installed himself and his wife in the ministerial residence, then
occupying the site afterwards built on by the _Theatre Italien_. This
very beautiful and luxurious mansion had formerly been the controller's
office, and both Calonne and Necker had lived in it. Madame Roland
found no small pleasure in queening it under the gilded canopies of the
old regime. It was not at all disagreeable to her to give dinners in
the sumptuous banqueting hall erected by the elegant Calonne, nor did
the austere admirer of the ancients set the black broth of Sparta
before her guests.
Once arrived at power, was this great enemy of nobility and
prescription simple, and easy of approach? Not in the least. There is
often more arrogance displayed by parvenus of both sexes than by those
who are aristocrats by birth. Madame Roland was extremely proud of her
new dignity, and at once resolved, as she tells us in her Memoirs,
neither to make nor receive visits. Her attitude and {86} manners
while at the ministry were those of an Asiatic sovereign. She secluded
herself, permitting only a small number of privileged courtiers to
enter her presence. Under the old regime, the wives of ministers and
ambassadors, dukes and peers, had never felicitated themselves on
"cultivating their private tastes" to the detriment of the proprieties
and obligations of good breeding. But the Revolution had changed all
that. French politeness was now mere old-fashioned rubbish. At the
Ministry of the Interior, the etiquette whose "severity" is vaunted by
Madame Roland was more rigorous than that of the court of Versailles,
and it was easier to see the wife of the King than the wife of the
minister. With what hauteur the latter expresses herself concerning
"the self-seeking crowds who throng about those who hold great places"!
Assuredly, the Queen had never spoken of her subjects in this tone of
disdainful patronage.
[Illustration: MADAME ROLAND]
Madame Roland, who "was tired of fools," incommoded herself for nobody.
The agreeable side of power was all she wanted. Suppressing the
receptions which annoyed her, she gave none but men's dinners, where
she perorated and paraded, and where, being the only woman present, she
had no rivals to fear. Self-sufficiency and insufficiency are, for the
most part, what fall to the share of parvenus. What would have been
said in the old days of a noble dame who did the honors of a ministry
so strangely, who never invited another woman to {87} dinner, and
admitted no one to her presence but a little clique of flatterers?
Everybody would have accused such a lady as lacking in good breeding.
But to Madame Roland all that she did was right in her own eyes. How
could a woman so superior be expected to submit to the tyranny of
polite usages? Was not the first of all despotisms the very one to be
shaken off? and ought not a person so proud of the originality of her
genius feel bound before all things, as she said herself, "to preserve
her own mode of being"? Madame Roland did at the ministry just what
she did from her cradle to her grave: she posed.
"To listen to Madame Roland," said Count Beugnot in his witty and
curious Memoirs, "you would have thought she had imbibed the passion
for liberty from reading the great writers of antiquity.... Cato the
Elder was her hero, and it was probably out of respect for this hero
that she showed a lack of courtesy towards her husband. She was
unwilling to see that there was as much difference between Roland's
wife and the Roman minister as there was between the Brutus of the
Revolutionary Tribunal and him of the Capitol. Self-love was the means
by which this woman had been elevated to the point where we have seen
her; she was incessantly actuated by it, and does not dissimulate the
fact." It was she, and not her husband, who was Minister of the
Interior. If the aristocrats treated Roland as a minister
_sans-culottes_, it might have been added that the {88} breeches which
he lacked were worn by his spouse. Out of all the rooms composing a
vast apartment, she had chosen for her own daily use the smallest that
could be converted into a study, and kept her books and writing-table
in it. It was from this boudoir, half literary, half political, that
she conducted the ministry according to her own whims. "It often
happened," says she, "that friends or colleagues desiring to speak
confidentially with the minister, instead of going to his own room,
where he was surrounded by his clerks and the public, came to mine and
begged me to have him called thither. Thus I found myself in the
stream of affairs without either intrigue or idle curiosity. Roland
took pleasure in talking these subjects over with me afterwards with
that confidence which has always reigned between us, and which has
brought our knowledge and our opinions into community."
