with execrations in the metropolis by the vag- 
 abonds swarming from all parts of Europe, was 
 spoken in tones of veneration in the depart- 
 ments, where husbandmen tilled the soil, and 
 loved the reign of law and peace. Hence the 
 Jacobins had serious cause to fear a reaction 
 and determined to silence their voices by the 
 slide of the guillotine. The most desperate 
 measures were now adopted for the destruction 
 of the Girondists. One conspiracy was formed 
 to collect the mob, ever ready to obey a signal 
 from Marat, around the Assembly, to incite 
 them to burst in at the doors and the windows, 
 and fill the hall with confusion, while picked 
 men were to poniard the Girondists in their 
 seats. The conspiracy was detected and ex- 
 posed but a few hours before its appointed ex- 
 ecution. The Jacobin leaders, protected by 
 their savage allies, were raised above the power 
 of law, and set all punishment at defiance. 
 
 A night was again designated, in which bands 
 of armed men were to surround the dwelling 
 of each Girondist, and assassinate these foes of 
 Jacobin domination in their beds. This plot 
 also was revealed to the Girondists but a few 
 hours before its destined catastrophe, and it was 
 with the utmost difficulty that the doomed vic- 
 tims obtained extrication from the toils which 
 
Madame Roland, yj.;,, ^ 
 
 Church of St. Jacques de la Boucherie, where the 
 National Assembly occasionally met. 
 
LAST STRUGGLES OP THE GIRONDISTS. 169 
 
 had been wound around them. Disastrous 
 news was now daily arriving from the frontiers. 
 The most alarming tidings came of insurrec- 
 tions in La Vendee, and other important por- 
 tions of France, in favor of the restoration of 
 the monarchy. These gathering perils threw 
 terror into the hearts of the Jacobins, and 
 roused them to deeds of desperation. Though 
 Madame Koland was now in comparative ob- 
 scurity, night after night the most illustrious 
 men of France, battling for liberty and for life 
 in the Convention, ascended the dark staircase 
 to her secluded room, hidden in the depth of a 
 court of the Eue de la Harpe, and there talked 
 over the scenes of the day, and deliberated re- 
 specting the morrow. 
 
 The Jacobins now planned one of those hor- 
 rible insurrections which sent a thrill of terror 
 into every bosom in Paris. Assembling the 
 multitudinous throng of demoniac men and 
 women which the troubled times had collected 
 from every portion of Christendom, they gath- 
 ered them around the hall of the Assembly to 
 enforce their demands. It was three o'clock in 
 the morning of the 31st of May, 1793, when 
 the dismal sounds of the alarm bells, spreading 
 from belfry to belfry, and the deep booming of 
 the insurrection gun, reverberating through the 
 streets, aroused the citizens from their slum- 
 bers, producing universal excitement and con- 
 
170 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 sternatiou. A cold and freezing wind swept 
 clouds of mist through the gloomy air, and the 
 moaning storm seemed the appropriate requiem 
 of a sorrow-stricken world. The Hotel deVille 
 was the appointed place of rendezvous for the 
 swarming multitudes. The affrighted citizens, 
 knowing but too well to what scenes of violence 
 and blood these demonstrations were the pre- 
 cursors, threw up their windows, and looked 
 out with fainting hearts upon the dusky forms 
 crowding by like apparitions of darkness. The 
 rumbling of the wheels of heavy artillery, the 
 flash of powder, with the frequent report of fire- 
 arm, and the uproar and the clamor of count- 
 less voices, were fearful omens of a day to dawn 
 in blacker darkness than the night. The Girond- 
 ists had recently been called in the journals 
 and inflammatory speeches of their adversaries 
 the Eolandists. The name was given them in 
 recognition of the prominent position of Ma- 
 dame Eoland in the party, and with the en- 
 deavor to cast reproach upon her and her hus- 
 band. Through all the portentous mutterings 
 of this rising storm could be heard deep and 
 significant execrations and menaces, coupled 
 with the names of leading members of the Gi- 
 rondist party. ^' Down with the aristocrats, 
 the traitors, the Eolandists ! " shouted inces- 
 santly hoarse voices and shrill voices, of drunk- 
 en men, of reckless boys, of fiendish women. 
 
LAST STRUGGLES OJ' THE GIRONDISTS. 171 
 
 The Girondists, apprehensive of some moTe- 
 ment of this kind, had generally taken the pre- 
 caution not to sleep that night in their own 
 dwellings. The intrepid Vergniaud alone re- 
 fused to adopt any measure of safety. '' What 
 signifies life to me now V said he ; *' my blood 
 may be more eloquent than my words in awak- 
 ening and saving my country. I am ready for 
 the sacrifice.^' One of the Girondists, M. Ea- 
 bout, a man of deep, reflective piety, hearing 
 these noises, rose from his bed, listened a mo- 
 ment at his window to the tumult swelling up 
 from every street of the vast metropolis, and 
 calmly exclaiming, '^ Ilia suprema dies,'' it is 
 our last day, prostrated himself at the foot of 
 his bed, and invoked aloud the Divine protec- 
 tion upon his companions, his country, and 
 himself. Many of his friends were with him, 
 friends who knew not the power of prayer. 
 But there are hours in which every soul instinc- 
 tively craves the mercy of its creator. They 
 all bowed reverently, and were profoundly af- 
 fected by the supplications of their Christian 
 friend. Tortified and tranquilized by the 
 potency of prayer, and determining to die, if 
 die they must, at the post of duty, at six 
 o'clock they descended into the street, with 
 pistols and daggers concealed beneath their 
 clothes. They succeeded, unrecognized, in 
 reaching the Convention in safety. 
 
172 
 
 MADAME BOLAKD. 
 
 One or two of the Jacobin party were assem- 
 bled there at that early hour, and Danton, pale 
 with the excitement of a sleepless night, walk- 
 ing to and fro in nervous agitation, greeted his 
 
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 A Jacobin Mob. 
 old friends with a wan and melancholy smile. 
 " Do you see,'' said Louvet to Baudot, "what 
 horrible hope shines upon that hideous face ?" 
 The members rapidly collected. The hall was 
 soon filled. The Girondists were now helpless, 
 their sinews of power were cut, and the strug- 
 gle was virtually over. 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 ARREST OF MADAME ROLAKD. 
 
 France was now governed by the Conven- 
 tion. The Convention was governed by the 
 mob of Paris. The Jacobins were the head of 
 this mob. They roused its rage, and guided 
 its fury, when and where they listed. The 
 friendship of the mob was secured and retained 
 by ever pandering to their passions. The Ja- 
 cobins claimed to be exclusively the friends of 
 the people, and advocated all those measures 
 which tended to crush the elevated and flatter 
 the degraded. Eobespierre, Danton, Marat, 
 were now the idols of the populace. 
 
 On the morning of the 30th of May, 1793, 
 the streets of Paris were darkened with a dis- 
 mal storm of low, scudding clouds, and chilling 
 winds, and sleet and rain. Pools of water stood 
 in the miry streets, and every aspect of nature 
 was cheerless and desolate. But there was an- 
 other storm raging in those streets, more terri- 
 ble than any elemental warfare. In locust le- 
 gions, the deformed, the haggard, the brutal- 
 ized in form, in features, in mind, in heart — 
 
 173 
 
174 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 demoniac men, satanic women, boys burly, 
 sensual, bloodthirsty, like imps of darkness 
 rioted along toward the Convention, an inter- 
 minable multitude whom no one could count. 
 Their hideous bowlings thrilled upon the ear, 
 and sent panic to the heart. There was no 
 power to resist them. There was no protection 
 from their violence. And thousands wished 
 that they might call up even the most despotic 
 king who ever sat upon the throne of France, 
 from his grave, to drive back that most terrible 
 of all earthly despotisms, the despotism of a mob. 
 This was the power with which the Jacobins 
 backed their arguments. This was the gory 
 blade which they waved before their adversaries, 
 and called the sword of justice. 
 
 The Assembly consisted of about eight hun- 
 dred members. There were twenty-two illus- 
 trious men who were considered the leaders of 
 the G-irondist party. The Jacobins had re- 
 solved that they should be accused of treason, 
 arrested, and condemned. The Convention had 
 refused to submit to the arbitrary and bloody 
 demand. The mob were now assembled to co- 
 erce submission. The melancholy tocsin, and 
 the thunders of the alarm gun, resounded 
 through the air, as the countless throng came 
 pouring along like ocean billows, with a resist- 
 lessness which no power could stay. They sur- 
 rounded the Assembly on every side, forced 
 
AEREST OF MADAME ROLAND. 175 
 
 their way into the hall, filled every vacant 
 space, clambered upon the benches, crowded the 
 speaker in his chair, brandished their daggers, 
 and mingled their oaths and imprecations with 
 the fierce debate. Even the Jacobins were ter- 
 rified by the frightful spirits whom they had 
 evoked. " Down with the Girondists ! '' 
 ' ' Death to the traitors ! '' the assassins shouted. 
 The clamor of the mob silenced the Girondists, 
 and they hardly made an attempt to speak in 
 their defense. They sat upon their benches, 
 pale with the emotions which the fearful scenes 
 excited, yet firm and unwavering. As Couthon, 
 a Jacobin orator, was uttering deep denuncia- 
 tions, he became breathless with the vehemence 
 of his passionate speech. He turned to a wait- 
 er for a glass of water. '' Take to Couthon a 
 glass of blood," said Vergniaud ; "'he is thirst- 
 ing for it." 
 
 The decree of accusation was proposed, and 
 carried, without debate, beneath the poniards 
 of uncounted thousands of assassins. The mob 
 was triumphant. By acclamation it was then 
 voted that all Paris should be joyfully illuminat- 
 ed, in celebration of the triumph of the people 
 over those who would arrest the onward career 
 of the Revolution ; and every citizen of Paris 
 well knew the doom which awaited him if brill- 
 iant lights were not burning at his windows. 
 It was then voted, and with enthusiasm, that 
 
 13— Roland 
 
176 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 the Convention should go out and fraternize 
 with the multitude. Who would have the te- 
 merity, in such an hour, to oppose the affection- 
 ate demonstration ? The degraded Assembly 
 obeyed the mandate of the mob, and marched 
 into the streets, where they were hugged in the 
 unclean arms and pressed to the foul bosoms of 
 beggary, and infamy, and pollution. Louis was 
 avenged. The hours of the day had now passed ; 
 night had come ; but it was noonday light 
 in the brilliantly-illuminated streets of the me- 
 tropolis. The Convention, surrounded by torch- 
 bearers, and an innumerable concourse of drunk- 
 en men and women, rioting in hideous orgies, 
 traversed, in compulsory procession, the princi- 
 pal streets of the city. The Girondists wer© 
 led as captives to grace the triumph. '' Which 
 do you prefer,^' said a Jacobin to Yergniaud, 
 '^ this ovation or the scaffold ? " '^ It is all the 
 same to me," replied Vergniaud, with stoical in- 
 difference. " There is no choice between this 
 walk and the guillotine. It conducts us to it." 
 The twenty-two G-irondists were arrested and 
 committed to prison. 
 
 During this dreadful day, while these scenes 
 were passing in the Assembly, Madame Eoland 
 and her husband were in their solitary room op- 
 pressed with the most painful suspense. The 
 cry and the uproar of the insurgent city, the 
 tolling of bells and thundering of cannon, were 
 
AEREST OF MADAME KOLAND. 177 
 
 borne upon the wailings of the gloomy storm 
 and sent consternation even to the stoutest 
 hearts. There was now no room for escape, for 
 the barriers were closed and carefully watched. 
 Madame Roland knew perfectly well that if ker 
 friends feH she must fall with them. She had 
 shared their principles ; she had guided their 
 measures, and she wished to participate in their 
 doom. It was this honorable feeling which led 
 her to refuse to provide for her own safety, and 
 which induced her to abide in the midst of ever 
 increasing danger, with her associates. No per- 
 son obnoxious to suspicion could enter the street 
 without fearful peril, though, through the lin- 
 gering hours of the day, friends brought them 
 tidings of the current of events. Nothing re- 
 mained to be done but to await, as patiently 
 as possible, the blow that was inevitably to fall. 
 
 The twilight was darkening into night, when 
 six armed men ascended the stairs and burst in- 
 to Roland^s apartment. The philosopher looked 
 calmly upon them as, in the name of the Con- 
 vention, they informed him of his arrest. *^ I 
 do not recognize the authority of your warrant,^' 
 said M. Koland, ^' and shall not voluntarily fol- 
 low you. I can only oppose the resistance of 
 J^y gray hairs, but I will protest against it with 
 my last breath." 
 
 The leader of the party replied, '^ I have no 
 orders to use violence. I will go and report 
 
178 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 your answer to the council, leaving, in the mean- 
 fcime, a guard to secure your person/^ 
 
 This was an hour to rouse all the energy and 
 heroic resolution of Madame Roland. She im- 
 mediately sat down, and, with that rapidity of 
 action which her highly-disciplined mind had 
 attained, wrote, in a few moments, a letter to 
 the Convention. Leaving a friend who was in 
 the house with her husband, she ordered a hack- 
 ney coach, and drove as fast as possible to the 
 Tuileries, where the Assembly was in session. 
 The garden of the Tuileries was filled with the 
 tumultuary concourse. She forced her way 
 through the crowd till she arrived at the door 
 of the outer halls. Sentinels were stationed at 
 all the passages, who would not allow her to 
 enter 
 
 " Citizens," said she, at last adroitly adopting 
 the vernacular of the Jacobins, " in this day of 
 salvation for our country, in the midst of those 
 traitors who threaten us, you know not the im- 
 portance of some notes which I have to transmit 
 to the president." 
 
 These words were a talisman. The doors were 
 thrown open, and she entered the petitioners^ 
 hall. " I wish to see one of the messengers of 
 the House," she said to one of the inner senti- 
 nels. 
 
 '^ Wait till one comes out," was the gruff 
 reply. 
 
ABREST OF MADAME ROLAND. 179 
 
 She waited for a quarter of an hour in burn- 
 ing impatience. Her ear was almost stunned with 
 the deafening clamor of debate, of applause, of 
 execrations, which now in dying murmurs, and 
 again in thundering reverberations, awakening 
 responsive echoes along the thronged streets, 
 swelled upon the night air. Of all human 
 sounds, the uproar of a countless multitude of 
 maddened human voices is' the most awful. 
 
 At last she caught a glimpse of the messenger 
 who had summoned her to appear before the 
 bar of the Assembly in reply to the accusations 
 of Viard, informed him of their peril, and 
 implored him to hand her letter to the pres- 
 ident. The messenger, M. Rdze, took the pa- 
 per, and, elbowing his way through the throng, 
 disappeared. An hour elapsed, which seemed 
 an age. The tumult within continued unabated. 
 At length M. Koze reappeared. 
 
 " Well ! " said Madame Roland, eagerly, 
 '^ what has been done with my letter ? " 
 
 " I have given it to the president,*^ was the 
 reply, '' but nothing has been done with it as 
 yet. Indescribable confusion prevails. The 
 mob demand the accusation of the Girondists. 
 I have just assisted one to escape by a private 
 way. Others are endeavoring, concealed by the 
 tumult, to effect their escape. There is no 
 knowing what is to happen.'^ 
 
 ^^ Alas \" Madame Roland replied, ^'my let- 
 
180 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 ter will not be read. Do send some deputy to 
 me, with whom I can speak a few words/' 
 
 '' Whom shall I send ? " 
 
 '* Indeed I have but little acquaintance with 
 any, and but little esteem for any, except those 
 who are proscribed. Tell Vergniaud that I am 
 inquiring for him." 
 
 Vergniaud, notwithstanding the terrific agi- 
 tations of the hour, immediately attended the 
 summons of Madame Eoland. She implored 
 him to try to get her admission to the bar, that 
 she might speak in defense of her husband and 
 her friends. 
 
 " In the present state of the Assembly," said 
 Vergniaud, '^ it would be impossible, and if 
 possible, of no avail. The Convention has lost 
 all power. It has become but the weapon of 
 the rabble. Your words can do no good." 
 
 '^ They may do much good," replied Madame 
 Boland. '^ I can venture to say that which you 
 could not say without exposing yourself to ac- 
 cusation. I fear nothing. If I cannot save 
 Eoland, I will utter with energy truths which 
 may be useful to the Eepublic. An example 
 of courage may shame the nation." 
 
 ** Think how unavailing the attempt," re- 
 plied Vergniaud. ''Your letter cannot pos- 
 sibly be read for two or three hours. A crowd 
 of petitioners throng the bar. Noise, and con- 
 fusion, and violence fill the House," 
 
ARllEg:^ Oi^ MADAMfi llOLAl!tl>. 181 
 
 Madame Roland paused for a moment, and 
 replied, '^ I must then hasten home, and ascer- 
 tain what has become of my husband. I will 
 immediately return. Tell our friends so." 
 
