1754-1793.
Madame Roland, strictly speaking, can scarcely be classed among persons of literary reputation. Her fame rests even on higher and nobler grounds than that of those who toil with the brain for the instruction of their fellow creatures. She acted. What she wrote is more the emanation of the active principle, which, pent in a prison, betook itself to the only implement, the pen, left to wield, than an exertion of the reflective portion of the mind. The composition of her memoirs was the last deed of her life, save the leaving it—and it was a noble one—disclosing the nature of the soil that gave birth to so much virtue; teaching women how to be great, without foregoing either the duties or charms of their sex; and exhibiting to men an example of feminine excellence, from which they may gather confidence, that if they dedicate themselves to useful and heroic tasks, they will find helpmates in the other sex to sustain them in their labours and share their fate.
In giving the life of this admirable woman, we have at once the advantage and disadvantage of drawing the details of her early years from her autobiography. We are thus secure from false statements and meagre conjecture; but our pages must appear cold and vapid, as containing only an abridgment of details which she recounts with a glowing pen. Under these circumstances, it is better to refer the reader to her work for minutia, and to confine ourselves to results; and instead of lingering over a dry statement of facts, to seek for the formation of character, and to give a rapid view of the causes of her greatness; and to find what was the position and education of a woman who, in a country usually noted for frivolity and display, exhibited simplicity joined to elevation of character and strength of mind, of which few examples can be found in the history of the world.
Manon Phlipon was of bourgeoise, and even humble, though respectable birth. Her father was an engraver; he had a slight knowledge of the fine arts, and wished to become an enamel painter: he failed in this as well as in an after attempt to enrich himself by trading in jewels, which brought on his ruin. During the early years of his daughter he was well to do, and employed several workmen under him. His wife was refined in character, and might have hoped for a partner of a more delicate and enlightened mind; but her sense of duty and sweetness of temper reconciled her to her lot. Manon was the second of seven children, but the only one who survived infancy. She was put out to be nursed by a peasant in the country, as was the practice in those days, and returned home when two years old, to pass the remainder of her girlhood beneath the parental roof, under the care of her gentle and excellent mother, who found it an easy task to regulate the disposition of one whose earliest characteristic was sensibility. "While I remained in my peaceful home," she writes of herself, "my natural sensibility so engrossed every quality, that no other displayed itself—my first desire was to please and to do good." Naturally serious and fond of occupation, she loved reading from infancy; books and flowers were her earliest passion; and as she records this in her prison, torn from all she loved, expecting the death to which those about her were being led by turns, "still," she says, "I can forget the injustice of men and my sufferings among books and flowers."
Every sort of master was given her by her fond parents, and she applied herself with an ardour and a delight that led her instructors to prolong her lessons, and to take deep interest in teaching her. Her father, who had no idea of education except by reprimand and punishment, was soon led to cease to interfere in the guidance of her conduct; he caressed her, taught her to paint, and showed her every kindness; while the cultivation of her mind and heart was left to her mother, who found it easy to lead her by appeals to her reason or her feelings. Passionately fond of reading, she seized on hooks wherever she could find them: there were not many in her father's house, but Plutarch fell into her hands at nine years old, and more delighted her than all the fairy tales she had ever read; she drank in republicanism even then. Her imagination and her heart were warmed meanwhile by reading Fénélon and Tasso. As she remarks, had she had indiscreet companions, this early development of feeling might have led to an untimely awakening of passion; but under the shelter of her mother, with her only for a companion, her heart sympathised with the emotions of others, without any reference to herself—occupation and innocence protected her.
She lived in all the simplicity that belonged to a tradesman easy in his means. The bourgeoisie of Paris of those days were a remarkable class. They detested and despised the debauchery of the noblesse, and the servility of their parasites; while they held themselves far above the brutal ignorance and licentiousness of the populace. The women of this class passed laborious and secluded lives, enlivened only by the enjoyments their vanity might gather on days of festivals, when they showed off their fine clothes and pretty faces in the public promenades. The habits of this class, as madame Roland describes them from experience, were remarkable for frugality. She accompanied her mother to market—occasionally she was sent alone, which she thought somewhat derogatory—but did not complain. There was but one servant, and sometimes she assisted in the kitchen; at the same time, the fondness of her mother displayed itself by dressing her elegantly and richly on Sundays and visiting days. Dancing, in which she excelled, was among her accomplishments. Her mother was pious: by degrees the sensibility of her character found a vent for itself in religion. The first time she left her mother's roof was, at her own request, to prepare herself in a convent to receive her first communion. During her retreat she formed a friendship with a young companion. After leaving the convent, their intercourse continued by letters; and this, she tells us, was the origin of her love of writing, and caused her, by exercise, to acquire facility.