On this head, M. Dauban makes the very just remark: "A community in
which there is no equilibrium of forces, becomes a sort of omnipotence
for the strongest." The omnipotence in this case was not on the side
of the beard, but of Madame Roland. The wife wrote, thought, and acted
for her husband. It was she who drew up his circulars and reports to
the National Assembly. "My husband," she tells us, "had nothing to
lose in passing through my hands. Roland, without me, would have been
none the less a good administrator; with me, he has made more
sensation, because I imparted to my writings {89} that mixture of force
and sweetness, that authority of reason and charm of sentiment, which
perhaps belongs only to a sensitive woman, endowed with sound
understanding." And the "virtuous" Roland took pride in the
magnificent phrases which he naively believed to be the expression of
his own genius, when his wife had saved him not merely the trouble of
writing, but even of thinking. "He often ended," she says, "by
persuading himself that he had really been in a good vein when he had
written such or such a passage which proceeded from my pen."
Madame Roland had at her orders a man of letters, salaried by the
Ministry of the Interior, who was the official defender of the minister
and his policy. "It had been felt," she tells us, "that it was needful
to counteract the influence of the court, the aristocracy, the civil
list and their journals, by popular instructions to which great
publicity should be given. A journal posted up in public places seemed
to be the proper thing, and a wise and enlightened man had to be found
for its editor." This wise and enlightened man was Louvet, the author
of the _Amours de Faublas_. He was the writer whom Madame Roland
esteemed most capable of instructing and of moralizing the masses.
"Men of letters and persons of taste," she says, "know his charming
romances, in which the graces of imagination are allied to lightness of
style, a philosophical tone, and the salt of criticism. He has proved
that his skilful hand could alternately shake the bells of folly, hold
the burin of history, and {90} launch the thunderbolts of eloquence.
Courageous as a lion, simple as a child, a sensible man, a good
citizen, a vigorous writer, he could make Catiline tremble from the
tribune, dine with the Graces, and sup with Bachaumont."
Madame Roland admired the author of _Faublas_, now become the
editor-in-chief of the _Sentinelle_; but among her intimates there was
a man whom she admired much more. This was Buzot. With what
complacency she draws in her Memoirs the portrait of this man "of an
elevated character, a haughty spirit, and a vehement courage,
sensitive, ardent, melancholy; an impassioned lover of nature,
nourishing his imagination with all the charms she has to offer, and
his soul with the principles of the most touching philosophy; he seems
formed to enjoy and to procure domestic happiness; he could forget the
universe in the sweetness of private virtues practised with a heart
worthy of his own." Needless to say that in Madame Roland's thought,
this heart worthy of the heart of Buzot was her own. "He is
susceptible," says she, "of the tenderest affections" (always for
Madame Roland), "capable of sublime flights and the most generous
resolutions." Into what ecstasies she falls over the noble face and
elegant figure of this handsome man, in whose costume "reigns that
care, cleanliness, and decency which manifest the spirit of order,
taste, the sentiment of decorum, and the respect of an honest man for
the public and himself"! How she contrasts with {91} men who think
patriotism consists in "swearing, drinking, and dressing like porters,
in order to fraternize with their equals," this attractive, this
irresistible Buzot, who "professes the morality of Socrates and the
politeness of Scipio"!
Clearly, the veritable idol of the Egeria of the Girondins is not the
republic, but Buzot. He is so elegant, so distinguished! His mind and
his person have so many charms! Poor Roland! You think that your
better half is solely occupied with your ministry. Alas! this learned
woman has other thoughts in her head. Your position as a minister has
not augmented your prestige in the region of sentiment. Though you
lord it in the Hotel Calonne, yet, in spite of the throng of
petitioners and flatterers who surround you, you will never be a
Lovelace, and your romantic spouse will not allow herself to be
affected by your appearance, like that of a Quaker in Sunday clothes.