 Vergniaud sadly pressed her hands, as if for 
 a last farewell, and returned, invigorated by her 
 courage, to encounter the storm which was 
 hailed upon him in the Assembly. She hastened 
 to her dwelling, and found that her husband 
 had succeeded in eluding the surveillance of his 
 guards, and, escaping by a back passage, had 
 taken refuge in the house of a friend. After a 
 short search she found him in his asylnm, and, 
 too deeply moved to weep, threw Kerself into 
 his arms, informed him of what she had done, 
 rejoiced at his safety, and heroically returned 
 to the Convention, resolved, if possible, to ob- 
 tain admission there. It was now near mid- 
 night. The streets were brilliant with illumin- 
 ations ; but Madame Roland knew not of 
 which party these illuminations celebrated the 
 triumph. 
 
 On her arrival at the court of the Tuileries, 
 which had so recently been thronged by a mob 
 of forty thousand men, she found it silent and 
 deserted. The sitting was ended. The mem- 
 bers, accompanied by the populace with whom 
 they had fraternized, were traversing the streets. 
 A few sentinels stood shivering in the cold and 
 drizzling rain around the doors of the national 
 
182 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 palace. A group of rough-looking men were 
 gathered before a cannon. Madame Roland 
 approached them. 
 
 ''Citizens/' inquired she, ''has everything 
 gone well to-night ? " 
 
 " Oh ! wonderfully well/' was the reply. 
 " The deputies and the people embraced, and 
 sung the Marseilles Hymn, there, under the 
 tree of liberty." 
 
 " And what has become of the twenty-two 
 Girondists ? " 
 
 "They are all to be arrested.'' 
 
 Madame Roland was almost stunned by the 
 blow. Hastily crossing the court, she arrived 
 at her hackney-coach. A very pretty dog, 
 which had lost its master, followed her. " Is 
 the poor little creature yours ? " inquired the 
 coachman. The tones of kindness with which 
 he spoke called up the first tears which had 
 moistened the eyes of Madame Roland that 
 eventful night. 
 
 " I should like him for my little boy," said 
 the coachman. 
 
 Madame Roland, gratified to have, at such 
 an hour, for a driver, a father and a man of 
 feeling, said, " Put him into the coach, and I 
 will take care of him for you. Drive immedi- 
 ately to the galleries of the Louvre." Madame 
 Roland caressed the affectionate animal, and, 
 weary of the passions of man, longed for retire- 
 
ARREST OF MADAME ROLAND. 183 
 
 ment from the world, and to seclude herself 
 with those animals who would repay kindness 
 with gratitude. She sank back in her seat, ex- 
 claiming, '' that we could escape from France, 
 and find a home in the law-governed republic 
 of America." 
 
 Alighting at the Louvre, she called upon a 
 friend, with whom she wished to consult upon 
 the means of effecting M. Roland^s escape from 
 the city. He had just gone to bed, but arose, 
 conversed about various plans, and made an ap- 
 pointment to meet her at seven o'clock the next 
 morning. Entirely unmindful of herself, she 
 thought only of the rescue of her friends. Ex- 
 hausted with excitement and toil, she returned 
 to her desolated home, bent over the sleeping 
 form of her child, and gave vent to a mother's 
 gushing love in a flood of tears. Recovering 
 her fortitude, she sat down and wrote to M. 
 Roland a minute account of all her proceedings. 
 It would have periled his safety had she at- 
 tempted to share his asylum. The gray of a 
 dull and somber morning was just beginning to 
 appear as Madame Roland threw herself upon a 
 bed for a few moments of repose. Overwhelmed 
 by sorrow and fatigue, she had just fallen asl-eep, 
 when a band of armed men rudely broke into 
 her house, and demanded to be conducted to 
 her apartment. She knew too well the object 
 of the summons. The order for her arrest was 
 
184 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 presented her. She calmly read it, and re- 
 quested permission to write to a friend. The 
 request was granted. When the note was fin- 
 ished, the ofl&cer informed her that it would be 
 necessary for him to be made acquainted with 
 its contents. She quietly tore it into frag- 
 ments, and cast it into the fire. Then, imprint- 
 ing her last kiss upon the cheek of her uncon- 
 scious child, with the composure which such a 
 catastrophe would naturally produce in so 
 heroic a mind, she left her home for the prison. 
 Blood had been flowing too freely in Paris, the 
 guillotine had been too active in its operations, 
 for Madame Roland to entertain any doubts 
 whither the path she now trod was tending. 
 
 It was early in the morning of a bleak and 
 dismal day as Madame Roland accompanied 
 the officers through the hall of her dwelling, 
 where she had been the object of such enthusi- 
 astic admiration and affection. The servants 
 gathered around her, and filled the house with 
 their lamentations. Even the hardened sol- 
 diers were moved by the scene, and one of them 
 exclaimed, " How much you are heloved ! " 
 Madame Roland, who alone was tranquil in this 
 hour of trial, cualmly replied, '^ Because I love." 
 As she was led from the house by the gens- 
 d'armes, a vast crowd collected around the door, 
 who, believing her to be a traitor to her coun- 
 try,and in league with their enemies, shouted. 
 
Madame Roland, 
 
 The Last Night of the Girondiats. 
 
AEBEST OF MADAME KOLAND. 185 
 
 " A la guillotine ! " Unmoved by their cries, 
 she looked calmly and compassionately upon the 
 populace, without gesture or reply. One of the 
 officers, to relieve her from the insults to which 
 she was exposed, asked her if she wished to have 
 the windows of the carriage closed. 
 
 ^^No!" she replied ; ''^ oppressed innocence 
 should not assume the attitude of crime and 
 shame. I do not fear the looks of honest men, 
 and I brave those of my enemies." 
 
 " You have very great resolution," was the 
 reply, ''thus calmly to await justice." 
 
 '' Justice ! " she exclaimed ; " were justice 
 done I should not be here. But I shall go to 
 the scaffold as fearlessly as I now proceed to 
 the prison." 
 
 " Koland's flight," said one of the officers, 
 brutally, '' is a proof of his guilt." 
 
 She indignantly replied, '' It is so atrocious 
 to persecute a man who has rendered such ser- 
 vices to the cause of liberty. His conduct has 
 been so open and his accounts so clear, that he 
 is perfectly justifiable in avoiding the last out- 
 rages of envy and malige. Just as Aristides 
 and inflexible as Cato, he is indebted to his vir- 
 tues for his enemies. Let them satiate their 
 fury upon me. I defy their power, and devote 
 myself to death. Re ought to save himself for 
 the sake of his country, to which he may yet 
 do good." 
 
186 MADAME EOLAKD. 
 
 When they arrived at the prison of the Ab- 
 baye, Madame Koland was first conducted into 
 a large, dark, gloomy room, which was occu- 
 pied by a number of men, who, in attitudes of 
 the deepest melancholy, were either pacing the 
 floor or reclining upon some miserable pallets. 
 From this room she ascended a narrow and 
 dirty staircase to the jailer's apartment. The 
 jailer's wife was a kind woman, and imme- 
 diately felt the power of the attractions of her 
 fascinating prisoner. As no cell was yet pro- 
 vided for her, she permitted her to remain in her 
 room for the rest of the day. The commission- 
 ers who had brought her to the prison gave or- 
 ders that she should receive no indulgence, but 
 be treated with the utmost rigor. The instruc- 
 tions, however, being merely verbal, were but 
 little regarded. She was furnished with com- 
 fortable refreshment instead of the repulsive 
 prison fare, and, after breakfast, was permitted 
 to write a letter to the National Assembly upon 
 her illegal arrest. Thus passed the day. 
 
 At ten o'clock in the evening, her cell being 
 prepared, she entered, it for the first time. It 
 was a cold, bare room, with walls blackened by 
 the dust and damp of ages. There was a small 
 fireplace in the room, and a narrow window, 
 with a double iron grating, which admitted but 
 a dim twilight even at noonday. In one cor- 
 ner there was a pallet of straw. The chill night 
 
ARREST OF MADAME KOLAND. 187 
 
 air crept in at the unglazed window, and the 
 dismal tolling of the tocsin proclaimed that the 
 metropolis was still the scene of tumult and of 
 violence. Madame Roland threw herself upon 
 her humble bed, and was so overpowered by fa- 
 tigue and exhaustion that she woke not from 
 her dreamless slumber until twelve o'clock of 
 the next day. 
 
 Eudora, who had been left by her mother in 
 the care of weeping domestics, was taken by a 
 friend, and watched over and protected with 
 maternal care. Though Madame Roland never 
 saw her idolized child again, her heart was com- 
 forted in the prison by the assurance that she 
 had found a home with those who, for her moth- 
 er's sake, would love and cherish her. 
 
 The tidings of the arrest and imprisonment 
 of Madame Roland soon reached the ears of her 
 unfortunate husband in his retreat. His em- 
 barrassment was most agonizing. To remain 
 and participate in her doom, whatever that 
 doom might be, would only diminish her chances 
 of escape and magnify her peril ; and yet it 
 seemed not magnanimous to abandon his noble 
 wife to encounter her merciless foes alone. 
 The triumphant Jacobins were now, with the 
 eagerness of bloodhounds, searching every nook 
 and corner in Paris, to drag the fallen minister 
 from his concealment. It soon became evident 
 that no dark hiding-place in the metropolis 
 
188 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 conld long conceal him from the vigilant search 
 which was commenced, and that he must seek 
 safety in precipitate flight. His friend s obtained 
 for him the tattered garb of a peasant. In 
 a dark night, alone and trembling, he stole from 
 his retreat, and commenced a journey on foot, 
 by a circuitous and unfrequented route, to gain 
 the frontiers of Switzerland. He hoped to find 
 a temporary refuge by burying himself among 
 the lonely passes of the Alps. A man can face 
 his foes with a spirit undaunted and unyielding, 
 but he cannot fly from them without trembling 
 as he looks behind. For two or three days, 
 with blistered feet,, and a heart agitated even 
 beyond all his powers of stoical endurance, he 
 toiled painfully along his dreary journey. As 
 he was entering Moulines, his marked features 
 were recognized. He was arrested, taken back 
 to Paris, and cast into prison, where he lan- 
 guished for some time. He subsequently again 
 made his escape, and was concealed by some 
 friends in the vicinitv of Eouen, where he re- 
 mained in a state of indescribable suspense and 
 anguish until the death of his wife. 
 
 When Madame Eoland awoke from her long 
 sleep, instead of yielding to despair and sur- 
 rendering herself to useless repinings, she im- 
 mediately began to arrange her cell as comfort- 
 ably as possible, and to look around for such 
 sources of comfort and enjoyment as might yet 
 
ARREST 01^ MADAME ROLAKD. IBS 
 
 be obtained. The course she pursued most 
 beautifully illustrates the power of a contented 
 and cheerful spirit not only to alleviate the 
 pangs of severest affliction, but to gild with 
 comfort even the darkest of earthly sorrows. 
 With those smiles of unaffected affability which 
 won to her all hearts, she obtained the favor of 
 a small table, and then of a neat white spread 
 to cover it. This she placed near the window 
 to serve for her writing-desk. To keep this ta- 
 ble, which she prized so highly, unsoiled, she 
 smilingly told her keeper that she should make 
 a dining-table of her stove. A rusty dining- 
 table indeed it was. Two hair-pins, which she 
 drew from her own clustering ringlets, she drove 
 into a shelf for pegs to hang her clothes upon. 
 These arrangements she made as cheerfully as 
 when superintending the disposition of the gor- 
 geous furniture in the palace over which she 
 had presided with so much elegance and grace. 
 Having thus provided her study, her next care 
 was to obtain a few books. She happened to 
 have Thomson's Seasons, a favorite volume of 
 hers, in her pocket. Through the jailer's wife 
 she succeeded in obtaining Plutarch's Lives 
 and Sheridan's Dictionary. 
 
 The jailer and his wife were both charmed 
 with their prisoner, and invited her to dine 
 with them that day. In the solitude of her 
 cell she could distinctly hear the rolling of 
 
 14-Bolana 
 
190 MADAME UOLAKD. 
 
 drums, the tolling of bells, and all those sounds 
 of tumult which announced that the storm of 
 popular insurrection was still sweeping through 
 the streets. One of her faithful servants called 
 to see her, and, on beholding her mistress in 
 such a situation, the poor girl burst into tears. 
 Madame Roland was, for a moment, overcome 
 by this sensibility ; she, however, soon again 
 regained her self-command. She endeavored 
 to banish from her mind all painful thoughts of 
 her husband and her child, and to accommodate 
 herself as heroically as possible to her situation. 
 The prison regulations were very severe. The 
 government allowed twenty pence per day for the 
 support of each prisoner. Ten pence was to 
 be paid to the jailer for the furniture he put 
 into the cell ; ten pence only remained for 
 food. The prisoners were, however, allowed 
 to purchase such food as they pleased from 
 their own purse. Madame Roland, with that 
 stoicism which enabled her to triumph over 
 all ordinary ills, resolved to conform to the 
 prison allowance. She took bread and water 
 alone for breakfast. The dinner was coarse 
 meat and vegetables. The money she saved by 
 this great frugality she distributed among the 
 poorer prisoners. The only indulgence she 
 allowed herself was in the purchase of books 
 and flowers. In reading and with her pen she 
 beguiled the weary days of her imprisonment. 
 
ARREST OF MADAME ROLAND. 191 
 
 And though at times her spirit was over- 
 whelmed with anguish in view of her desolate 
 home and blighted hopes, she still found great 
 solace in the warm affections which sprang up 
 around her, even in the uncongenial atmos- 
 phere of a prison. 
 
 Though she had been compelled to abandon 
 all the enthusiastic dreams of her youth, she 
 still retained confidence in her faith that these 
 dark storms would ere long disappear from the 
 political horizon, and that a brighter day would 
 soon dawn upon the nations. No misfortunes 
 could disturb the serenity of her soul, and no 
 accumulating perils could daunt her courage. 
 She immediately made a methodical arrange- 
 ment of her time, so as to appropriate stated 
 employment to every hour. She cheered her- 
 self with the reflection that her husband was 
 safe in his retreat, with kind friends ready 
 to minister to all his wants. She felt assured 
 that her daughter was received with maternal 
 love by one who would ever watch over her 
 with the tenderest care. The agitation of the 
 terrible conflict was over. She submitted with 
 calmness and quietude to her lot. After hav- 
 ing been so long tossed by storms, she seemed 
 to find a peaceful harbor in her prison cell, and 
 her spirit wandered back to those days, so 
 serene and happy, which she spent with her 
 books in the little chamber beneath her father's 
 
192 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 roof. She, however, made every effort in her 
 power to regain her freedom. She wrote to 
 the Assembly, protesting against her illegal 
 arrest. She found all these efforts unavailing. 
 Still, she gave way to no despondency, and 
 uttered no murmurs. Most of her time she 
 employed in writing historic notices of the 
 scenes through she had passed. These papers 
 she intrusted, for preservation, to a friend, who 
 occasionally gained access to her. These arti- 
 cles, written with great eloquence and feeling, 
 were subsequently published with her memoirs. 
 Having such resources in her own highly-culti- 
 vated mind, even the hours of imprisonment 
 glided rapidly and happily along. Time had 
 no tardy flight, and there probably might have 
 been found many a lady in Europe lolling in a 
 sumptuous carriage, or reclining upon a silken 
 couch, who had far fewer hours of enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 One day some commissioners called at her 
 cell, hoping to extort from her the secret of her 
 husband's retreat. She looked them calmly in 
 the face, and said, ^^ Gentlemen, I know per- 
 fectly well where my husband is. I scorn to 
 tell you a lie. I know also my own strength. 
 And I assure you that there is no earthly power 
 which can induce me to betray him.'* The com- 
 missioners withdrew, admiring her heroism, 
 and convinced that she was still able to wield 
 
ARREST OF MADAME ROLAND. 193 
 
 an influence which might yet bring the guillo- 
 
 The Guillotine, 
 tine upon their own necks. Her doom was 
 sealed. Her heroism was her crime. She was 
 too iiiustrious to live. 
 
,^BpiF^|(K|^'1^^yE^gmTjj\ i i \ , I \ / 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FATE OF THE GIRON-DISTS. 
 
 As the fate of the Girondist party, of which 
 Madame Koland was the soul, is so intimately 
 connected with her history, we must leave her 
 in the prison, while we turn aside to contem- 
 plate the doom of her companions. The por- 
 tentous thunders of the approaching storm had 
 given such warning to the Girondists, that 
 many had effected their escape from Paris, and 
 in various disguises, in friendlessness and pov- 
 erty, were wandering over Europe. Others, 
 however, were too proud to fly. Conscious of 
 the most elevated patriotic sentiments, and with 
 no criminations of conscience, except for sacri- 
 ficing too much in love for their country, they 
 resolved to remain firm at their post, and to 
 face their foes. Calmly and sternly they 
 awaited the onset. This heroic courage did 
 but arouse and invigorate their foes. Mercy 
 had long since died in France. 
 
