the women of the french salons-第56章

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wn　hand；　in　a　lonely　cell；　to　escape　a　sadder　fate；　while　she　was　left；　after　her　timely　release　from　prison；　to　struggle　alone　in　poverty　and　obscurity；　for　some　years　painting　water…color　portraits　for　bread。　　She　was　not　yet　thirty　when　the　Revolution　ended；　and　lived　far　into　the　present　century；　but　though　the　illusions　of　her　youth　had　been　rudely　shattered；　she　remained　always　devoted　to　her　liberal　principles　and　a　broad　humanity。

The　woman；　however；　who　most　fitly　represents　the　spirit　of　the　Revolution；　who　was　at　once　its　inspiration；　its　heroine；　and　its　victim；　is　Mme。　Roland。　　It　is　not　as　the　leader　of　a　salon　that　she　takes　her　place　in　the　history　of　her　time；　but　as　one　of　the　foremost　and　ablest　leaders　of　a　powerful　political　party。　　Born　in　the　ranks　of　the　bourgeoisie；　she　had　neither　the　prestige　of　a　name　nor　the　distinction　of　an　aristocratic　lineage。　　Reared　in　seclusion；　she　was　familiar　with　the　great　world　by　report　only。　　Though　brilliant；　even　eloquent　in　conversation　when　her　interest　was　roused；　her　early　training　had　added　to　her　natural　distaste　for　the　spirit；　as　well　as　the　accessories；　of　a　social　life　that　was　inevitably　more　or　less　artificial。　　She　would　have　felt　cramped　and　caged　in　the　conventional　atmosphere　of　a　drawing　room　in　which　the　gravest　problems　were　apt　to　be　forgotten　in　the　flash　of　an　epigram　or　the　turn　of　a　bon　mot。　　The　strong　and　heroic　outlines　of　her　character　were　more　clearly　defined　on　the　theater　of　the　world。　　But　at　a　time　when　the　empire　of　the　salon　was　waning；　when　vital　interests　and　burning　convictions　had　for　the　moment　thrown　into　the　shade　all　minor　questions　of　form　and　convenance；　she　took　up　the　scepter　in　a　simpler　fashion；　and；　disdaining　the　arts　of　a　society　of　which　she　saw　only　the　fatal　and　hopeless　corruption；　held　her　sway　over　the　daring　and　ardent　men　who　gathered　about　her　by　the　unassisted　force　of　her　clear　and　vigorous　intellect。

It　would　be　interesting　to　trace　the　career　of　the　thoughtful　and　precocious　child　known　as　Manon　or　Marie　Phlipon；　who　sat　in　her　father's　studio　with　the　burin　of　an　engraver　in　one　hand　and　a　book　in　the　other；　eagerly　absorbing　the　revolutionary　theories　which　were　to　prove　so　fatal　to　her；　but　it　is　not　the　purpose　here　to　dwell　upon　the　details　of　her　life。　　In　the　solitude　of　a　prison　cell　and　under　the　shadow　of　the　scaffold　she　told　her　own　story。　　She　has　introduced　us　to　the　simple　scenes　of　her　childhood；　the　modest　home　on　the　Quai　de　l'Horloge；　the　wise　and　tender　mother；　the　weak　and　unstable　father。　　We　are　made　familiar　with　the　tiny　recess　in　which　she　studies；　reads；　and　makes　extracts　from　the　books　which　are　such　strange　companions　for　her　years。　　We　seem　to　see　the　grave　little　face　as　it　lights　with　emotion　over　the　inspiring　pages　of　Fenelon　or　the　chivalrous　heroes　of　Tasso；　and　sympathize　with　the　fascination　that　leads　the　child　of　nine　years　to　carry　her　Plutarch　to　mass　instead　of　her　prayer　book。　　She　portrays　for　us　her　convent　life　with　its　dreams；　its　exaltations；　its　romantic　friendships；　and　its　ardent　enthusiasms。　　We　have　vivid　pictures　of　the　calm　and　sympathetic　Sophie　Cannet；　to　whom　she　unburdens　all　her　hopes　and　aspirations　and　sorrows；　of　the　lively　sister　Henriette；　who　years　afterward；　in　the　generous　hope　of　saving　her　early　friend；　proposed　to　exchange　clothes　and　take　her　place　in　the　cells　of　Sainte…Pelagie。　　In　the　long　and　commonplace　procession　of　suitors　that　files　before　us；　one　only　touches　her　heart。　　La　Blancherie　has　a　literary　and　philosophic　turn；　and　the　young　girl's　imagination　drapes　him　in　its　own　glowing　colors。　　The　opposition　of　her　father　separates　them；　but　absence　only　lends　fuel　to　this　virgin　flame。　　One　day　she　learns　that　his　views　are　mercenary；　that　he　is　neither　true　nor　disinterested；　and　the　charm　is　broken。　　She　met　him　afterward　in　the　Luxembourg　gardens　with　a　feather　in　his　hat；　and　the　last　illusion　vanished。