You thought you were doing wonders in presenting yourself at the
council of ministers with lanky, unpowdered locks, a round hat, and
shoes minus buckles. This peasant costume, which so greatly
scandalized the master of ceremonies, doubtless made the best
impression at the Jacobin Club, but your wife prefers the careful dress
of her too dear Buzot.
Madame Roland, who had just completed her thirty-eighth year, was still
very charming. Lemontey thus paints her portrait as she appeared at
this epoch: "Her eyes and hair were remarkably {92} beautiful; her
delicate complexion had a freshness and color which made her look
singularly young. At the beginning of her husband's ministry she had
lost nothing of her air of youth and simplicity; her husband resembled
a Quaker whose daughter she might have been, and her child hovered
round her with hair floating to her waist; one might have thought them
natives of Pennsylvania transported to the drawing-room of M. de
Calonne."
Count Beugnot, who was the companion of her captivity in the
Conciergerie, is severe on the female politician, but he admires the
pretty woman. "Her figure was graceful," he says, "and her hands
perfectly modelled. Her glance was expressive, and even in repose her
face had something noble and subtly attractive in it. One surmised her
wit without needing to hear her speak, but no woman whom I have ever
listened to, spoke with more purity and elegance. She must have owed
her faculty of giving to French a rhythm and cadence veritably new, to
her familiar knowledge of Italian. The harmony of her voice was still
further heightened by graceful and appropriate gestures and the
expression of her eyes, which grew animated in conversation. I daily
experienced new charm in listening to her, less on account of what she
said than because of the magic of her delivery."
If Madame Roland, a prisoner, crushed by misfortune, on the very
threshold of the scaffold, after so many sleepless nights and so many
tears, had {93} preserved such attractions, what a charm must she not
have exercised at the Ministry of the Interior, when hope and pride
illumined her beautiful face, and when, after appearing to her
electrified adorers as the Muse of the new regime, the magician, the
Circe of the Revolution, she touched so profoundly their minds and
hearts! She who knew so well how to love and how to hate, who felt so
keenly, who had so much energy, so much vigor, what fascination must
she not have exerted with her glance of fire, her long black tresses,
her more than ornate eloquence, her inspired, lyric, enthusiastic
bearing, and that consummate art which, according to the remark of
Fontanes, made one believe that in her everything was the work of
nature!
{94}
IX.
DUMOURIEZ, MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS.
Madam Roland had wished to reign alone. She saw an influential rival
in Dumouriez, and at once conceived for him an instinctive repugnance
and suspicion. She met him first on March 23, 1792, at the time when,
as Minister of Foreign Affairs, he came to salute Roland, just named
Minister of the Interior, as his colleague. As soon as he departed:
"There," said she to her husband, "is a man with a crafty mind and a
false glance, against whom it is probably more necessary to be on one's
guard than any other person; he expressed great satisfaction at the
patriotic choice he was deputed to announce; but I should not be at all
surprised if he were to have you dismissed some day." She thought she
recognized in Dumouriez at first sight, "a witty roue, an insolent
chevalier who makes sport of everything except his own interests and
glory."
Later on she drew the following portrait of him: "Among all his
colleagues, he had most of what is called wit, and less than any of
morality. Diligent and brave, a good general, a skilful courtier,
writing well and expressing himself with ease, capable of {95} great
enterprises, all he lacked was character enough to balance his mind, or
a cooler brain to carry out the plans he had conceived. Agreeable to
his friends, and ready to betray them, gallant to women, but not at all
suited to succeed with those among them who are susceptible to
affectionate relations, he was made for the ministerial intrigues of a
corrupt court."