 Immediately after the tumult of that dread- 
 ful night in which the Convention was inundat- 
 ed with assassins clamoring for blood, twenty- 
 194 
 
PATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 195 
 
 one of the Girondists were arrested and thrown 
 into the dungeons of the Conciergerie. Impris- 
 oned together, and fully conscious that their 
 trial would be but a mockery, and that their 
 doom was already sealed, they fortified one 
 another with all the consolations which phil- 
 osophy and the pride of magnanimity could ad- 
 minister. In those gloomy cells, beneath the 
 level of the street, into whose deep and grated 
 windows the rays of the noonday sun could but 
 feebly penetrate, their faces soon grew wan, and 
 wasted, and haggard, from confinement, the 
 foul prison air and wo. 
 
 There is no sight more deplorable than that 
 of an accomplished man of intellectual tastes, 
 accustomed to all the refinements of polished 
 life, plunged into those depths of misery from 
 which the decencies even of our social being are 
 excluded. These illustrious statesmen and elo- 
 quent orators, whose words had vibrated upon 
 the ear of Europe, were transformed into the 
 most revolting aspect of beggared and haggard 
 misery. Their clothes, ruined by the humid 
 filth of their dungeons, moldered to decay. 
 Unwashed, unshorn, in the loss almost of the 
 aspect of humanity, they became repulsive to 
 each other. Unsupported by any of those con- 
 solations which religion affords, many hours 
 of the blackest gloom must have enveloped 
 them. 
 
196 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 Not a few of the deputies were young men, 
 in the morning of their energetic being, their 
 bosoms glowing with all the passions of this 
 tumultuous world, buoyant with hope, stimu- 
 lated by love, invigorated by perfect health. 
 And they found themselves thus suddenly 
 plunged from the heights of honor and power 
 to the dismal darkness of the dungeon, from 
 whence they could emerge only to be led to the 
 scaffold. All the bright hopes of life had gone 
 down amid the gloom of midnight darkness. 
 Several months lingered slowly away while 
 these men were awaiting their trial. Day after 
 day they heard the tolling of the tocsin, the 
 reverberations of the alarm gun, and the beat- 
 ing of the insurrection drum, as the demon of 
 lawless violence rioted through the streets of 
 the blood-stained metropolis. The execrations 
 of the mob, loud and fiend-like, accompanied 
 the cart of the condemned, as it rumbled upon 
 the pavements above their heads, bearing the 
 victims of popular fury to the guillotine ; and 
 still, most stoically, they struggled to nerve 
 their souls with fortitude to meet their fate. 
 
 From these massive stone walls, guarded by 
 triple doors of iron and watched by numerous 
 sentinels, answerable for the safe custody of 
 their prisoners with their lives, there was no 
 possibility of escape. The rigor of their im- 
 prisonment was, consequently, somewhat soft- 
 
FATE OF THE GIBONDISTS. 197 
 
 ened as weeks passed on, and they were oc- 
 casionally permitted to see their friends through 
 the ho^ wicket. Books, also, aided to relieve 
 the tedium of confinement. The brother-in- 
 law of Vergniaud came to visit him, and brought 
 with him his son, a child ten years of age. The 
 features of the fair boy reminded Vergniaud 
 of his beloved sister, and awoke mournfully in 
 his heart the remembrance of departed joys. 
 When the child saw his ^^ncle imprisoned like 
 a malefactor, his cheeks haggard and sunken, 
 his matted hair straggling over his forehead, 
 his long beard disfiguring his face, and his 
 clothes hanging in tatters, he clung to his 
 father, affrighted by the sad sight, and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 " My, child/' said Vergniaud, kindly, taking 
 him in his arms, '' look well at me. When you 
 are a man, you can say that you saw Vergniaud, 
 the founder of the Kepublic, at the most 
 glorious period, and in the most splendid cos- 
 tume he ever wore — that in which he suffered 
 unmerited persecution, and in which he pre- 
 pared to die for liberty.'^ These words pro- 
 duced a deep impression upon the mind of the 
 child. He remembered them to repeat them 
 after the lapse of half a century. 
 
 The cells in which they were imprisoned still 
 remain as they were left on the morning in 
 which these illustrious men were led to their 
 
198 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 execution. On the dingy walls of stone are 
 still recorded those sentiments which they had 
 inscribed there, and which indicate the nature 
 of those emotions which animated and sus- 
 tained them. These proverbial maxims and 
 heroic expressions, gleaned from French trage- 
 dies or the classic page, were written with the 
 blood which they had drawn from their own 
 veins. In one place is carefully written, 
 
 " Quand il n'a pu sauver la liberte de Rome, 
 Caton est libre encore et suit mourir en homme." 
 
 " When he no longer had power to preserve the liberty 
 of Rome, 
 Cato still was free, and knew how to die for man" 
 
 Again, 
 
 " Cui virtus non deest 
 lUe nunquam omnino miser." 
 
 *' J3e who retains his integrity 
 
 Can never he wholly miserable" 
 
 In another place, 
 
 " La vraie liberte est celle de I'ame." 
 " True liberty is that of the soul." 
 
 On a beam was written, 
 
 " Dignum certe Deo spectaculum fortem vi- 
 rum cum calamitate colkictantem.''^ 
 
 ''Even God may loolc ivitJi pleasure iipon a 
 hrave man struggling against adversity.'" 
 
 Again, 
 
PATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 199 
 
 " Quels solides appui dans le malheur supreme I 
 J'ai pour moi ma vertu, I'equite, Dieu meme." 
 
 " How substantial the consolation in the greatest 
 
 calamity 
 I have for mine, my virtue, justice, God himself" 
 
 Beneath this was written, 
 
 "Le journ'est pas plus pur que le fond demon 
 cceur." 
 ^^ The day is not more purd than the depths of my 
 heart." 
 
 In large letters of blood there was inscribed, 
 in the hand-writing of Vergniaud, 
 
 "Potius mori quam foedari." 
 
 " Death is preferable to dishonor. 
 
 But one sentence is recorded there which 
 could be considered strictly of a religious char- 
 acter. It was taken froni the '^ Imitation of 
 Christ."' 
 
 ^' Remember that yon are not called to a life 
 of indulgence and pleasure, but to toil and to 
 suffer."' 
 
 La Source and Sillery, two very devoted 
 friends, occupied a cell together. La Source 
 was a devoted Christian, and found, in the con- 
 solations of piety, an unfailing support. Sil- 
 lery possessed a feeling heart, and was soothed 
 and comforted by the devotion of his friend. 
 La Source composed a beautiful hymn, adapted 
 to a sweet and solemn air, which they called 
 
200 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 their evening service. Night after night this 
 mournful dirge was heard gently issuing from 
 the darkness of their cell, in tones so melodious 
 and plaintive that they never died away from 
 the memory of those who heard them. It is 
 difficult to conceive of anything more affecting 
 than this knell, so softly uttered at midnight in 
 those dark and dismal dungeons. 
 
 " Calm all the tumults that invade 
 Our souls, and lend thy powerful aid. 
 Oh I source of mercy ! soothe our pains, 
 And break, O break our cruel chains \ 
 To thee the captive pours his cry, 
 To Thee the mourner loves to fly. 
 The incense of our tears receive — 
 'Tis all the incense we can give. 
 
 ** Eternal Power I our cause defend, 
 O God ! of innocence the friend. 
 Near Thee forever she resides, 
 In Thee forever she confides. 
 Thou know'st the secrets of the breast ; 
 Thou know'st the oppressor and the oppress'd. 
 Do thou our wrongs with pity see, 
 Avert a doom offending thee. 
 
 " But should the murdeier's arm prevail ; 
 Should tyranny our lives assail ; 
 Unmoved, triumphant, scorning death, 
 "We'll bless Thee with our latest breath. 
 The hour, the glorious hour will come, 
 That consecrates the patriots' tomb ; 
 And with the pang our memory claims, 
 Our country will avenge our names," 
 
FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 201 
 
 Summer had come and gone while these dis- 
 tinguished prisoners were awaiting their doom. 
 World-weary and sick at heart, they still strug- 
 gled to sustain each other, and to meet their 
 dreadful fate with heroic constancy. The day 
 for their trial at length arrived. It was the 
 20th of October, 1793. They had long been 
 held up before the mob, by placards and im- 
 passioned harangues, as traitors to their country, 
 and the populace of Paris were clamorous for 
 their consignment to the guillotine. They were 
 led from the dungeons of the Conciergerie to 
 the misnamed Halls of Justice. A vast con- 
 course of angry men surrounded the tribunal, 
 and filled the air with execrations. Paris that 
 day presented the aspect of a camp. The Ja- 
 cobins, conscious that there were still thousands 
 of the most influential of the citizens who re- 
 garded the Girondists with veneration as incor- 
 ruptible patriots, determined to prevent the 
 possibility of a rescue. They had some cause 
 to apprehend a counter revolution. They there- 
 fore gathered around the scene of trial all that 
 imposing military array which they had at their 
 disposal. Cavalry, with plumes, and helmets, 
 and naked sabers, were sweeping the streets, 
 that no accumulations of the multitude might 
 gather force. The pavements trembled beneath 
 the rumbling wheels of heavy artillery, ready 
 to belch forth their storm of grape-shot upon 
 
202 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 any opposing foe. Long lines of infantry, with 
 loaded muskets and glittering bayonets, guard- 
 ed all the avenues to the tribunal, where ran- 
 corous passion sat enthroned in mockery upon 
 the seat of justice. 
 
 The prisoners had nerved themselves sternly 
 to meet this crisis of their doom. Two by two, 
 in solemn procession, they marched to the bar 
 of judgment, and took their seat upon benches 
 surrounded by gends'armes and a frowning pop- 
 ulace, and arraigned before judges already de- 
 termined upon their doom. The eyes of the 
 world were, however, upon them. The ac- 
 cused were illustrious in integrity, in rank, in 
 talent. In the distant provinces there were 
 thousands who were their friends. It was neces- 
 sary to go through the formality of a trial. A 
 few of the accused still clung to the hope of 
 life. They vainly dreamed it possible that, by 
 silence, and the abandonment of themselves to 
 the resistless power by which they were crushed, 
 some mercy might be elicited. It was a 
 weakness unworthy of these great men. But 
 there are few minds which can remain firm 
 while immured for months in the wasting mis- 
 ery of a dungeon. In those glooms the sinews 
 of mental energy wither with dying hope. The 
 trial continued for a week. On the 30th oi 
 October, at eleven o'clock at night, the verdict 
 was brought in. They were all declared guilty 
 
S'ATE OF THE GIROKDISTS. 20^ 
 
 of having conspired against the Eepnblic, and 
 were condemned to death. With the light of 
 the next morning's sun they were to be led to 
 the guillotine. 
 
 As the sentence was pronounced, one of the 
 accused, M. Valaze, made a motion with his 
 hand, as if to tear his garment, and fell from 
 his seat upon the floor. " What, Valaze,'' said 
 Brissot, striving to support him, '^ are you los- 
 ing your courage ? " '' '^o" replied Valaz^, 
 faintly, ^ ' I am dying ; " and he expired, with 
 his hand still grasping the hilt of the dagger 
 with which he had pierced his heart. For a 
 moment it was a scene of unutterable horror. 
 The condemned gathered sadly around the re- 
 mains of their lifeless companion. Some, who 
 had confidently expected acquittal, overcome 
 by the near approach of death, yielded to mo- 
 mentary weakness, and gave utterance to re- 
 proaches and lamentations. Others, pale and 
 stupefied, gazed around in moody silence. One, 
 in the delirium of enthusiasm, throwing his 
 arms above his head, shouted, ^^This is the 
 most glorious day of my life ! " Vergniaud, 
 seated upon the highest bench, with the com- 
 posure of philosophy and piety combined, 
 looked upon the scene, exulting in the victory 
 his own spirit had achieved over peril and death. 
 
 The weakness which a few displayed was but 
 momentary. They rallied their energies boldly 
 
204 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 to meet their inevitable doom. They gathered 
 for a moment around the corpse of their lifeless 
 companion, and were then formed in procession, 
 to march back to their cells. It was midnight as 
 the condemned Girondists were led from the bar 
 of the Palace of Justice back to the dungeons of 
 the Conciergerie, there to wait till the swift- 
 winged hours should bring the dawn which was 
 to guide their steps to the guillotine. Their pres- 
 ence of mind had now returned, and their bosoms 
 glowed with the loftiest enthusiasm. In ful- 
 filment of a promise they had made their fellow- 
 prisoners, to inform them of their fate by the 
 echoes of their voices, they burst into the Mar- 
 seillaise Hymn. The vc^ults of the Conciergerie 
 rang with the song as they shouted, in tones of 
 exultant energy, 
 
 " AUons, enfans dc la patrie, 
 Le jour the glorie est arrivd, 
 Centre nous de la tyrannie 
 L'etendard sanglant est leve. 
 
 " Come I children of your country, come ! 
 The day of glory dawns on high, 
 And tyranny has wide unfurl'd 
 Her blood-stain'd banner in the sky." 
 
 It was their death-knell. As they were slow- 
 ly led along through the gloomy corridors of 
 their prison to the cells, these dirge-like wail- 
 ings of a triumphant song penetrated the re- 
 motest dungeons of that dismal abode, and 
 
FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 205 
 
 ronsed every wretched head from its pallet. 
 The arms of the guard clattered along the stone 
 floor of the subterranean caverns, and the un- 
 happy victims of the Revolution, roused from 
 the temporary oblivion of sleep, or from dreams 
 of the homes of refinement and luxury from 
 which they had been torn, glared through the 
 iron gratings upon the melancholy procession, 
 and uttered last words of adieu to those whose 
 fate they almost envied. The acquittal of the 
 Girondists would have given them some little 
 hope that they also might find mercy. Now 
 they sunk back upon their pillows in despair, 
 and lamentations and wailings filled the prison. 
 
 The condemned, now that their fate was sealed, 
 had laid aside all weakness, and, mutually 
 encouraging one another, prepared as martyrs 
 to encounter the last stern trial. They were 
 all placed in one large room opening into sev- 
 eral cells, and the lifeless body of their compan- 
 ion was deposited in one of the corners. By a 
 decree of the tribunal, the still warm and bleed- 
 ing remains of Valaze were to be carried back 
 to the cell, and to be conveyed the next morn- 
 ing, in the same cart with the prisoners, to the 
 guillotine. The ax was to sever the head from 
 the lifeless body, and all the headless trunks 
 were to be interred together. 
 
 A wealthy friend, who had escaped proscrip- 
 tion, and was concealed in Paris, had agreed to 
 
 15— Roland 
 
206 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 send them a sumptuous banquet the night after 
 their trial, which banquet was to prove to them 
 a funeral repast or a triumphant feast, accord- 
 ing to the verdict of acquittal or condemnation. 
 Their friend kept his word. Soon after the 
 prisoners were remanded to their cell, a table 
 was spread, and preparations were made for 
 their last supper. There was a large oaken table 
 in the prison, where those awaiting their trial, 
 and those awaiting their execution, met for their 
 coarse prison fare. A rich cloth was spread up- 
 on that table. Servants entered, bearing brill- 
 iant lamps, which illuminated the dismal vault 
 with an unnatural luster, and spread the glare 
 of noonday light upon the miserable pallets of 
 straw, the rusty iron gratings and chains, and 
 the stone walls weeping with moisture, which 
 no ray of the sun or warmth of fire ever dried 
 away. It was a strange scene, that brilliant 
 festival, in the midst of the glooms of the most 
 dismal dungeon, with one dead body lying upon 
 the floor, and those for whom the feast was pre- 
 pared waiting only for the early dawn to light 
 them to their death and burial. The richest 
 viands of meats and wines were brought in and 
 placed before the condemned. Vases of flowers 
 diffused their fragrance and expanded their 
 beauty where flowers were never seen to bloom 
 before. Wan and haggard faces, unwashed 
 and unshorn, gazed upon the unwonted spec- 
 
FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 207 
 
 tacle, as dazzling flambeanx, and rich table fur- 
 niture, and bouquets, and costly dishes appeared, 
 one after another, until the board was covered 
 with luxury and splendor. 
 
 In silence the condemned took their places at 
 the table. They were men of brilliant intel- 
 lects, of enthusiastic eloquence, thrown sud- 
 denly from the heights of power to the foot of 
 the scaffold. A priest, the Abb6 Lambert, the 
 intimate personal friend of several of the most 
 eminent of the Girondists, had obtained admit- 
 tance into the prison to accompany his friends 
 to the guillotine, and to administer to them the 
 last consolations of religion. He stood in the 
 corridor, looking through the open door upon 
 those assembled around the table, and with his 
 pencil in his hand, noted down their words, 
 their gestures, their sighs — their weakness and 
 their strength. It is to him that we are in- 
 debted for all knowledge of the sublime scenes 
 enacted at the last supper of the Girondists. 
 The repast was prolonged until the dawn of 
 morning began to steal faintly in at the grated 
 windows of the prison, and the gathering tu- 
 mult without announced the preparations to 
 conduct them to their execution. 
 