After passing a year in the convent, she passed another with her paternal grandmother, and then she returned to her father's roof. Her days were chiefly passed in study; her meditative mind speculated on all she read; her mother permitted her to read every book that fell in her way, and the self-taught girl preferred philosophical works to every other; she thus enlarged the sphere of her ideas; formed opinions, and erected rigid rules of morality as her guide. The severe principles of Pascal and the writers of the Port-Royal had a great attraction for her ardent mind; and when she sought in philosophy for principles of equal self-denial, she endeavoured to adopt the system of the stoics. All that ennobled the soul and exalted the moral feeling attracted her. She was dispirited when she turned to the pages of modern French philosophy. The theories of Helvetius saddened her, till she was relieved by the consideration that his narrow and derogatory view of human motive and action was applicable only to the corrupt state of society such as he found it in France. She believed that she ought to study this author as a guide in the depraved world of Paris; but she rejected his doctrines as explanatory of the movements of the human soul in a virtuous simple state of society; she felt herself superior to the principle of self which he made the law of our nature; she contrasted it with the heroic acts of antiquity, and thus she became enthusiastically attached to those republics in which virtue flourished; she became persuaded that freedom was the parent of heroes; she regretted that her lot had not been cast among such, and disdained the idea of associating with the corrupt race of her day. The aspirations after the examples set by the great, the virtuous, the generous, and the wise, which she thus nourished, gave a charm to her solitary life; but her studies excited far other feelings when she was led to remark how little they accorded with the state of society in France.
Sometimes she was taken to visit certain ladies who claimed to be noble, and who, looking upon her as an inferior, sent her to dine with their servants. Once she paid a visit of eight days at Versailles, and witnessed the routine of a court. How different were the impertinent pretensions of these silly women, and the paltry pomp of royalty, from the majesty of the solitary reveries in which she associated with the heroes and philosophers of old! Her soul rejected distinctions of rank such as she found them in her own country,—empty in themselves, as far as regarded real excellence, and degrading to her in her position,—and she hurried back to take her proper place in creation, not the humble daughter of an obscure mechanic, but one whose mind was refined by philosophy, enlarged by knowledge; whose heart beat with generous impulses, and who already felt her bosom swell with the heroism which her future actions displayed. "I sighed," she writes, "as I thought of Athens, where I could have equally admired the fine arts, without being wounded by the spectacle of despotism; I transported myself in thought to Greece—I was present at the Olympic games, and I grew angry at finding myself French. Thus, struck by all of grand which is offered by the republics of antiquity, I forgot the death of Socrates, the exile of Aristides, the sentence of Phocion; I did not know that heaven had reserved it to me to witness errors similar to those of which they were the victims, and to participate in a similar persecution, after having professed similar principles."
She regarded the position she held in society with bitterness. Vain of her accomplishments and knowledge, proud in the consciousness of her integrity and of the lofty meditations in which she indulged, the condescension of the petty noblesse towards the daughter of an artisan made her bosom swell with haughty emotion. She does not disguise that this feeling caused her to hail the revolution with greater transport.
It is usual to accuse the lowly of envy, so to cast a slur over their motives when they espouse with enthusiasm the cause of freedom. In all societies there must be difference of position, arising from the distribution of property, and no passion is more mean than that which causes the poor to view with envy the luxuries and ease of the rich. But the disdain which springs from knowing that others assume superiority from mere adventitious circumstances—that there is an impassable barrier, on the outer side of which the ignobly born must remain, vainly desiring a career in which to distinguish themselves—is a noble feeling, and is implanted in the human heart as the source of the highest virtues. Human weakness mingled, probably, some-pettiness in the pride of the beautiful and studious bourgeoise, but she knew how to rise above it; and when she sealed her ambition with her blood, she proved that it was honourable, and that her desire of distinction was founded on a generous love of the good of her species.