The nomination of Dumouriez as Minister of Foreign Affairs is one of
the most curious and unforeseen events of this strange epoch. Few men
have had a career so adventurous and agitated as his. A complex and
mobile nature, where the intriguer and the great man were blended into
one, he never commanded esteem, but at certain moments he secured
admiration. Napoleon I. seems to have been too severe when he said of
him that he was "only a miserable intriguer." The man who opened the
series of great French victories, and who saved his country from
invasion by his admirable defence of the defiles of Argonne, merited
more than this disdainful mention. It is none the less certain,
however, that one scents, as it were, an air of Beaumarchais in the
Memoirs of Dumouriez, and that there is more than one link of character
and existence between the author of the _Mariage de Figaro_ and the
victor of Jemmapes. Both were men without principles, but full of
resource, wit, and fascination. Both were lovable in spite of their
great defects, because of their humanity and kindness. Both belonged
at the same time to the {96} old regime and the Revolution. Before
arriving at celebrity, each had a stormy youth, tormented by the love
of pleasure, the need of money, and a sort of perpetual restlessness:
they flattered every power of the time, sought fortune by the most
circuitous ways, were diplomatic couriers, and secret agents; before
coming out into open daylight, they made trial of their marvellous
address in obscurity, and signalized themselves among those men of
action and initiative whom governments, which make use of them in
occult ways, first launch, then compromise, disavow, and sometimes
imprison.
Born at Cambrai, January 25, 1739, Dumouriez belonged to a family of
the upper middle class. Entering the army early, he distinguished
himself by his high spirits and courage. As a cornet of the Penthievre
cavalry, he served in the German campaigns from 1758 to 1761, and was
invalided in 1763. He spent twenty-four years at the wars and brought
back nothing but twenty-two wounds, the rank of captain, a decoration,
and some debts. Seeking then a new career, he entered, thanks to his
connection with Favier, the secret diplomacy of Louis XV., and was sent
to Corsica, Italy, and Portugal. He returned to the army in 1768, and
made a brilliant record in the Corsican campaign, obtaining
successively the grades of adjutant-major general,
adjutant-quartermaster, and colonel of cavalry. It was he who seized
the castle of Corte, Paoli's last asylum. In 1771, he again became a
secret agent. Louis {97} XV. wished to befriend Poland in its
death-struggle, but without betraying his hand. Dumouriez was sent to
the Polish confederates. He was reputed to be merely acting on his own
impulses. He organized troops and fought successfully against
Souvaroff, the future adversary of the French Republic, but could not
save Poland--that Asiatic nation of Europe, as he called it. He came
back to Paris in 1772, and the government, complying with the demands
of Russia, shut him up for a year in the Bastille, where he had leisure
to meditate on the ingratitude of courts. This captivity strengthened
his taste for study, and, far from allaying his ambition, gave it
renewed force.
Louis XVI. put him in command at Cherbourg, and it was he who conceived
the plan of making that town a station for the French marine. He was
fifty years old when the Revolution of 1789 broke out. At once he saw
in it an opportunity for success and glory. Full of confidence in his
own superiority, he merely awaited the hour when events should second
his ambition. He said to himself that the emigration, by making a void
in the upper ranks of the army, was going to leave him free scope, and
that he would be commander-in-chief of the French troops under the new
regime. To attain this end he decided to serve the King, the Assembly,
and the factions; to assume all parts and all masks, and to be in turn,
and simultaneously if need were, the courtier of Louis XVI. and the
favorite of the Jacobins.
As has been very well said by M. Frederic Masson {98} in an excellent
book, as novel as it is interesting, _Le Departement des affaires
etrangeres sous la Revolution_, Dumouriez had been accustomed to make
his way everywhere, to eat at all tables, and listen at all doors. One
of the agents of Count d'Artois brought him into relations with
Mirabeau. He was protected by the minister Montmorin. He drew up
plans of campaign for Narbonne. He used the intimate "thou" to
Laporte, the King's confidant and intendant of the civil list. He made
use of women also. Separated from his lawful wife, he lived in marital
relations with a sister of Rivarol, the Baroness de Beauvert, a
charming person who had much intercourse with aristocratic society, who
speculated in arms, and who was pensioned by the Duke of Orleans, as
appears from a letter of Latouche de Treville, the prince's chancellor,
dated April 17, 1789. Dumouriez, who had expensive tastes, sought at
the same time for gold and honors. Either by means of the court or the
Revolution, he desired to gain a great fortune and much glory, to
become a statesman, a minister, commander-in-chief, and realize his
great military plan, the conquest of the natural frontiers of France.