 Vergniaud, the most prominent and the most 
 eloquent of their number, presided at the feast. 
 He had little, save the love of glory, to bind 
 him to life, for he had neither father nor 
 
208 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 mother, wife nor child ; and he doubted not 
 that posterity would do him justice, and that 
 his death would be the most glorious act of his 
 life. No one could imagine, from the calm and 
 subdued conversation, and the quiet appetite 
 with which these distinguished men partook of 
 the entertainment, that this was their last re- 
 past, and but the prelude to a violent death. 
 But when the cloth was removed, and the fruits, 
 the wines, and the flowers alone remained, the 
 conversation became animated, gay, and at 
 times rose to hilarity. Several of the youngest 
 men of the party, in sallies of wit and outbursts 
 of laughter, endeavored to repel the gloom 
 which darkened their spirits in view of death 
 on the morrow. It was unnatural gaiety, un- 
 real, unworthy of the men. Death is not a 
 jest, and no one can honor himself by trying to 
 make it so. A spirit truly noble can encounter 
 this king of terrors with fortitude, but never 
 with levity. Still, now and then, shouts of 
 laughter and songs of merriment burst from 
 the lips of these young men, as they endeavored, 
 with a kind of hysterical energy, to nerve them- 
 selves to show to their enemies their contempt 
 of life and of death. Others were more thought- 
 ful, serene, and truly brave. 
 
 '' What shall we be doing to-morrow at this 
 time ? '' said Ducos. 
 
 All paused. Religion had its hopes, philos' 
 
PATE OP THE GIRONDISTS. 209' 
 
 ophy its dreams, infidelity its dreary blank. 
 Each answered according to his faith. " We 
 shall sleep after the fatigues of the day," said 
 some, '' to wake no more.'^ Atheism had dark- 
 ened their minds. " Death is an eternal sleep," 
 had become their gloomy creed. They looked 
 forward to the slide of the guillotine as ending 
 all thought, and consigning them back to that 
 non-existence from which they had emerged at 
 their creation. " No ! " replied Fauchet, 
 Carru, and others, '' annihilation is not our 
 destiny. We are immortal. These bodies 
 may perish. These living thoughts, these 
 boundless aspirations, can never die. , To-mor- 
 row, far away in other worlds, we shall thinks 
 and feel, and act, and solve the problems of th( 
 immaterial destiny of the human mind." Im/ 
 mortality was the theme. The song was hushed 
 upon these dying lips. The forced laughter 
 faded away. Standing upon the brink of that 
 dread abyss from whence no one has returned 
 with tidings, every soul felt a longing for im- 
 mortality. They turned to Vergniaud, whose 
 brilliant intellect, whose soul-moving eloquence, 
 whose spotless life commanded their reverence, 
 and appealed to him for light, and truth, and 
 consolation. His words are lost. The effect 
 of his discourse alone is described. '^ Never," 
 said the abbe, "^^ had his look, his gesture, his 
 language, and his voice more profoundly af- 
 
210 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 fected his hearers/' In the conclusion of a dis- 
 course which is described as one of almost 
 superhuman eloquence, during which some 
 were aroused to the most exalted enthusiasm, 
 all were deeply moved, and many wept, Vergni- 
 aud exclaimed, 
 
 " Death is but the greatest act of life, since 
 it gives birth to a higher state of existence. 
 Were it not thus there would be something 
 greater than God. It would be the just man 
 immolating himself uselessly and hopelessly for 
 his country. This supposition is a folly of blas- 
 phemy, and I repel it with contempt and hor- 
 ror. No ! Vergniaud is not greater than God ; 
 but God is more just than Yergniaud ; and He 
 will not to-morrow suffer him to ascend a scaf- 
 fold but to justify and avenge him in future 
 ages." 
 
 And now the light of day began to stream in 
 at the windows. '^ Let us go to bed,*' said one, 
 ^' and sleep until we are called to go forth to our 
 last sleep. Life is a thing so trifling that it is 
 not worth the hour of sleep we lose in regret- 
 ting it.'' 
 
 " Let us rather watch," said another, '' dur- 
 ing the few moments which remain to us. 
 Eternity is so certain and so terrible that a 
 thousand lives would not suffice to prepare for 
 it." 
 
 They rose from the table, and most of them 
 
FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 211 
 
 retired to their cells and threw themselves 
 upon their beds for a few moments of bodily 
 repose and meditation. Thirteen, however, 
 remained in the larger apartment, finding a 
 certain kind of support in society. In a low 
 tone of voice they conversed with each other. 
 They were worn out with excitement, fatigue, 
 and want of sleep. Some wept. Sleep kindly 
 came to some, and lulled their spirits into 
 momentary oblivion. 
 
 At ten o'clock the iron doors grated on their 
 hinges, and the tramp of the gens d^armes, with 
 the clattering of their sabers, was heard rever- 
 berating through the gloomy corridors and 
 vaults of their dungeon, as they came, with the 
 executioners, to lead the condemned to the 
 scaffold. Their long hair was cut from their 
 necks, that the ax, with unobstructed edge, 
 might do its work. Each one left some simple 
 and affecting souvenir to friends. Gensonne 
 picked up a lock of his black hair, and gave it 
 to the Abbe Lambert to give to his wife. 
 ^' Tell her," said he, " that it is the only mem- 
 orial of my love which I can transmit to her, 
 and that my last thoughts in death were hers.'' 
 Vergniaud drew from his pocket his watch, 
 and, with his knife, scratched upon the case a 
 few lines of tender remembrance, and sent the 
 token to a young lady to whom he was devot- 
 edly attached, and to whom he was ere long to 
 
212 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 have been married. Each, gave to the abbe 
 some legacy of affection to be conveyed to loved 
 ones who ere to be left behind. Few emo- 
 tions are stronger in the hour of death than 
 the desire to be embalmed in the affections of 
 those who are dear to us. 
 
 All being ready, the gens d'armes marched 
 the condemned, in a column, into the prison 
 yard, where five rude carts were awaiting them, 
 to convey them to the scaffold. The countless 
 thousands of Paris were swarming around the 
 prison, filling the court, and rolling, like ocean 
 tides, into every adjacent avenue. Each cart 
 contained five persons, with the exception of the 
 last, into which the dead body of Valaze had 
 been cast with four of his living companions. 
 
 And now came to the Girondists their hour 
 of triumph. Heroism rose exultant over all ills. 
 The brilliant sun and the elastic air of an Octo- 
 ber morning invigorated their bodies, and the 
 scene of sublimity through which they were 
 passing stimulated their spirits to the highest 
 pitch of enthusiasm. As the carts moved from 
 the courtyard, with one simultaneous voice, 
 clear and sonorous, the Girondists burst into 
 the Marseillaise Hymn. The crowd gazed in 
 silence as this funereal chant, not like the wail- 
 ings of a dirge, but like the strains of an exult- 
 ant song, swelled and died away upon the air. 
 Here and there some friendly voice among the 
 
FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 213 
 
 populace ventured to swell the volume of sound 
 as the significant words were uttered, 
 
 *' Centre nous de la tyrannie 
 
 L'etendard sanglant est leve." 
 
 " And tyranny has wide unfurl'd 
 
 Her blood-stain'd banner in the sky." 
 
 At the end of each verse their voices sank for 
 a moment into silence. The strain was then 
 again renewed, loud and sonorous. On arriv- 
 ing at the scaffold, they all embraced in one 
 long, last adieu. It was a token of their com- 
 munion in death as in life. They then, in con- 
 cert, loudly and firmly resumed their funereal 
 chant. One ascended the scaffold, continuing 
 the song with his companions. He was bound 
 to the plank. Still his voice was heard full and 
 strong. The plank slowly fell. Still his voice, 
 without a tremor, joined in the triumphant 
 chorus. The glittering ax glided like lightning 
 down the groove. His head fell into the basket, 
 and one voice was hushed forever. Another 
 ascended, and another, and another, each with 
 the song bursting loudly from his lips, till death 
 ended the strain. There was no weakness. No 
 step trembled, no cheek paled, no voice faltered. 
 But each succeeding moment the song grew 
 more faint as head after head fell, and the bleed- 
 ing bodies were piled side by side. At last one 
 voice alone continued the song. It was that 
 
214 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 of Yergniaud, the most illustrious of them all. 
 Long confinement had spread deathly pallor 
 over his intellectual features, but firm and 
 dauntless, and with a voice of surpassing rich- 
 ness, he continued the solo into which the chorus 
 had now died away. Without the tremor of a 
 nerve, he mounted the scaffold. For a moment 
 he stood in silence, as he looked down upon the 
 lifeless bodies of his friends, and around upon 
 the overawed multitude gazing in silent admi- 
 ration upon this heroic enthusiasm. As he then 
 surrendered himself to the executioner, he com- 
 menced anew the strain, 
 
 " Aliens ! enfans de la patrie, 
 Le jour de gloire est arrive." 
 
 " Come ! children of your country, come I 
 The day of glory dawns on high." 
 
 In the midst of the exultant tones, the ax 
 glided on its bloody mission, and those lips, 
 which had guided the storm of revolution, and 
 whose patriotic appeals had thrilled upon the 
 ear of France, were silent in death. Thus 
 perished the Girondists, the founders of the 
 Eepublic and its victims. Their votes con- 
 signed Louis and Maria to the guillotine, and 
 they were the first to follow them. One cart 
 conveyed the twenty-one bodies away, and they 
 were thrown into one pit, by the side of the 
 grave of Louis XVI. 
 
FATE OF THE GIKONDISTS. 215 
 
 They committed many errors. Few minds 
 could discern distinctly the path of truth and 
 duty through the clouds and vapors of those 
 stormy times. But they were most sincerely 
 devoted to the liberties of France. They over- 
 threw the monarchy^ and established the Ee- 
 public. They died because they refused to open 
 those sluice-ways of blood which the people de- 
 manded. A few of the Girondists had made 
 their escape. Petion, Buzot, Barbaroux^ and 
 Gaudet wandered in disguise, and hid them- 
 selves in the caves of wild and unfrequented 
 mountains. La Fayette, who was one of the 
 most noble and illustrious apostles of this creed, 
 was saved from the guillotine by weary years 
 of imprisonment in the dungeons of Olmutz. 
 Madame Koland lingered in her cell, striving 
 to maintain serenity, while her soul was tor- 
 tured with the tidings of carnage and we which 
 every morning^s dawn brought to her ears. 
 
 The Jacobins were now more and more clam- 
 orous for blood. They strove to tear La Fay- 
 ette from his dungeon, that they might triumph 
 in his death. They pursued, with implacable 
 vigilance, the Girondists who had escaped from 
 their fury. They trained blood-hounds to scent 
 them out in their wild retreats, where they 
 were suffering, from cold and starvation, all 
 that human nature can possibly endure. For 
 a, time, fiv§ of them lived together in a cavern^ 
 
MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 thirty feet in depth. This cavern had a secret 
 communication with the cellar of a house. 
 Their generous hostess, periling her own life 
 for them, daily supplied them with food. She 
 could furnish them only with the most scanty 
 fare, lest she should be betrayed by the pur- 
 chase of provisions necessary for so many 
 mouths. It was mid- winter. No fire warmed 
 them in their damp and gloomy vault, and this 
 living burial must have been worse than death. 
 The search became so rigid that it was necessary 
 for them to disperse. One directed his steps 
 toward the Pyrenees. He was arrested and ex- 
 ecuted. Three toiled along by night, through 
 cold, and snow, and rain, the keen wind pierc- 
 ing their tattered garments, till their sufferings 
 made them reckless of life. They were ar- 
 rested, and found, in the blade of the guillo- 
 tine, a refuge from their woes. At last all were 
 taken and executed but Petion and Buzot. 
 Their fate is involved in mystery. None can 
 tell what their sufferings were during the days 
 and the nights of their weary wanderings, when 
 no eye but that of G-od could see them. Some 
 peasants found among the mountains, where 
 they had taken refuge, human remains rent in 
 pieces by the wolves. The tattered garments 
 were scattered around where the teeth of the 
 ferocious animals had left them. They were 
 all that was left of the noble Petion and Buzot, 
 
FATE OF THE GIRONDISTS. 
 
 217 
 
 But how did they die ? "Worn out by suffering 
 and abandoned to despair, did they fall by their 
 own hands ? Did they perish from exposure 
 to hunger and exhaustion, and the freezing 
 
 Execution of a Royalist, 
 blasts of winter ? Or, in their weakness, were 
 they attacked by the famished wolves of the 
 mountains ? The dying scene of Petion and 
 Buzot is involved in impenetrable obscurity. 
 Its tragic accompaniments can only be revealed 
 when all mysteries shall be unfolded. 
 

 
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 CHAPTER XL 
 
 PRISOK LIFE. 
 
 Madame Eolai^d remained for four months 
 in the Abbaye prison. On the 24th day of her 
 imprisonment, to her inexpressible astonish- 
 ment, an officer entered her cell, and informed 
 her that she was liberated, as no charge could 
 be found against her. Hardly crediting her 
 senses — fearing that she should wake up and 
 find her freedom but the blissful delirium of a 
 dream — she took a coach and hastened to her 
 own door. Her eyes were full of tears of joy, 
 and her heart almost bursting with the throb- 
 bings of delight, in the anticipation of again 
 pressing her idolized child to her bosom. Her 
 hand was upon the door latch — she had not yet 
 passed the threshold — when two men who had 
 watched at the door of her dwelling, again 
 seized her in the name of the law. In spite of 
 her tears and supplications, they conveyed her 
 to the prison of St. Pelagie. This loathsome 
 receptacle of crime was filled with the aban- 
 doned females who had been swept, in impurity 
 and degradation, from the streets of Paris. It 
 218 
 
PRISON LIFE. 219 
 
 was, apparently, a studied humiliation, to com- 
 pel their victim to associate with beings from 
 whom her soul shrunk with loathing. She had 
 resigned herself to die, but not to the society of 
 infamy and pollution. 
 
 The Jacobins, conscious of the illegality of 
 her first arrest, and dreading her power, were 
 anxious to secure her upon a more legal foot- 
 ing. They adopted, therefore, this measure of 
 liberating her and arresting her a second time. 
 Even her firm and resigned spirit was for a 
 moment vanquished by this cruel blow. Her 
 blissful dream of happiness was so instantane- 
 ously converted into the blackness of despair, 
 that she buried her face in her hands, and, in 
 the anguish of a bruised and broken heart, wept 
 aloud. The struggle, though short, was very 
 violent ere she regained her wonted composure. 
 She soon, however, won the compassionate 
 sympathy of her jailers, and was removed from 
 this degrading companionship to a narrow cell, 
 where she could enjoy the luxury of being alone. 
 An humble bed was spread for her in one cor- 
 ner, and a small table was placed near the few 
 rays of light which stole feebly in through the 
 iron grating of the inaccessible window. Sum- 
 moning all her fortitude to her aid, she again 
 resumed her usual occupations, allotting to each 
 hour of the day its regular employment. She 
 engaged vigorously in the study of the English 
 
 16— Roland 
 
MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 langnage, and passed some hours every day in 
 drawing, of which accomplishment she was very 
 fond. She had no patterns to copy ; but her 
 imagination wandered through the green fields 
 and by the murmuring brooks of her rural 
 home. Now she roved with free footsteps 
 through the vineyards which sprang up beneath 
 her creative pencil. Now she floated upon the 
 placid lake, reclining upon the bosom of her 
 husband and caressing her child, beneath the 
 tranquil sublimity of the evening sky. Again 
 she sat down at the humble fireside of the peas- 
 ant, ministering to the wants of the needy, and 
 receiving the recompense of grateful hearts. 
 Thus, on the free wing of imagination, she 
 penetrated all scenes of beauty, and spread 
 them out in vivid reality before her eye. At 
 times she almost forgot that she was a captive. 
 Well might she have exclaimed, in the lan- 
 guage of Maria Antoinette, ^^ What a resource, 
 amid the calamities of life, is a highly-culti- 
 vated mind ! " 
 
 A few devoted friends periled their own lives 
 by gaining occasional access to her. During 
 the dark hours of that reign of terror and of 
 blood, no crime was more unpardonable than 
 the manifestation of sympathy for the accused. 
 These friends, calling as often as prudence 
 would allow, brought to her presents of fruit 
 and of flowers. At last the jailer's wife, una- 
 
PRISON LIFE. 221 
 
 ble to resist the pleadings of her own heart for 
 one whom she could not but love and admire, 
 ventured to remove her to a more comfortable 
 apartment, where the daylight shone brightly 
 in through the iron bars of the window. Here 
 she could see the clouds and the birds soaring 
 in the free air. She was even allowed, through 
 her friends, to procure a pianoforte, which af- 
 forded her many hours of recreation. Music, 
 drawing, and flowers were the embellishments 
 of her life. Madame Bouchaud, the wife of 
 the jailer, conceived for her prisoner the kind- 
 est affection, and daily visited her, doing every- 
 thing in her power to alleviate the bitterness of 
 her imprisonment. At last her sympathies 
 were so aroused, that, regardless of all pruden- 
 tial considerations, she offered to aid her in 
 making her escape. Madame Roland was deep- 
 ly moved by this proof of devotion, and, though 
 she was fully aware that she must soon place 
 her head upon the scaffold, she firmly refused 
 all entreaties to escape in any way which might 
 endanger her friend. Others united with 
 Madame Bouchaud in entreating her to accept 
 of her generous offer. Their efforts were en- 
 tirely unavailing. She preferred to die herself 
 rather than to incur the possibility of exposing 
 those who loved her to the guillotine. The 
 kindness with which Madame Roland - was 
 treated was soon spied out by those in power 
 
222 MADAME BOLAHD. 
 
 The jailer was severely reprimanded, and or- 
 dered immediately to remove the pianoforte 
 from the room, and to confine Madame Eoland 
 rigorously in her cell. This change did not 
 disturb the equanimity of her spirit. She had 
 studied so deeply and admired so profoundly 
 all that was noble in the most illustrious char- 
 acters of antiquity, that her mind instinctively 
 assumed the same model. She found elevated 
 enjoyment in triumphing over every earthly ill. 
 
