The flight of the king filled her with alarm; his arrest and return to Paris excited new hopes; she looked for safety only in his dethronement, and in the establishment of a republican form of government; but for this she hardly dared hope. “It would be a folly, an absurdity, almost a horror,” she writes to a friend at this time, “to replace the king on the throne. To bring Louis XVI. to trial, would doubtless be the greatest and most just of measures; but we are incapable of adopting it.”
At the end of seven months, Roland’s mission terminated, and he returned to Lyons. But Madame Roland could no longer be happy in the quiet, domestic circle; her discontent thus expresses itself in a letter to a friend, but, unwittingly perhaps, does not assign it to the true cause: “I see with regret that my husband is cast back on silence and obscurity. He is habituated to public life; his energy and activity injure his health when not exercised according to his 277 inclinations; in addition, I had hoped for great advantages for my child in a residence at Paris. Occupied there by her education, I should have excited and developed some sort of talent. The recluse life I lead here makes me tremble for her. From the moment that my husband has no occupation but his desks, I must remain near to amuse him, according to a duty and a habit which may not be eluded. This existence is exactly opposite to that suitable for a child of ten. My heart is saddened by this opposition of duties. I find myself fallen into the nullity of a provincial life, where no exterior circumstances supply that which I cannot do myself. If I believed my husband were satisfied, hope would embellish the prospect. However, our destiny is fixed, and I must try to render it as happy as I can.”
But the truth was, that her life at Paris had opened a new prospect to Madame Roland, and excited new desires in her bosom. Her activity and enthusiasm longed to employ themselves upon a grand theatre, and she panted to become great, as Plutarch’s heroes were great, and to go down to posterity as one of the founders of her country’s freedom.
She was soon restored to the wished-for scene of action. In December, 1792, her husband was appointed minister of the interior. She relates with great good-humor the surprise which her husband’s plain, citizen-like costume excited at court. The master of ceremonies pointed him out to Dumoriez with an angry and agitated mien, exclaiming, “Ah, sir, no buckles to his shoes!” “Ah, sir,” replied Dumoriez, with mock gravity, “all is lost!”
Two measures, which the liberal party deemed essential, were presented to the king by the ministry, but were rejected by him. The party urged the ministers, as a body, to remonstrate; but a majority declined. Madame Roland insisted that her husband should individually present a remonstrance, which she prepared for him; it was couched in bold and menacing language, and rather calculated to irritate than to persuade the king. Roland read it to the king in full council; he listened patiently to his minister’s rebuke, but the next day dismissed him from his office.
Satisfied with having discharged their duty to liberty, Roland and his wife felt no regret at the loss of office. They ceased to meddle with politics, and led a retired life, with the fearful anticipation that the intervention of foreign troops would soon put an end to all their hopes of constitutional freedom. Her appearance and manners at this period of her life are thus described by one who visited her: “Her eyes, her figure, and hair, were of remarkable beauty; her delicate complexion had a freshness and color, which, joined to her reserved yet ingenuous appearance, imparted a singular air of youth. She spoke well, and without affectation; wit, good sense, propriety of expression, keen reasoning, natural grace, all flowing without effort from her rosy lips. Her husband resembled a Quaker, and she looked like his daughter. Her child flitted about her with ringlets down to her waist. She spoke of public affairs only, and I perceived that my moderation inspired pity. Her mind was excited, but her heart remained gentle. Although the monarchy was not yet overturned, she did not conceal that symptoms of 279 anarchy began to appear, and she declared herself ready to resist them to death. I remember the calm and resolute tone in which she declared that she was ready, if need were, to place her head on the block. I confess that the image of that charming head delivered over to the axe of the executioner made an ineffaceable impression; for party excesses had not yet accustomed us to such frightful ideas.”
The fomenters of disturbance and the friends of anarchy were the party of the Mountain, at the head of which were Robespierre, Danton, Marat, &c. To this party the known moderation of Madame Roland made her peculiarly obnoxious. When, after the suspension of the royal authority, consequent on the events of the 10th of August, it was proposed in the National Convention to recall Roland to the ministry, one of the party exclaimed, “We had better invite madame; she is the real minister.” He was reinstated in his office, and maintained for a short time an unflinching struggle with the anarchists; but his efforts were not supported by others; and, wearied out, he tendered his resignation. The Mountain urged its acceptance, but the only charges against him were complaints of his feebleness, and of his being governed by his wife. The Girondists yet held the ascendency in the Convention, and his resignation was not accepted. At the entreaty of his friends, he consented to remain, and wrote thus to the Convention: “Since I am calumniated, since I am threatened by dangers, and since the Convention appear to desire it, I remain. It is too glorious that my alliance with courage and virtue is the only reproach made against me.”
Madame Roland has herself offered an apology for her interference in the business of her husband. In the early days of their marriage, she had acted as his amanuensis, and had faithfully copied what he wrote. But the dryness of his style did not suit her taste, and she began to amend his writings. At length, having a perfect agreement in views and opinions with her husband, he entirely yielded up to her the pen. “I could not express any thing,” she says, “that regarded reason or justice, which he was not capable of realizing or maintaining with his conduct; while I expressed better than he could whatever he had done or promised to do. Without my intervention, Roland had been an equally good agent; his activity and knowledge, as well as his probity, were all his own; but he produced a greater sensation through me, since I put into his writings that mixture of energy and gentleness, of authority and persuasion, which is peculiar to a woman of a warm heart and a clear head. I wrote with delight such pieces as I thought would be useful, and I took greater pleasure in them than I should have done had I been their acknowledged author.”