He said to himself: He who wills the end wills the means, and managed
as adroitly with parties as with soldiers. At Niort, where he was in
command at the beginning of the Revolution, he made himself remarkable
by his enthusiasm for the new ideas, and became president of the club
and honorary citizen of the town. He contracted an intimacy with
Gensonne, {99} whom the Assembly had sent into the departments of the
west to observe their spirit. In January, 1792, the emigration of
general officers had become so considerable that he rose by seniority
to the rank of lieutenant-general. Thereafter, he believed his hour
had come, and threw himself boldly into the political arena. The
Gironde and the Jacobins were the two powers then in vogue; he
flattered both the Jacobins and the Gironde. Brissot was the corypheus
of the diplomatic committee and the chief of the war party. He became
the familiar of Brissot. Already, in 1791, he had prepared a memoir on
the subject of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs which he dedicated and
read to the Jacobins. In it he announced (singular prediction for the
future minister of a king!) that before fifty years had passed, Europe
would be republican. He demanded an immediate and radical change in
the diplomatic personnel. "It is of small importance," said he in the
same memoir, "that our representatives would lack experience. In the
first place, our interests are greatly simplified; moreover, our former
representatives were young men belonging to the court who had had no
political education. In a word, it is the majesty of the nation which
gives our negotiations weight. The minister," he added, "should be a
man of approved patriotism, above all suspicion, like the wife of
Caesar. Absolute integrity, great knowledge of men, great firmness, a
broad and upright mind, should complete his character." Dumouriez
perhaps imagined that all these qualities {100} of an ideal minister
were reunited in his person. However that may be, he accepted, without
any mistrust of his own abilities, the portfolio of Foreign Affairs,
confided to him March 15, 1792, on account of his relations with the
Gironde and his popularity with the Jacobins. He had a high opinion of
himself, and, even after his cruel disappointments, he was to write in
his Memoirs, in 1794: "Dumouriez sometimes laughs sardonically in his
retreat over the judgments passed upon him. When he arrived at the
ministry, the courtiers said and published that he was only a soldier
of fortune, incapable of conducting political affairs, in which he
would make nothing but blunders. When he commanded an army, they told
the Prussians and the German Emperor's troops that he was a mere
writer, who had never made war and understood nothing about it. Since
he retired with reputation from public employments, they have published
that up to the date of the Revolution he had been an intriguing
adventurer, a ministerial spy, an office-sweeper. Would to God, they
had employed the adventures of their youth in similar espionages! They
would not have begun the Revolution like factionists, they would have
conducted it with wisdom, they would have preserved the esteem of the
nation, they would not have been the prime authors of the King's death,
either by betraying or abandoning him."
The new Minister of Foreign Affairs began to play his role of leader of
French diplomacy in a {101} singular fashion. Repairing to the Jacobin
Club, he described himself as their liegeman, assumed the red bonnet in
their presence, and, with it on his head, announced that as soon as war
should be declared, he would throw away his pen in order to resume his
sword. Let us add that he was simultaneously trying to conciliate the
good graces of Louis XVI. and to persuade him that if he leaned upon
the Jacobins, it was solely in the hope of serving the King and
consolidating the throne. At the same time he appointed as director of
foreign affairs that Bonne-Carrere whose portrait has been traced in
this wise by Brissot: "Falling with all his vices and perverse habits
into the midst of a revolution whereby the people had recovered
sovereignty, he merely changed his idol without changing his idolatry.
He caressed the people instead of caressing the great, made the hall of
the Jacobins his OEil-de-Boeuf, played valet to the successful parties
one after another, the Lameths and the Mirabeaus, and succeeded in
raising himself from the secretaryship of the Jacobins to the embassy
of Liege, by the aid of that very Montmorin who detested the Jacobins,
and could but advance a man who betrayed them."