 An English lady, then residing in France, 
 who had often visited her in the days of her 
 power, when her home presented all that earth 
 could give of splendor, and when wealth and 
 rank were bowing obsequiously around her, 
 thus describes a visit which she paid to her cell 
 in these dark days of adversity. 
 
 ''I visited her in the prison of Saint Pelagic, 
 where her soul, superior to circumstances, 
 retained its accustomed serenity, and she con- 
 versed with the same animated cheerfulness in 
 her cheerless dungeon as she used to' do in the 
 hotel of the minister. She had provided her- 
 self with a few books, and I found her reading 
 Plutarch. She told me that she expected to die, 
 and the look of placid resignation with which 
 she said it convinced me that she was prepared 
 to meet death with a firmness worthy of her 
 exalted character. When I inquired after her 
 daughter, an only child of thirteen years of age. 
 
PRISON LIFE. 223 
 
 she burst into tears ; and, at the overwhelming 
 recollection of her husband and child, the cour- 
 age of the victim of liberty was lost in the feel- 
 ings of the wife and the mother/' 
 
 The merciless commissioners had ordered her 
 to be incarcerated in a cell which no beam of 
 light could penetrate. But her compassionate 
 keepers ventured to misunderstand the orders, 
 and to place her in a room where a few rays of 
 the morning sun could struggle through the 
 grated windows, and where the light of day, 
 though seen but dimly, might still, in some de- 
 gree, cheer those eyes so soon to be closed for- 
 ever. The soul, instinctively appreciative of 
 beauty, will under the most adverse circum- 
 stances, evoke congenial visions. Her friends 
 brought her flowers, of which from childhood 
 she had been most passionately fond. These 
 cherished plants seemed to comprehend and re- 
 quite unaffected love. At the iron window of 
 her prison they appeared to grow with the joy 
 and luxuriance of gratitude. With intertwin- 
 ing leaf and blossom, they concealed the rusty 
 bars, till they changed the aspect of the grated 
 cell into a garden bower, where birds might 
 nestle and sing, and poets might love to linger. 
 
 When in the convent, she had formed a 
 strong attachment for one of her companions, 
 which the lapse of time had not diminished. 
 Through all the vicissitudes of their lives they 
 
224 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 had kept up a constant correspondence. This 
 friend, Henriette Cannet, one day obtained 
 access to her prison, and, in the exercise of 
 that romantic friendship of which this world 
 can present but few parallels, urged Madame 
 Roland to exchange garments with her, and 
 thus escape from prison and the scaffold. " If 
 you remain," said Henriette, *^ your death is 
 inevitable. If I remain in your place, they 
 will not take my life, but, after a short im- 
 prisonment, I shall be liberated. None fear 
 me, and I am too obscure to attract attention 
 in these troubled times. I," she continued, 
 "am a widow, and childless. There are no 
 responsibilities which claim my time. You 
 have a husband, advanced in years, and a lovely 
 little child, both needing your utmost care." 
 Thus she pleaded with her to exchange attire, 
 and endeavor to escape. But neither prayers 
 nor tears availed. " They would kill thee, my 
 good Henriette ! '' exclaimed Madame Roland, 
 embracing her friend with tears of emotion. 
 "Thy blood would ever rest on me. Sooner 
 would I suffer a thousand deaths than reproach 
 myself with thine." Henriette, finding all her 
 entreaties in vain, sadly bade her adieu, and 
 was never permitted to see her more. 
 
 Robespierre was now in the zenith of his 
 power. He was the arbiter of life and of death. 
 One word from him would restore Madame Ro- 
 
PRISON LIFE. 225 
 
 land to liberty. But he had steeled his heart 
 against every sentiment of humanity, and was 
 not willing to deprive the guillotine of a single 
 victim. One day Madame Roland was lying 
 sick in the infirmary of the prison. A physi- 
 cian attended her, who styled himself the friend 
 of Eobespierre. The mention of his name 
 recalled to her remembrance their early friend- 
 ship, and her own exertions to save his life 
 when it was in imminent peril. This suggested 
 to her the idea of writing to him. She obeyed 
 the impulse, and wrote as follows : 
 
 " Robespierre ! I am about to put you to the 
 proof, and to repeat to you what I said respect- 
 ing your character to the friend who has under- 
 taken to deliver this letter. You may be very 
 sure that it is no suppliant who addresses you. 
 I never asked a favor yet of any human being, 
 and it is not from the depths of a prison I 
 would supplicate him who could, if he pleased, 
 restore me to liberty. No ! prayers and en- 
 treaties belong to the guilty or to slaves. 
 Neither would murmurs or complaints accord 
 with my nature. I know how to bear all. I 
 also well know that at the beginning of every 
 republic the revolutions which affected them 
 have invariably selected the principal actors in 
 the change as their victims. It is their fate to 
 experience this, as it becomes the task of the 
 historian to avenge their memories. Still I 
 
MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 am at a loss to imagine how I, a mere woman, 
 should be exposed to the fury of a storm, 
 ordinarily suffered to expend itself upon the 
 great leaders of a revolution. You, Robes- 
 pierre, were well acquainted with my husband, 
 and I defy you to say that you ever thought 
 him other than an honorable man. He had all 
 the roughness of virtue, even as Oato possessed 
 its asperity. Disgusted with business, irritated 
 by persecution, weary of the world, and worn 
 out with years and exertions, he desired only to 
 bury himself and his troubles in some unknown 
 spot, and to conceal himself there to save the 
 age he lived in from the commission of a crime. 
 " My pretended confederacy would be amus- 
 ing, were it not too serious a matter for a jest. 
 Whence, then, arises that degree of animosity 
 manifested toward me ? I never injured a creat- 
 ure in my life, and cannot find it in my heart to 
 wish evil even to those who injure and oppress 
 me. Brought up in solitude, my mind directed 
 to serious studies, of simple tastes, an enthu- 
 siastic admirer of the Revolution — excluded, 
 by my sex, from participating in public affairs, 
 yet taking delight in conversing of them — I 
 despised the first calumnies circulated respect- 
 ing me, attributing them to the envy felt by 
 the ignorant and low-minded at what they were 
 pleased to style my elevated position, but to 
 which I infinitely preferred the peaceful ob- 
 
PRISON LiFiJ. ^^7 
 
 scnrity in which I had passed so many happy 
 days. 
 
 '' Yet I have now been for five months the 
 inhabitant of a prison, torn from my beloved 
 child, whose innocent head may never more be 
 pillowed upon a mother^s breast : far from all 
 I hold dear ; the mark for the invectives of a 
 mistaken people ; constrained to hear the very 
 sentinels, as they keep watch beneath my win- 
 dows, discussing the subject of my approaching 
 execution, and outraged by reading the violent 
 and disgusting diatribes poured forth against 
 me by hirelings of the press, who have never 
 once beheld me. I have wearied no one with 
 requests, petitions, or demands. On the con- 
 trary, I feel proudly equal to battle with my 
 own ill fortune, and it may be to trample it 
 under my feet. 
 
 '' Robespierre ! I send not this softened pic- 
 ture of my condition to excite your pity. No ! 
 such a sentiment, expressed by you, would not 
 only offend me, but be rejected as it deserves. 
 I write for your edification. Fortune is fickle 
 — popular favor equally so. Look at the fate 
 of those who led on the revolutions of former 
 ages — the idols of the people, and afterward 
 their governors — from Vitellius to Cassar, or 
 from Hippo, the orator of Syracuse, down to 
 our Parisian speakers. Scylla and Marius pro- 
 scribed thousands of knights and senators, be- 
 
228 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 sides a vast number of other unfortunate beings ; 
 but were they enabled to j^revent history from 
 handing down their names to the just execra- 
 tion of posterity, and did they themselves enjoy 
 happiness ? Whatever may be the fate awarded 
 to me, I shall know how to submit to it in a 
 manner worthy of myself, or to anticipate it 
 should I deem it advisable. After receiving 
 the honors of persecution, am I to expect the 
 still greater one of martyrdom ? Speak ! It 
 is something to know your fate, and a spirit 
 such as mine can boldly face it, be it as it may. 
 Should you bestow upon my letter a fair and 
 impartial perusal, it will neither be useless to 
 you nor to my country. But, under any cir- 
 cumstances, this I say, Eobespierre — and you 
 cannot deny the truth of my assertion — none 
 who have ever known me can persecute me 
 without a feeling of remorse.''' 
 
 Madame Eoland preferred to die rather than 
 to owe her life to the compassion of her ene- 
 mies. Could she obtain a triumphant acquit- 
 tal, through the force of her own integrity, she 
 would greatly exult. But her imperial spirit 
 would not stoop to the acceptance of a pardon 
 from those who deserved the execrations of 
 mankind ; such a pardon she would have torn 
 in fragments, and have stepped resolutely upon 
 the scaffold. 
 
 There is something cold and chilling in the 
 
PRISON LIFE. 229 
 
 supports which pride and philosophy alone 
 can afford under the calamities of life. Madame 
 Koland had met with Christianity only as it 
 appeared in the pomp and parade of the Ca- 
 tholic Church, and in the openly-dissolute lives 
 of its ignorant or voluptuous priesthood. While 
 her poetic temperament was moved by the 
 sublime conception of a God ruling over the 
 world of matter and the world of mind, revealed 
 religion, as her spirit encountered it, consisted 
 only in gorgeous pageants, and ridiculous dog- 
 mas, and puerile traditions. The spirit of 
 piety and pure devotion she could admire. 
 Her natural temperament was serious, reflect- 
 ive, and prayerful. Her mind, so far as reli- 
 gion was concerned, was very much in the state 
 of that of any intellectual, high-minded, un- 
 corruptible Roman, who renounced, without 
 opposing, the idolatry of the benighted mul- 
 titude ; who groped painfully for some rev- 
 elation of God and of truth ; who at times 
 believed fully in a superintending providence, 
 and again had fears whether there were any 
 God -or any immortality. In the processions, 
 the relics, the grotesque garb, and the spiritual 
 terrors wielded by the Roman Catholic priest- 
 hood, she could behold but barefaced decep- 
 tion. The papal system appeared to her but 
 as a colossal monster, oppressing the people 
 with hideous superstition, and sustaining, with 
 
230 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 its superhuman energies, the corruption of the 
 nobles and of the throne. In rejecting this 
 system, she had no friend to conduct her to 
 the warm, sheltered, and congenial retreats of 
 evangelical piety. She was led almost inev- 
 itably, by the philosophy of the times, to those 
 chilling, barren, storm-swept heights, where 
 the soul can find no shelter but in its own in- 
 domitable energies of endurance. These en- 
 ergies Madame Eoland displayed in such a 
 degree as to give her a name among the very 
 first of those in any age who by heroism have 
 shed luster upon human nature. 
 
 Under the influence of these feelings, she 
 came to the conclusion that it would be more 
 honorable for her to die by her own hand than 
 to be dragged to the guillotine by her foes. She 
 obtained some poison, and sat down calmly to 
 write her last thoughts, and her last messages 
 of love, before she should plunge into the deep 
 mystery of the unknown. There is something 
 exceedingly affecting in the vague and shadowy 
 prayer which she offered on this occasion. It 
 betrays a painful uncertainty whether there 
 were any superintending Deity to hear her cry, 
 and yet it was the soul^s instinctive breathings 
 for a support higher and holier than could be 
 found within itself. 
 
 '*^ Divinity ! Supreme Being ! Spirit of the 
 Universe ! great principle of all that I feel great. 
 
PRISOK LIFE. 281 
 
 or good, or immortal within myself — whose ex- 
 istence I believe in, because I must have ema- 
 nated from something superior to that by which 
 I am surrounded — I am about to reunite my- 
 self to thy essence. " In her farewell note to 
 her husband, she writes, " Forgive me my es- 
 teemed and justly-honored husband, for taking 
 upon myself to dispose of a life I had consecrat- 
 ed to you. Believe me, I could have loved life 
 and you better for your misfortunes, had I been 
 permitted to share them with you. At present, 
 by my death, you are only freed from a useless 
 object of unavailing anguish. '^ 
 
 All the fountains of a mother's love gush 
 forth as she writes to her idolized Eudora : 
 " Pardon me, my beloved child, my sweet 
 daughter, whose gentle image dwells within my 
 heart, and whose very remembrance shakes 
 my sternest resolution. Never would your fond 
 mother have left you helpless in the world, 
 could she but have remained to guide and 
 guard you.'' 
 
 Then, apostrophizing her friends, she ex- 
 claims, "And you, my cherished friends, trans- 
 fer to my motherless child the affection you have 
 ever manifested for me. Grieve not at a reso- 
 lution which ends my many and severe trials. 
 You know me too well to believe that weakness 
 or terror have instigated the step I am about to 
 take." 
 
282 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 She made her will, bequeathing such trifling 
 sonyenirs of affection as still remained in her 
 possession to her daughter, her friends, and her 
 servants. She then reverted to all she had loved 
 and admired of the beauties of nature, and 
 which she was now to leave forever. " Fare- 
 well l^' she wrote, '^ farewell, glorious sun ! 
 that never failed to gild my windows with thy 
 golden rays, ere thou hiddest thy brightness in 
 the heavens. Adieu, ye lonely banks of the 
 Saone, whose wild beauty could fill my heart 
 with such deep delight. And you too, poor 
 but honest people of Thizy, whose labors I 
 lightened, whose distress I relieved, and whose 
 sick beds I tended — farewell ! Adieu, oh ! 
 peaceful chambers of my childhood, where I 
 learned to love virtue and truth — where my im- 
 agination found in books and study the food to 
 delight it, and where I learned in silence to 
 command my passions and to despise my vanity. 
 Again farewell, my child ! Eemember your 
 mother. Doubtless your fate will bo less severe 
 than hers. Adieu, beloved child ! whom I 
 nourished at my breast, and earnestly desired to 
 imbue with every feeling and opinion I myself 
 entertained." 
 
 The cup of poison was in her hand. In her 
 heart there was no consciousness that she should 
 violate the command of any higher power by 
 drinking it. But love for her child triumphed. 
 
PRISON LIFE. 233 
 
 The smile of Eudora rose before her, and for 
 her sake she clung to life. She threw away the 
 poison, resolved never again to think of a volun- 
 tary withdrawal from the cares and sorrows of 
 her earthly lot, but with unwavering fortitude 
 to surrender herself to those influences over 
 which she could no longer exert any control. 
 This brief conflict ended, she resumed her 
 wonted composure and cheerfulness. 
 
 Tacitus was now her favorite author. Hours 
 and days she passed in studying his glowing de- 
 scriptions of heroic character and deeds. He- 
 roism became her religion ; magnanimity and 
 fortitude the idols of her soul. With a glisten- 
 ing eye and a bosom throbbing with lofty emo- 
 tion, she meditated upon his graphic paintings 
 of the martyrdom of patriots and philosophers, 
 where the soul, by its inherent energies, tri- 
 umphed over obloquy, and pain, and death. 
 Anticipating that each day might conduct her 
 to the scaffold, she led her spirit through all the 
 possible particulars of the tragic drama, that 
 she might become familiar with terror, and look 
 upon the block and the ax with an undaunted 
 eye. 
 
 Many hours of every day she beguiled in 
 writing the memoirs of her own life. It was 
 an eloquent and a touching narrative, written 
 with the expectation that each sentence might 
 be interrupted by the eatrance of the execu- 
 
 17-Kolan(^ 
 
234 MADAME EOLAND. 
 
 tioners to conduct her to trial and to the guil- 
 lotine. In this unveiling of the heart to the 
 world, one sees a noble nature, generous and 
 strong, animated to benevolence by native gen- 
 erosity, and nerved to resignation by fatalism. 
 The consciousness of spiritual elevation consti- 
 tuted her only religion and her only solace. 
 The anticipation of a lofty reputation after 
 death was her only heaven. The Christian 
 must pity while he must admire. No one can 
 read the thoughts she penned but with the 
 deepest emotion. 
 