There　is　an　idyllic　charm　in　these　pictures　so　simply　and　gracefully　sketched。　　She　sees　with　the　vision　of　one　lying　down　to　sleep　after　a　life　of　pain；　and　dreaming　of　the　green　fields；　the　blue　skies；　the　running　brooks；　the　trees；　the　flowers；　that　make　so　beautiful　a　background　for　youthful　loves　and　hopes。　　Perhaps　we　could　wish　sometimes　that　she　were　a　little　less　frank。　　We　miss　a　touch　of　delicacy　in　this　nature　that　was　so　strong　and　self…poised。　　We　are　sorry　that　she　dismissed　La　Blancherie　quite　so　theatrically。　　There　is　a　trace　too　much　of　consciousness　in　her　fine　self…analysis；　perhaps　a　little　vanity；　and　we　half　suspect　that　her　unchildlike　penetration　and　precocity　of　motive　was　sometimes　the　reflection　of　an　afterthought。　　But　it　is　to　be　remembered　that；　even　in　childhood；　she　had　lived　in　such　close　companionship　with　the　heroes　and　moralists　of　the　past　that　their　sentiments　had　become　her　own。　　She　doubtless　posed　a　little　to　herself；　as　well　as　to　the　world；　but　her　frankness　was　a　part　of　that　uncompromising　truthfulness　which　scorned　disguises　of　any　sort；　and　led　her　to　paint　faults　and　virtues　alike。

Family　sorrowsthe　death　of　the　mother　whom　she　adored；　and　the　unworthiness　of　her　fathercombined　to　change　the　current　of　her　free　and　happy　life；　and　to　deepen　a　natural　vein　of　melancholy。　　In　her　loneliness　of　soul　the　convent　seemed　to　offer　itself　as　the　sole　haven　of　peace　and　rest。　　The　child；　who　loved　Fenelon；　and　dreamed　over　the　lives　of　the　saints；　had　in　her　much　of　the　stuff　out　of　which　mystics　and　fanatics　are　made。　　Her　ardent　soul　was　raised　to　ecstasy　by　the　stately　ceremonial　of　the　Church；　her　imagination　was　captivated　by　its　majestic　music；　its　mystery；　its　solemnity；　and　she　was　wont　to　spend　hours　in　rapt　meditation。　　But　her　strong　fund　of　good　sense；　her　firm　reason　fortified　by　wide　and　solid　reading；　together　with　her　habits　of　close　observation　and　analysis；　saved　her　from　falling　a　victim　to　her　own　emotional　needs；　or　to　chimeras　of　any　sort。　　She　had　drawn　her　mental　nourishment　too　long　from　Voltaire；　Rousseau；　Montesquieu；　the　English　philosophers；　and　classic　historians；　to　become　permanently　a　prey　to　exaggerated　sensibilities；　though　it　was　the　same　temperament　fired　by　a　sense　of　human　inequality　and　wrong；　that　swept　her　at　last　along　the　road　that　led　to　the　scaffold。　　At　twenty…six　the　vocation　of　the　religieuse　had　lost　its　fascination；　the　pious　fervor　of　her　childhood　had　vanished　before　the　skepticism　of　her　intellect；　its　ardent　friendships　had　grown　dim；　its　fleeting　loves　had　proved　illusive；　and　her　romantic　dreams　ended　in　a　cold　marriage　of　reason。

It　may　be　noted　here　that　though　Mme。　Roland　had　lost　her　belief　in　ecclesiastical　systems；　and；　as　she　said；　continued　to　go　to　mass　only　for　the　〃edification　of　her　neighbors　and　the　good　order　of　society；〃　there　was　always　in　her　nature　a　strong　undercurrent　of　religious　feeling。　　Her　faith　had　not　survived　the　full　illumination　of　her　reason；　but　her　trust　in　immortality　never　seriously　wavered。　　The　Invocation　that　was　among　her　last　written　words　is　the　prayer　of　a　soul　that　is　conscious　of　its　divine　origin　and　destiny。　　She　retained；　too；　the　firm　moral　basis　that　was　laid　in　her　early　teachings；　and　which　saved　her　from　the　worst　errors　of　her　time。　　She　might　be　shaken　by　the　storms　of　passion；　but　one　feels　that　she　could　never　be　swept　from　her　moorings。

Tall　and　finely　developed；　with　dark　brown　hair；　a　large　mouth　whose　beauty　lay　in　a　smile　of　singular　sweetness；　dark；　serious　eyes　with　a　changeful　expression　which　no　artist　could　catch；　a　fresh　complexion　that　responded　to　every　emotion　of　a　passionate　soul；　a　deep；　well…modulated　voice；　manners　gentle；　modest；　reserved；　sometimes　timid　with　the　consciousness　that　she　was　not　readily　taken　at　her　true　valuesuch　was　the　PERSONNELLE　of　the　woman　who　calmly　weighed　the　possibilities　of　a　life　which　had　no　longer　a　pleasant　outlook　in　any　direction；　and；　after　much　hesitation；　became　the　wife　of　a　grave；　studious；　austere　man　of　good　family　and　moderate　fortune；　but　many　years　her　senior。

It　was　this　marriage；　into　which　she　entered　with　all　seriousness；　and　a　devotion　that　was　none　the　less　sincere　because　it　was　of　the