 Now her mind wanders to the hours of her 
 precocious and dreamy childhood, and lingers 
 in her little chamber, gazing upon the golden 
 sunset, and her eye is bathed in tears as she re- 
 flects upon her early home, desolated by death, 
 and still more desolated by that unhonored 
 union which the infidelity of the times tolerated, 
 when one took the position of the wife unblessed 
 by the sanction of Heaven. Again her spirit 
 wings its flight through the gloomy bars of the 
 prison to the beautiful rural home to which 
 her bridal introduced her, where she spent her 
 happiest years, and she forgets the iron, and 
 the stone, and the dungeon-glooms which sur- 
 round her, as in imagination she walks again 
 among her flowers and through the green 
 fields, and, at the vintage, eats the rich, ripe 
 clusters of the grape. Her pleasant household 
 
cares, her dairy, the domestic fowls recognizing 
 her voice, and fed from her own hand ; her 
 library and her congenial intellectual pur- 
 suits rise before her, an en trancing vision, and 
 she mourns, like Eve, the loss of Eden. The 
 days of celebrity and of power engross her 
 thoughts. Her husband is again minister of 
 the king. The most influential statesmen and 
 brilliant orators are gathered around her chair. 
 Her mind is guiding the surging billows of 
 the Revolution, and influencing the decisions of 
 the proudest thrones of Europe. 
 
 The slightest movement dispels the illusion. 
 From dreams she awakes to reality. She is a 
 prisoner in a gloomy cell of stone and iron, 
 from which there is no possible extrication. A 
 bloody death awaits her. Her husband is a 
 fugitive, pursued by human blood-hounds more 
 merciless than the brute. Her daughter, the 
 object of her most idolatrous love, is left father- 
 less and motherless in this cold world. The 
 guillotine has already consigned many of those 
 whom she loved best to the grave. But a few 
 more days of sorrow can dimly struggle through 
 her prison windows ere she must be conducted 
 to the scaffold. Woman^s nature triumphs over 
 philosophic fortitude, and she finds momentary 
 relief in a flood of tears. 
 
 The Grirondists were led from their dungeons 
 in the Conciergerie to their execution on the 
 
236 MADAME BOLAND. 
 
 31st of October, 1793. Upon that very day 
 Madame Koland was conveyed from the prison 
 of St. Pelagic to the same gloomy cells vacated 
 by the death of her friends. She was cast into 
 a bare and miserable dungeon, in that subter- 
 ranean receptacle of woe, where there was not 
 even a bed. Another prisoner, moved with 
 compassion, drew his own pallet into her cell, 
 that she might not be compelled to throw her- 
 self for repose upon the cold, wet stones. The 
 chill air of winter had now come, and yet no 
 covering was allowed her. Through the long 
 night she shivered with the cold. 
 
 The prison of the Conciergerie consists of a 
 series of dark and damp subterranean vaults 
 situated beneath the floor of the Palace of Jus- 
 tice. Imagination can conceive of nothing 
 more dismal than these somber caverns, with 
 long and winding galleries opening into cells as 
 dark as the tomb. You descend by a flight of 
 massive stone steps into this sepulchral abode, 
 and, passing through double doors, whose iron 
 strength time has deformed but not weakened, 
 you enter upon the vast labyrinthine prison, 
 where the imagination wanders affrighted 
 through intricate mazes of halls, and arches, 
 and vaults, and dungeons, rendered only more 
 appalling by the dim light which struggles 
 through those grated orifices which pierced the 
 massive walls. The Seine flows by upon one 
 
PRISON LIFE. 237 
 
 side, separated only by the high way of the 
 quays. The bed of the Seine is above the floor 
 of the prison. The surrounding earth was 
 consequently saturated with water and the ooz- 
 ing moisture diffused over the walls and the 
 floors the humidity of the sepulcher. The 
 plash of the river ; the rumbling of carts upon 
 the pavements overhead ; the heavy tramp of 
 countless footfalls, as the multitude poured 
 into and out of the halls of justice, mingled 
 with the moaning of the prisoners in those soli- 
 tary cells. There were one or two narrow 
 courts scattered in this vast structure, where 
 the prisoners could look up the precipitous 
 walls, as of a well, towering high above them, 
 and see a few square yards of sky. The gigan- 
 tic quadrangular tower, reared above these firm 
 foundations, was formerly the imperial pal- 
 ace from which issued all power and law. Here 
 the French kings reveled in voluptuousness, 
 with their prisoners groaning beneath their feet. 
 This stronghold of feudalism had now become 
 the tomb of the monarchy. In one of the most 
 loathsome of these cells, Maria Antoinette, the 
 daughter of the Caesars, had languished in mis- 
 ery as profound as mortals can suffer, till, in 
 the endurance of every conceivable insult, she 
 was dragged to the guillotine. 
 
 It was into a cell adjoining that which the 
 hapless queen had occupied that Madame Bo- 
 
MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 land was cast. Here the proud daughter of the 
 emperors of Austria and the humble child of 
 the artisan, each, after a career of unexampled 
 vicissitudes, found their paths to meet but a 
 few steps from the scaffold. The victim of the 
 monarchy and the victim of the Eevolution 
 were conducted to the same dungeons and per- 
 ished on the same block. 
 
 The Conciergerie. 
 
CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 TRIAL AKD EXECUTION?" OF MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 The day after Madame Eoland was placed 
 in the Conciergerie;, she was visited by one of 
 the notorious officers of the revolutionary 
 party, and very closely questioned concerning 
 the friendship she had entertained for the 
 Girondists. She frankly avowed the elevated 
 affection and esteem with which she cherished 
 their memory, but she declared that she and 
 they were the cordial friends of republican lib- 
 erty ; that they wished to preserve, not to 
 destroy, the Constitution. The examination 
 was vexatious and intolerant in the extreme. It 
 lasted for the three hours, and consisted in an 
 incessant torrent of criminations, to which she 
 was hardly permitted to offer one word in re- 
 ply. This examination taught her the nature 
 of the accusations which would be brought 
 against her. She sat down in her cell that 
 very night, and, with a rapid pen, sketched 
 that defense which has been pronounced one 
 of the most eloquent and touching monuments 
 of the Eevolution. It so beautifully illustrates 
 
 239 
 
24:0 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 the heroism of her character, the serenity of her 
 spirit, and the beauty and energy of her men- 
 tal operations, that it will ever be read with 
 the liveliest interest. 
 
 " I am accused," she writes, '^ of being the 
 accomplice of men called conspirators. My 
 intimacy with a few of these gentleman is of 
 much older date than the occurrences in con- 
 sequence of which they are now deemed rebels. 
 Our correspondence, since they left Paris, has 
 been entirely foreign to public affairs. Prop- 
 erly speaking, I have been engaged in no polit- 
 ical correspondence whatever, and in that re- 
 spect I might confine myself to a simple denial. 
 I certainly cannot be called upon to give an 
 account of my particular affections. I have, 
 however, the right to be proud of these friend- 
 ships. I glory in them. I wish to conceal 
 nothing. I acknowledge that, with expressions 
 of regret at my confinement, I received an in- 
 timation that Duperret had two letters for me, 
 whether written by one or by two of my friends, 
 before or after their leaving Paris, I cannot say, 
 Duperret had delivered them into other hands, 
 and they never came to mine. Another time I 
 received a pressing invitation to break my chains, 
 and an offer of services, to assist me in effect- 
 ing my escape in any way I might think proper, 
 and to convey me whithersoever I might after- 
 ward wish to go, I was dissuaded from listen- 
 
TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 241 
 
 ing to such proposals by duty and by honor : 
 by duty, that I might not endanger the safety 
 of those to whose care I was confided ; and by 
 honor, because I preferred the risk of an un- 
 just trial to exposing myself to the suspicion 
 of guilt by a flight unworthy of me. When I 
 consented to my arrest, it was not with the in- 
 tention of afterward making my escape. With- 
 out doubt, if all means of communication had 
 not been cut off, or if I had not been prevented 
 by confinement, I should have endeavored to 
 learn what had become of my friends. I know 
 of no law by which my doing so is forbidden. 
 In what age or in what nation was it ever con- 1 
 sidered a crime to be faithful i^to those senti-l 
 ments of esteem and brotherly affection whichj 
 bind man to man ? 
 
 " I do not pretend to Judge of the measures 
 of those who have been proscribed, but I will 
 never believe in the evil intentions of men of 
 whose probity and patriotism I am thoroughly 
 convinced. If they erred, it was unintention- 
 ally. They fall without being abased, and I 
 regard them as being unfortunate without being 
 liable to blame. I am perfectly easy as to their 
 glory, and willingly consent to participate in 
 the honor of being oppressed by their enemies. 
 They are accused of having conspired against 
 their country, but I know that they were firm 
 friends of the Eepublic. They were, however. 
 
24:2 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 humane men, and were persuaded that good 
 laws were necessary to procure the Kepublic the 
 good will of persons who doubted whether the 
 Kepublic could be maintained. It is more diffi- 
 cult to conciliate than to kill. The history of 
 every age proves that it requires great talents 
 to lead men to virtue by wise institutions, while 
 force suffices to oppress them by terror, or to 
 annihilate them by death. I have often heard 
 them assert that abundance, as well as happi- 
 ness, can only proceed from an equitable, pro- 
 tecting, and beneficent government. The om- 
 nipotence of the bayonet may produce fear, but 
 not bread. I have seen them animated by the 
 most lively enthusiasm for the good of the 
 people, disdaining to flatter them, and resolved 
 rather to fall victims to their delusion than to 
 be the means of keeping it up. I confess that 
 these principles and this conduct appeared to 
 me totally different from the sentiments and 
 proceedings of tyrants, or ambitious men, who 
 seek to please the people to affect their subju- 
 gation. It inspired me with the highest es- 
 teem for those generous men. This error, if 
 error it be, will accompany me to the grave, 
 whither I shall be proud to follow those whom 
 I was not permitted to accompany. 
 
 *' My defense is more important for those who 
 wish for the truth than it is for myself. Calm 
 and contented in the consciousness of having 
 
TEIAL AND EXECUTION. 243 
 
 done my duty, I look forward to futurity with 
 perfect peace of mind. My serious turn and 
 studious habits have preserved me alike from 
 the follies of dissipation and from the bustle of 
 intrigue. A friend of liberty, on which reflec- 
 tion had taught me to set a just value, I beheld 
 the Revolution with delight, persuaded it was 
 destined to put an end to the arbitrary power I 
 detested, and to the abuses I had so often la- 
 mented, when reflecting with pity upon the in- 
 digent classes of society. I took an interest in 
 the progress of the Eevolution, and spoke with 
 warmth of public affairs, but I did not pass the 
 bounds prescribed by my sex. Some small tal- 
 ents, a considerable share of philosophy, a de- 
 gree of courage more uncommon, and which 
 did not permit me to weaken my husband's en- 
 ergy in dangerous times — such, perhaps, are the 
 qualities which those who know me may have 
 indiscreetly extolled, and which may have made 
 me enemies among those to whom I am unknown. 
 M. Roland sometimes employed me as a secre- 
 tary, and the famous letter to the king, for in- 
 stance, is copied entirely in my handwriting. 
 This would be an excellent item to add to my 
 indictment, if the Austrians were trying me, 
 and if they should have thought fit to extend a 
 minister's responsibility to his wife. But M. 
 Roland long ago manifested his knowledge of, 
 and his attachment to, the great principles of 
 
24A MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 political economy. The proof is to be found in 
 his numerous works published during the last 
 fifteen years. His learning and his probity are 
 all his own. He stood in no need of a wife to 
 make him an able minister. Never were secret 
 councils held at his house. His colleagues and 
 a few friends met once a week at his table, and 
 there conversed, in a public manner, on matters 
 in which every body was concerned. His writ- 
 ings, which breathe throughout a love of order 
 and peace, and which enforce the best principles 
 of public prosperity and morals, will forever 
 attest his wisdom. His accounts prove his in- 
 tegrity. 
 
 *' As to the offense imputed to me, I observe 
 that I never was intimate with Duperret. I 
 saw him occasionally at the time of M. Eoland's 
 administration. He never came to our house 
 during the six months that my husband was no 
 longer in office. The same remark will apply 
 to other members, our friends, which surely 
 does not accord with tho plots and conspiracies 
 laid to our charge. It is evident, by my first 
 letter to Duperret, I only wrote to him because 
 I knew not to whom else to address myself, and 
 because I imagined he would readily consent to 
 oblige me. My correspondence with him could 
 not, then, be concerted. It could not be the 
 consequence of any previous intimacy, and 
 could have only one object in view. It gave 
 
THiAL AND EXECUTION. 245 
 
 me afterward an opportunity of receiving ac- 
 counts from those who had just absented them- 
 selves, and with whom I was connected by the 
 ties of friendship, independently of all political 
 considerations. The latter were totally out of 
 the question in the kind of correspondence I 
 kept up with them during the early part of their 
 absence. Xo written memorial bears witness 
 against me in that respect. Those adduced 
 only lead to the belief that I partook of the 
 opinions and sentiments of the persons called 
 conspirators. This deduction is well founded. 
 I confess it without reserve. I am proud of 
 the conformity. But I never manifested my 
 opinion in a way which can be construed into 
 a crime, or which tended to occasion any dis- 
 turbance. Now, to become an accomplice in 
 any plan whatever, it is necessary to give 
 advice, or to furnish means of execution. I 
 have done neither. There is no law to con- 
 demn me. 
 
 *' I know that, in revolutions, law as well as 
 justice is often forgotten, and the proof of it is 
 that I am here. I owe my trial to nothing but 
 the prejudices and violent animosities which 
 arise in times of great agitation, and which are 
 generally directed against those who have been 
 placed in conspicuous situations, or are known 
 to possess any energy or spirit. It would have 
 been easy for my courage to put me out of the 
 
246 MADAME ROLAGB. 
 
 reach of the sentence which I foresaw would 
 be pronounced against me. But I thought it 
 rather became me to undergo that sentence. I 
 thought that I owed the example to my coun- 
 try. I thought that if I were to be condemned, 
 it must be right to leave to tyranny all the odi- 
 um of sacrificing a woman, whose crime is that 
 of possessing some small talent, which she never 
 misapplied, a zealous desire to promote the wel- 
 fare of mankind, and courage enough to ac- 
 knowledge her friends when in misfortune, and 
 to do homage to virtue at the risk of life. 
 Minds which have any claim to greatness are 
 capable of divesting themselves of selfish con- 
 siderations. They feel that they belong to the 
 whole human race. Their views are directed to 
 posterity. I am the wife of a virtuous man ex- 
 posed to persecution. I was the friend of men 
 who have been proscribed and immolated by 
 delusion, and the hatred of jealous mediocrity. 
 It is necessary that I should perish in my turn, 
 because it is a rule with tyranny to sacrifice 
 those whom it has grievously oppressed, and to 
 annihilate the very witnesses of its misdeeds. 
 I have this double claim to death at your hands, 
 and 1 expect it. When innocence walks to the 
 scaffold at the command of error and perversity, 
 every step she takes is an advance toward 
 glory. May I be the last victim sacrificed to the 
 furious spirit of party. I shall leave with joy 
 
TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 247 
 
 this unfortunate earth, which swallows up the 
 friends of virtue and drinks the blood of the 
 just. 
 
 ^' Truth ! friendship ! my country ! sacred 
 objects, sentiments dear to my heart, accept 
 my last sacrifice. My life was devoted to 
 you, and you will render my death easy and 
 glorious. 
 
 *^ Just Heaven ! enlighten this unfortunate 
 people for whom I desired liberty. Liberty ! it 
 is for noble minds, who despise death, and who 
 know how, upon occasion, to give it to them- 
 selves. It is not for weak beings, who enter 
 into a composition with guilt, and cover selfish- 
 ness and cowardice with the name of prudence. 
 It is not for corrupt wretches, who rise from 
 the bed of debauchery, or from the mire of indi- 
 gence, to feast their eyes upon the blood that 
 streams from the scaffold. It is the portion of 
 a people who delight in humanity, practise 
 justice, despise their flatterers, and respect the 
 truth. While you are not such a people, my 
 fellow-citizens ! you will talk in vain of liberty. 
 Instead of liberty you will have licentious- 
 ness, to which you will all fall victims in 
 your turn. You will ask for bread ; dead 
 bodies will be given you, and you at last will 
 bow down your own necks to the yoke. 
 
 '' I have neither concealed my sentiments nor 
 my opinions. I know that a Roman lady was 
 
248 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 sent to the scaffold for lamenting the death of 
 her son. I know that, in times of delusion and 
 party rage, he who dares avow himself the 
 friend of the condemned or of the proscribed 
 exposes himself to their fate. But I have no 
 fear of death. I never feared anything but 
 guilt, and I will not purchase life at the expense 
 of a base subterfuge. Wo to the times ! wo 
 to the people among whom doing homage to 
 disregarded truth can be attended with danger ; 
 and happy is he who, in such circumstances, is 
 bold enoagh to brave it. 
 
 *^ It is now your part to see whether it an- 
 swer your purpose to condemn me without proof 
 upon mere matter of opinion, and without the 
 support or justification of any law.'^ 
 
 Having concluded this magnanimous defense, 
 which she wrote in one evening with the rapid- 
 ity which characterized all her mental opera- 
 tions, she retired to rest, and slept with the se- 
 renity of a child. She was called upon several 
 times by committees sent from the revolution- 
 ary tribunal for examination. They were re- 
 solved to take her life, but were anxious to do 
 it, if possible, under the forms of law. She 
 passed through all their examinations with the 
 most perfect composure and the most dignified 
 self-possession. Her enemies could not with- 
 hold their expressions of admiration as they saw 
 her in her sepulchral cell of stone and of iron, 
 
TKIAL AND EXECUTION. 249 
 
 cheerful, fascinating, and perfectly at ease. 
 She knew that she was to be led from that cell 
 to a violent death, and yet no faltering of soul 
 could be detected. Her spirit had apparently 
 achieved a perfect victory over all earthly 
 ills. 
 
 The upper part of the door of her cell was an 
 iron grating. The surrounding cells were filled 
 with the most illustrious ladies and gentlemen 
 of France. As the hour of death drew near, 
 her courage and animation seemed to increase. 
 Her features glowed with enthusiasm ; her 
 thoughts and expressions were refulgent with 
 sublimity, and her whole aspect assumed the 
 impress of one appointed to fill some great and 
 lofty destiny. She remained but a few days in 
 the Conciergerie before she was led to the scaf- 
 fold. During those few days, by her example 
 and her encouraging words, she spread among 
 the numerous prisoners there an enthusiasm and 
 a spirit of heroism which elevated, above the 
 fear of the scaffold, even the most timid and de- 
 pressed. This glow of feeling and exhilaration 
 gave a new impress of sweetness and fascina- 
 tion to her beauty. The length of her captiv- 
 ity, the calmness with which she contemplated 
 the certain approach of death, gave to her voice 
 that depth of tone and slight tremulousness of 
 utterance which sent her eloquent words home 
 with thrilling power to every heart. Those 
 
 IS-Roland 
 
250 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 who were walking in the corridor, or who were 
 the occupants of adjoining cells, often called 
 for her to speak to them words of encourage- 
 ment and consolation. 
 
 Standing upon a stool at the door of her own 
 cell, she grasped with her hands the iron grat- 
 ing which separated her from her audience. 
 This was her tribune. The melodious accents 
 of her voice floated along the labyrinthine ave- 
 nues of those dismal dungeons, penetrating cell 
 after cell, and arousing energy in hearts which 
 had been abandoned to despair. It was, indeed, 
 a strange scene which was thus witnessed in 
 these sepulchral caverns. The silence, as of 
 the grave, reigned there, while the clear and 
 musical tones of Madame Eoland, as of an an- 
 gel of consolation, vibrated through the rusty 
 bars, and along the dark, damp cloisters. One 
 who was at that time an inmate of the prison, 
 and survived those dreadful scenes, has de- 
 scribed, in glowing terms, the almost miraculous 
 effects of her soul-moving eloquence. She was 
 already past the prime of life, but she was still 
 fascinating. Combined with the most wonder- 
 ful power of expression, she possessed a voice 
 so exquisitely musical, that, long after her lips 
 were silenced in death, its tones vibrated in lin- 
 gering strains in the souls of those by whom 
 they had ever been heard. The prisoners lis- 
 tened with the most profound attention to her 
 
TEIAL AND EXECUTION. 261 
 
 glowing words, and regarded her almost as a 
 celestial spirit, who had come to animate them 
 to heroic deeds. She often spoke of the Girond- 
 ists who had already perished upon the guillo- 
 tine. With perfect fearlessness she avowed her 
 friendship for them, and ever spoke of them as 
 our friends. She, however, was careful never 
 to utter a word which would bring tears into 
 the eye. She wished to avoid herself all the 
 weakness of tender emotions, and to lure the 
 thoughts of her companions away from every 
 contemplation which could enervate their en- 
 ergies. 
 
 Occasionally, in the solitude of her cell, as 
 the image of her husband and of her child rose 
 before her, and her imagination dwelt upon her 
 desolated home and her blighted hopes — her 
 husband denounced and pursued by lawless vio- 
 lence, and her child soon to be an orphan — 
 woman's tenderness would triumph over the 
 heroine's stoicism. Burying, for a moment, her 
 face in her hands, she would burst into a flood 
 of tears. Immediately struggling to regain 
 composure, she would brush her tears away, 
 and dress her countenance in its accustomed 
 smiles. She remained in the Oonciergerie but 
 one week, and during that time so endeared 
 herself to all as to become the prominent object 
 of attention and love. Her case is one of the 
 most extraordinary the history of the world has 
 
252 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 presented, in which the very highest degree of 
 heroism is combined with the most resistless 
 charms of feminine loveliness. An unf eminine 
 woman can nevej be loved by rnern Sher may 
 ^"^^^he'respfgcted for her talents, she may be honored 
 for her philanthropy, but she cannot win the 
 warmer emotions of the heart. But Madame 
 Koland, with an energy of will, an inflexibility 
 of purpose, a firmness of stoical endurance 
 which no mortal man has ever exceeded, com- 
 bined that gentleness, and tenderness, and af- 
 fection — that instinctive sense of the proprieties 
 of her sex — which gathered around her a love 
 as pure and as enthusiastic as woman ever ex- 
 cited. And while her friends, many of whom 
 were the most illustrious men in France, had 
 enthroned her as an idol in their hearts, the 
 breath of slander never ventured to intimate 
 that she was guilty even of an impropriety. 
 
 The day before her trial, her advocate, Chau- 
 veau de la Garde, visited her to consult respect- 
 ing her defense. She, well aware that no one 
 could speak a word in her favor but at the peril 
 of his own life, and also fully conscious that her 
 doom was already sealed, drew a ring from her 
 finger, and said to him, 
 
 " To-morrow I shall be no more. I know 
 the fate which awaits me. Your kind assist- 
 ance can not avail aught for me, and would but 
 endanger you. I pray you, therefore, not to 
 
TBIAL A-ND EXECUTION. 253 
 
 come to the tribunal, but to accept of this last 
 testimony of my regard/' 
 
 The next day she was led to her trial. She 
 attired herself in a white robe, as a symbol of 
 her innocence, and her long dark hair fell in 
 thick curls on her neck and shoulders. She 
 emerged from her dungeon a vision of unusual 
 loveliness. The prisoners who were walking in 
 the corridors gathered around her, and with 
 smiles and words of encouragement she infused 
 energy into their hearts. Calm and invincible 
 she met her judges. She was accused of the 
 crimes of being the wife of M. Roland and the 
 friend of his friends. Proudly she acknowl- 
 edged herself guilty of both those charges. 
 Whenever she attempted to utter a word in her 
 defense, she was brow-beaten by the judges, 
 and silenced by the clamors of the mob which 
 filled the tribunal. The mob now ruled with un- 
 disputed sway in both legislative and executive 
 halls. The serenity of her eye was untroubled, 
 and the composure of her disciplined spirit un- 
 moved, save by the exaltation of enthusiasm, 
 as she noted the progress of the trial, which was 
 bearing her rapidly and resistlessly to the scaf- 
 fold. It was, however, difficult to bring any 
 accusation against her by which, under the 
 form of law, she could be condemned. France, 
 even in its darkest hour, was rather ashamed 
 to behead a woman, upon whom the eyes of all 
 
^54 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 Europe were fixed, simply for being the wife 
 ofher Jiusband and the friend of his friends. 
 At last the president demanded of her that 
 she should reveal her husband's asylum. She 
 proudly replied, 
 
 *^' I do not know of any law by which I can 
 be obliged to violate the strongest feelings of 
 nature." This was sufficient, and she was im- 
 mediately condemned. Her sentence was thus 
 expressed : 
 
 '^ The public accuser has drawn up the pres- 
 ent indictment against Jane Mary Phlippon, 
 the wife of Koland, late Minister of the Interior, 
 for having wickedly and designedly aided and 
 assisted in the conspiracy which existed against 
 the unity and indivisibility of the Eepublic, 
 against the liberty and safety of the French peo- 
 ple, by assembling, at her house, in secret coun- 
 cil, the principal chiefs of that conspiracy, and 
 by keeping up a correspondence tending to 
 facilitate their treasonable designs. The tribu- 
 nal, having heard the public accuser deliver his 
 reasons concerning the application of the law, 
 condemns Jane Mary Phlippon, wife of Eoland, 
 to the punishment of death."' 
 
 She listened calmly to her sentence, and 
 then, rising, bowed with dignity to her judges, 
 and, smiling, said, 
 
 '^ I thank you, gentlemen, for thinking me 
 worthy of sharing the fate of the great men 
 
TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 255 
 
 whom you have assassinated. I shall endeavor 
 to imitate their firmness on the scaffold/' 
 
 With the buoyant step of a child, and with a 
 rapidity which almost betokened joy, she passed 
 beneath the narrow portal, and descended to her 
 cell, from which she was to be led, with the 
 morning light, to a bloody death. The prison- 
 ers had assembled to greet her on her return, and 
 anxiously gathered around her. She looked 
 upon them with a smile of perfect tranquil- 
 lity, and, drawing her hand across her neck, 
 made a sign expressive of her doom. But a 
 few hours elapsed between her sentence and her 
 execution. She retired to her cell, wrote a few 
 words of parting to her friends, played, upon a 
 harp which had found its way into the prison, 
 her requiem, in tones so wild and mournful 
 that, floating in the dark hours of the night, 
 through those sepulchral caverns, they fell like 
 unearthly music upon the despairing souls there 
 incarcerated. 
 
 The morning of the 10th of November, 1793, 
 dawned gloomily upon Paris. It was one of 
 the darkest days of that reign of terror which, 
 for so long a period, enveloped France in its 
 somber shades. The ponderous gates of the 
 courtyard of the Conciergerie opened that morn- 
 ing to a long procession of carts loaded with vic- 
 tims for the guillotine. Madame Eoland had 
 contemplated her fate too long, and had disci- 
 
256 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 plined her spirit too severely, to fail of fortitude 
 in this last hour of trial. She came from her 
 cell scrupulously attired for the bridal of death. 
 A serene smile was upon her cheek, and the 
 glow of joyous animation lighted up her feat- 
 ures as she waved an adieu to the weeping pris- 
 oners who gathered around her. The last cart 
 was assigned to Madame Koland. She entered 
 it with a step as light and elastic as if it were 
 a carriage for a pleasant morning's drive. By 
 her side stood an infirm old man, M. La Marche. 
 He was pale and trembling, and his fainting 
 heart, in view of the approaching terror, almost 
 ceased to beat. She sustained him by her arm, 
 and addressed to him words of consolation and 
 encouragement, in cheerful accents and with a 
 benignant smile. The poor old man felt that 
 God had sent an angel to strengthen him in the 
 dark hour of death. As the cart heavily rum- 
 bled along the pavement, drawing nearer and 
 nearer to the gnillotine, two or three times, by 
 her cheerful words, she even caused a smile 
 faintly to play upon his pallid lips. 
 
 The guillotine was now the principal instru- 
 ment of amusement for the populace of Paris. 
 It was so elevated that all could have a good 
 view of the spectacle it presented. To witness 
 the conduct of nobles and of ladies, of boys and 
 of girls, while passing through the horrors of a 
 sanguinary death, was far more exciting than 
 
TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 257 
 
 the unreal and bombastia tragedies of the thea- 
 ter, or the conflicts of the cock-pit and the bear 
 garden. A countless throng flooded the streets, 
 men, women, and children, shouting, laughing, 
 execrating. The celebrity of Madame Roland, 
 her extraordinary grace and beauty, and her 
 aspect, not only of heroic fearlessness, but of 
 joyous exhilaration, made her the prominent 
 object of the public gaze. A white robe grace- 
 fully enveloped her perfect form, and her black 
 and glossy hair, which for some reason the exe- 
 cutioners had neglected to cut, fell in rich pro- 
 fusion to her waist. A keen November blast 
 swept the streets, under the influence of which, 
 and the excitement of the scene, her animated 
 countenance glowed with all the ruddy bloom 
 of youth. She stood firmly in the cart, looking 
 with a serene eye upon the crowds which lined 
 the streets, and listening with unruffled seren- 
 ity to the clamor which filled the air. A large 
 crowd surrounded the cart in which Madame 
 Roland stood, shouting, '^ To the guillotine ! to 
 the guillotine ! '" She looked kindly upon them, 
 and, bending over the railing of the cart, said 
 to them, in tones as placid as if she were ad- 
 dressing her own child, ^' My friends, I a7n going 
 to the guillotine. In a few moments I shall be 
 there. They who send me thither will erelong 
 follow me, I go innocent. They will come 
 stained with blood. You who now applaud 
 ^7 
 
258 1VIADA3IE ROLAND. 
 
 our execution will then applaud theirs with equa) 
 
 Madame Roland had continued writing her 
 memoirs until the hour in which she left her 
 cell for the scaffold. When the cart had almost 
 arrived at the foot of the guillotine, her spirit 
 was so deeply moved by the tragic scene — such 
 emotions came rushing in upon her soul from 
 departing time and opening eternity, that she 
 could not repress the desire to pen down her 
 glowing thoughts. She entreated an officer to 
 furnish her for a moment with pen and paper. 
 The request was refused. It is much to be re- 
 gretted that we are thus deprived of that un- 
 written chr^pter of her life. It cannot be doubt- 
 ed that tlie words she would then have written 
 would have long vibrated upon the ear of a lis- 
 tening world. Soul-utterances will force their 
 way over mountains, and valleys and oceans. 
 Despotism cannot arrest them. Time cannot 
 enfeeble them. 
 
 The long procession arrived at the guillotine, 
 and the bloody work commenced. The victims 
 were dragged from the carts, and the ax rose 
 and fell with unceasing rapidity. Head after 
 head fell into the basket, and the pile of bleed- 
 ing trunks rapidly increased in size. The ex- 
 ecutioners approached the cart where Madame 
 Roland stood by the side of her fainting com- 
 panion. With an animated countenance and £ 
 
TRIAL AKD EXECUTION. 259 
 
 cheerful smile, she was all engrossed in endeavor- 
 ing to infuse fortitude into his soul. The exe- 
 cutioner grasped her by the arm. " Stay," said 
 she, slightly resisting his grasp ; " I have one 
 favor to ask, and that is not for myself. I be- 
 seech you grant it me.^' Then turning to the 
 old man, she said, ''Do you precede me to the 
 scaffold. To see my blood flow would make you 
 suffer the bitterness of death twice over. I must 
 spare you the painof witnessing my execution.*' 
 The stern officer gave a surly refusal, replying, 
 " My orders are to take you first. ■'■' With Ihi^t 
 winning smile and that fascinating grace which 
 were almost resistless, she rejoined, '' You can- 
 not, surely, refuse a woman her last request. '' 
 The hard-hearted executor of the ]aw was 
 brought within the influence of her enchant- 
 ment. He paused, looked at her for a moment 
 in slight bewilderment, and yielded. The poor 
 old mr-n, more dead than alive, was conducted 
 upon the scaffold and placed beneath the fatal 
 ax. Madame Roland, without the slightest 
 change of color, or the apparent tremor of a 
 nerve, saw the ponderous instrument, with its 
 glittering edge, glide upon its deadly mission, 
 and the decapitated trunk of her friend was 
 thrown aside to give place for her. With a 
 pkcid countenance and a buoyant step, she as- 
 cended the platform. The guillotine was erected 
 upon the vacant spot between the gardens 
 
260 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 of the Tuileries and the Elysian Eields, then 
 known, as the Place de la Eevolution. This 
 spot is now called the Place de la Concorde. 
 It is unsurpassed by any other place in Europe. 
 Two marble fountains now embellish the spot. 
 The blood-stained guillotine, from which crim- 
 son rivulets were ever flowing, then occupied 
 the space upon which one of these fountains has 
 been erected ; and a clay statue to Liberty reared 
 its hypocritical front where the Egyptian obelisk 
 now rises. Madame Poland stood for a mo- 
 ment upon the elevated platform, looked calm- 
 ly around upon the vast concourse, and then 
 bowing before the colossal statue, exclaimed, 
 *' Liberty,! Liberty ! how many crimes are 
 committed in thy name.-" She surrendered her- 
 self to the executioner, and was bound to the 
 plank. The plank fell to its horizontal posi- 
 tion, bringing her head under the fatal ax. 
 The glittering steel glided through the groove, 
 and the head of Madame Roland was severed 
 from her body. 
 
 Thus died Madame Roland, in the thirty- 
 ninth year of her age. Her death oppressed all 
 who had known her with the deepest grief. 
 Her intimate friend Buzot, who was then a fu- 
 gitive, on hearing the tidings, was thrown into a 
 state of perfect delirium, from which he did not 
 recover for many days. Her faithful female 
 servant was so overwhelmed with grief that she 
 
TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 261 
 
 presented herself before the tribunal, and im- 
 plored them to let her die upon the same scaf- 
 fold where her beloved mistress had perished. 
 The tribunal, amazed at such transports of 
 attachment, declared that she was mad, and 
 ordered her to be removed from their presence. 
 A man-servant made the same application, and 
 was sent to the guillotine. 
 
 The grief of M. Roland, when apprised of the 
 event, was unbounded. For a time he entirely 
 lost his senses. Life to him was no longer en- 
 durable. He knew not of any consolations of 
 religion. Philosophy could only nerve him t© 
 stoicism. Privately he left, by night, the kind 
 friends who had hospitably concealed him for six 
 months, and wandered to such a distance from 
 his asylum as to secure his protectors from any 
 danger on his account. Through the long hours 
 of the winter^s night he coiitinued his dreary 
 walk, till the first gray of the morning appeared 
 in the east. Drawing a long stiletto from the 
 inside of his walking-stick, he placed the head 
 of it against the trunk of a tree, and threw him- 
 self upon the sharp weapon. The point pierced 
 his heart, and he fell lifeless upon the frozen 
 ground. Some peasants passing by discovered 
 his body. A piece of paper was pinned to the 
 breast of his coat, upon which there were written 
 these words : '^ Whoever thou art that findest 
 these remains, respect them as those of a virtu- 
 
262 
 
 MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 ous man. After hearing of my wife's death, I 
 would not stay another day in a world so stained 
 with crime/' 
 
 The daughter of Madame Eoland succeeded 
 in escaping the fury of the tyrants of the Rev- 
 olution. She lived surrounded by kind protec- 
 
 
 
 =.J^>^^^^^^[^j^^^^jl^ 'itBmlF'^^^^i 
 
 fi^^s^^m^m^^mag^ai^^ 
 
 ^^^y^^BP^If^gB^^)^^^IO^al^m^^^^^-^^B 
 
 
 Finding the Dead Body of M. Roland, 
 tors, and in subsequent years was married to 
 M. Champeneaux, the son of one of her mother's 
 intimate friends. 
 
 Such was the wonderful career of Madame 
 Roland. It is a history full of instruction, and 
 ever reminds us that truth is stranger than 
 fiction. 
 
A-IvTENIUS' 
 
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 FLOWER FABLES. By Louisa May Alcott. With colored 
 and plain illustrations. 
 
 A series of very interesting fairy tales by the most charming of 
 American story-tellers. 
 
 AUNT MARTHA'S CORNER CUPBOARD. By Mary 
 and Elizabeth Kirby. With 60 illustrations. 
 
 Stories about Tea, Coffee, Sugar, Rice and Chinaware, and 
 other accessories of the well-kept Cupboard. A book full of in- 
 terest for all the girls and many of the boys. 
 
 WATER-BABIES; A Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby. By 
 Charles Kingsley. With 94 illustrations. 
 
 *' Come read me my riddle, each good little man ; 
 If you cannot read it, no grown-up folk can." 
 
 BATTLES OF THE WAR FOR INDEPENDENCE. By 
 Prescott Holmes. With 70 illustrations. 
 
 A graphic and full history of the RebelHon of the American Col- 
 onies from the yoke and oppression of England, with the causes 
 
ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 
 
 that led thereto, and including an account of the second war with 
 Great Britain, and the War with Mexico. 
 
 BATTLES OF THE WAR FOR THE UNION. By 
 Prescott Holmes. With 80 illustrations. 
 
 A correct and impartial account of the greatest civil war in the 
 annals of history. Both of these histories of American wars are 
 a necessary part of the education of all intelligent American boys 
 and girls. 
 
 YOUNG PEOPLE'S HISTORY OF THE WAR WITH 
 SPAIN. By Prescott Holmes. With 89 illustrations. 
 
 This history of our war with Spain, in 1S98, presents in a plain, 
 easy style the splendid achievements of our army and"navy, and 
 the prominent figures that came into the public view during that 
 period. Its glowing descriptions, wealth of anecdote, accuracy cf 
 statement and profusion of illustration make it a most desirable 
 gift-book for young readers. 
 
 HEROES OF THE UNITED STATES NAVY. By 
 Hartwell James. With 65 illustrations. 
 
 The story of our navy is one of the most brilliant pages in the 
 world's history. The sketches and exploits contained in this vol- 
 ume cover our entire naval history from the days of the honest, 
 rough sailors of Revolutionary times, with their cutlasses and 
 boarding pike?, to the brief war of 1898, when our superbly ap- 
 pointed warships destroyed Spain's proud cruisers by the merci- 
 less accuracy of their fire. 
 
 MILITARY HEROES OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 By Hartwell James. With 97 illustrations. 
 
 In this volume the brave lives and heroic deeds c four military 
 heroes, from Paul Revere to Lawton, are told in the most captiva- 
 ting manner. The material for the work has been gathered from 
 the North and the Sou.h alike. The volume presents all the im- 
 portant facts in a manner enabling the young people of our united 
 and prosperous land to easily become familiar with the command- 
 ing figures that have arisen in our military history. 
 
 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; or Life Among the Lowly. By 
 Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. With 90 illustrations. 
 
ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 
 
 The unfailing interest in the famous old story suggested the need 
 of an edition specially prepared for young readers, and elaborately 
 illustrated. This edition completely fills that want. 
 
 SEA KINGS AND NAVAL HEROES. By Hartwell 
 James. With 50 illustrations. 
 
 The most famous sea battles of the world, with sketches of the 
 lives, enterprises and achievements of men who have become fam- 
 ous in naval history. They are stories of brave lives in times of 
 trial and danger, charmingly told for young people. 
 
 POOR BOYS' CHANCES. By John Habberton. With 
 50 illustrations. 
 
 There is a fascination about the writings of the author of 
 " Helen's Babies," from which none can escape. In this charm- 
 ing \olume, Mr. Habberton tells the boys of America how they 
 can attain the highest positions in the land, without the struggles 
 and privations endured by poor boys who rose to eminence and 
 fame in former limes. 
 
 ROMULUS, the Founder of Rome. By Jacob Abbott. 
 With 49 illustrations. 
 
 In a plain and connected narrative, the author tells the stories 
 of the founder of Rome and his great ancestor, yEneas. These 
 are of necessity sumewhat legendary in character, but are pre- 
 sented precisely as they have come down to us from ancient times. 
 They are prefaced by an account of the life and inventions of Cad- 
 mus, the " Father of the Alphabet," as he is often called. 
 
 CYRUS THE GREAT, the Founder of the Persian Empire. 
 By Jacob Abbott. With 40 illustrations. 
 
 For nineteen hundred years, the story of the founder of the an- 
 cient Persian empire has been read by every generation of man- 
 kind. The story of the life and actions of Cyrus, as told by the 
 author, presents vivid pictures of the magnificence of a monarchy 
 that rose about five hundred years before the Christian era, and 
 rolled on in undisturbed magnitude and glory for many centuries. 
 
 ADVENTURES IN TOYLAND. By Edith King Hull. 
 With 70 illustrations by Alice B. Woodward. 
 
 The sayings and doings of the dwellers in toyland, related by 
 one of them to a dear little girl. It is a delightful book for chil- 
 dren, and admirably illustrated. 
 
ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE*S LIBRARY. 
 
 DARIUS THE GREAT, King of the Medes and Persians. 
 By Jacob Abbott. With 34 illustrations. 
 
 No great exploits marked the career of this monarch, who was 
 at one time the absolute sovereign of nearly one-half of the world. 
 He reached his high position by a stratagem, and left behind him 
 no strong impressions of personal character, yet, the history of his 
 life and reign should be read along with those of Cyrus, Caesar, 
 Hannibal and Alexander. 
 
 XERXES THE GREAT, King of Persia. By Jacob Ab- 
 bott. With 39 illustrations. 
 
 For ages the name of Xerxes has been associated in the minds 
 of men with the idea of the highest attainable human magnificence 
 and grandeur. He was the sovereign of the ancient Persian em- 
 pire at the height of its prosperity and power. The invasion of 
 Greece by the Persian hordes, the battle of Thermopylae, the burn- 
 ing of Athens, and the defeat of the Persian galleys at Salamis are 
 chapters of thrilling interest. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE. By Miss 
 Mulock, author of John Halifax, Gentleman, etc. With 
 18 illustrations. 
 
 One of the best of Miss Murlock's charming stories for children. 
 All the situations are amusing and are sure to please youthful 
 readers. 
 
 ALEXANDER THE GREAT, King of Macedon. By 
 Jacob Abbott. With 51 illustrations. 
 
 Born heir to the throne of Macedon, a country on the confines 
 of Europe and Asia, Alexander crowded into a brief career of 
 twelve years a brilliant series of exploits. The readers of to-day 
 will find pleasure and profit in the history of Alexander the Great, 
 a potentate before whom ambassadors and princes from nearly all 
 the nations of the earth bowed in humihty. 
 
 PYRRHUS, King of Epirus. By Jacob Abbott. With 45 
 illustrations. 
 
 The story of Pyrrhus is one of the ancient narratives which has 
 been told and retold for many centuries in the literature, eloquence 
 and poetry of all civilized nations. While possessed of extraordi- 
 nary ability as a military leader, Pyrrhus actually accomplished 
 nothing, but did mischief on a gigantic scale. He was naturally 
 
ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 
 
 of a noble and generous spirit, but only succeded in perpetrating 
 crimes against the peace and welfare of mankind. 
 
 HANNIBAL, the Carthaginian. By Jacob Abbott. With 
 37 illustrations. 
 
 Hannibal's distinction as a warrior was gained during the des- 
 perate contests between Rome and Carthage, known as the Punic 
 wars. Entering the scene when his country was engaged in peace- 
 ful traffic with the various countries of the known world, he turned 
 its energies into military aggression, conquest and war, becoming 
 himself one of the greatest military heroes the world has ever 
 known. 
 
 MIXED PICKLES. By Mrs. E. M. Field. With 31 illus- 
 trations by T. Pym. 
 
 A remarkably entertaining story for young people. The reader 
 is introduced to a charming little girl whose mishaps while trying 
 to do good are very appropriately termed " Mixed Pickles." 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR, the Roman Conqueror. By Jacob Ab- 
 bott. With 44 illustrations. 
 
 The life and actions of Julius Caesar embrace a period in Roman 
 history beginning with the civil wars of Marius and Sylla and end- 
 ing with the tragic death of Caesar Imperator. The work is an 
 accurate historical account of the life and times of one of the great 
 military figures in history, in fact, it is history itself, and as such is 
 especially commended to the readers of the present generation. 
 
 ALFRED THE GREAT, of England. By Jacob Abbott. 
 With 40 illustrations. 
 
 In a certain sense, Alfred appears in history as the founder of 
 the British monarchy : his predecessors having governed more like 
 savage chieftains than English kings. The w^ork has a special 
 value for young readers, for the character of Alfred was that of an 
 honest, conscientious and far-seeing statesman. The romantic 
 story of Godwin furnishes the concluding chapter of the volume. 
 
 WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR, of England. By Jacob 
 Abbott. With 43 illustrations. 
 
 The life and times of William of Normandy have always been a 
 fruitful theme for the historian. War and pillage and conquest 
 •were a^ least a part of the everyday business of men in both Eng- 
 
lO ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 
 
 land and France : and the story of William as told by the author 
 of this volume makes some of the most fascinating page-, ia his- 
 tory. It is especially delightful to young reader-;. 
 
 liERNANDO CORTEZ, the Conqueror of Mexico. By 
 Jacob Abbott. With 30 illustrations. 
 
 In this volume the author gives vivid pictures of the wild and 
 adventurous career of Cortez and his companions in the conque>t 
 of Mexico. Many good motives were united with those of ques- 
 tionable character, in the prosecution of his enterprise, but in 
 those days it was a matter of national ambition to enlarge the 
 boundaries of nations and to extend their commerce at any cost. 
 The career of Cortez is one of absorbing interest. 
 
 THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE. By Miss Mulock. With 
 24 illustrations. 
 
 The author styles it "A Parable for Old and Young." It is in her 
 happiest vein and delightfully interesting, especially to youthful 
 readers. 
 
 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. By Jacob Abbott. With 
 45 illustrations. 
 
 The story of Mary Stuart holds a prominent place in the present 
 series of historical narrations. It has had many tellings, for the 
 melancholy story of the unfortunate queen has always held a high 
 place in the estimation of successive generations of readers. Her 
 story is full of romance and pathos, and the reader is carried along 
 by conflicting emotions of wonder and sympathy. 
 
 QUEEN ELIZABETH, of England. By Jacob Abbott. 
 With 49 illustrations. 
 
 In strong contrast to the story of Mary, Queen of Scots, is that 
 of Elizabeth, Queen of England. They were cousins, yet im- 
 placable foes. Elizabeth's reign was in many ways a glorious one, 
 and her successes gained her the applause of the world. The 
 stirring tales of Drake, Hawkins and other famous mariners of 
 her lime have been incorporated into the story of Elizabeth's life 
 and reign. 
 
 KING CHARLES THE FIRST, of England. By Jacob 
 Abbott. With 41 illustrations. 
 
 The well-known figures in the stormy reign of Charles I. are 
 brought forward in this narrative of his life and times. It is his- 
 tory told in the most fascinating manner, and embraces the early 
 
 ^ BD-8a 
 
ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE* S LIBRARY. II 
 
 life of Charles ; the court of James I.; struggles between Charles 
 and the Parliament ; the Civil war ; the trial and execution of the 
 king. The narrative is impartial and holds the attention of the 
 reader. 
 
 KING CHARLES THE SECOND, of England. By Jacob 
 Abbott. With 38 illustrations. 
 
 Beginning with his infancy, the life of the ♦* Merry Monarch " 
 is related in the author's inimitable style. His reign was signal- 
 ized by many disastrous events, besides those that related to his 
 personal troubles and embarrassments. There were unfortunate 
 wars ; naval defeats ; dangerous and disgraceful plots and con- 
 SDiracies. Trobule sat very lightly on the shoulders of Charles II., 
 however, and the cares of state were easily forgotten in the society 
 of his court and dogs, 
 
 THE SLEEPY KING. By Aubrey Hopwood and Seymour 
 Hicks. With 7 7 illustrations by Maud Trelawney. 
 
 A charmingly-told Fairy Tale, full of delight and entertain- 
 ment. The illustrations are original and strikmg, adding greatly 
 to the interest of the text. 
 
 MARIA ANTOINETTE, Queen of France. By John S. C. 
 Abbott. With 42 illustrations. 
 
 The tragedy of Maria Antoinette is one of the most mournful in 
 the history of the world. "Her beauty dazzled the whole king- 
 dom," says Lamartine. Her lofty and unbending spirit under 
 unspeakable indignities and atrocities, enlists and holds the sympa- 
 thies of the readers of to-day, as it has done in the past. 
 
 MADAME ROLAND, A Heroine of the French Revolution. 
 By Jacob Abbott. With 42 illustrations. 
 
 The French Revolution developed few, if any characters more 
 worthy of notice than that of Madame Roland. The absence of 
 playmates, in her youth, inspired her with an insatiate thirst for 
 knowledge, and books became her constant companions in every 
 unoccupied hour. She fell a martyr to the tyrants of the French 
 Revolution, but left behind her a career full of instruction that 
 never fails to impress itself upon the reader. 
 
 JOSEPHINE, Empress of France. By Jacob Abbott. With 
 40 illustrations. 
 
12 ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. 
 
 Maria Antoinette beheld the dawn of the French Revolution ; 
 Madame Roland perished under the lurid glare of its high noon ; 
 Josephine saw it fade into darkness. She has been called the 
 *' Star of Napoleon ; " and it is certain that she added luster to 
 his brilliance, and that her persuasive influence was often exerted 
 to win a friend or disarm an adversary. The lives of the Empress 
 Josephine, of Maria Antoinette, and of Madame Roland are 
 especially commended to young lady readers. 
 
 TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE. By Charles and Mary 
 Lamb. With 80 illustrations. 
 
 The text is somewhat abridged and edited for young people, but 
 a clear and definite outline of each play is presented. Such episodes 
 or incidental sketches of character as are not absolutely necessary 
 to the development of the tales are omitted, while the many moral 
 lessons that lie in Shakespeare's plays and make them valuable in 
 the training of the young are retained. The b 10k is winnmg, help- 
 ful and an effectual guide to the "inner shrine" of the great 
 dramatist. 
 
 MAKERS OF AMERICA. By Hartwell James. With 75 
 ' illustrations. 
 
 This volume contains attractive and suggestive sketches of the 
 lives and deeds of men who illustrated some special phase in the 
 political, religious or social life of our country, from its settlement 
 to the close of the eighteenth century. It affords an opportunity 
 for young readers to become easily familiar with these characters 
 and their historical relations to the building of our Republic. An 
 account of the discovery of America prefaces the work. 
 
 A WONDER BOOK FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. By 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne. With 50 illustrations. 
 
 In this volume the genius of Hawthorne has shaped anew 
 wonder tales that have been hallowed by an antiquity of two or 
 three thousand years. Seeming " never to have been made" they 
 are legitimate subjects for every age to clothe with its own fancy 
 as to manners and sentiment, and its own views of morality. The 
 volume has a charm fo - old and young alike, for the author has 
 not thought it necessary to ** write downward " in order to meet 
 the comprehension of children. 
 

 
 
 
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