―293―

Account of American Editions of Fo-
reign Publications.

Art. XI.

An Appeal to Impartial Posterity.
By Madame Roland, &c. Trans-
lated from the French. 2 vols. 8vo.
New-York. Printed by R. Wilson,
for A. Van Hook. 1798.

THIS work will be deemed of
considerable importance by
the historian and moralist. Its con-
nection with the great events of the
French revolution, with the gene-
ral theory of human nature, and
with the interests of the female sex,
renders it a curious and valuable
monument.

The comprehensive details of his-
tory are of great use. Just con-
ceptions of events can be gained
only by ample displays and long de-
ductions; but there are partial views
which make a more forcible im-
pression. The fate of a single in-
dividual may epitomize that of a
nation, and concentrate all the feel-
ings which a political transaction
may be adapted to produce.

Madame Roland was the wife,
counsellor, and sometimes the agent
of a minister. She witnessed the pro-
gress of the revolution, and partook
in its consequences. The political
errors into which the honest actors
in that great scene were betrayed,
by the study of antiquity, and of
the British constitution; their falla-
cious estimate of the virtue of the
people; their temporary success,
and their ultimate fall beneath the
reign of terror and guilt, are dis-
played, in this work, in striking
and affecting colours.

In saying even thus much, per-
haps, we cannot expect the acqui-
escence of many readers. No sub-
ject is more intricate; capable of
being seen in a greater number of
lights, and of connecting itself with
so many interests and passions, as the

―294―

French revolution. The motives
and schemes of the Rolandists are
regarded, by different persons, with
opposite emotions. The disinter-
estedness, sincerity, and wisdom of
this party, are all topics of con-
troversy. All these qualities are
granted them by some, and denied
to them by others. Some, who ad-
mit the wisdom of their schemes,
question the purity of their motives;
and some, who allow them to be
honest, deny their pretentions to
wisdom. Among the last, a fur-
ther subdivision of opinion may be
noted.

Roland and his colleagues, says
one, were honest men. They sin-
cerely desired the happiness of their
country, and of mankind; but they
grossly erred in believing that mo-
narchy and the christian religion
were detrimental to that happiness.
By subverting or weakening these
we only open the door to outrage,
anarchy, and bloodshed. These
truths were fatally attested by their
own experience.

It is true, says another, Roland
and his compeers were upright and
sincere. It is not less true that they
erred, but their error consisted mere-
ly in their aversion to religion. They
were right in conceiving monarchy
in all its forms and fragments, sub-
versive of the happiness, because
destructive to the equality, of man-
kind; but they committed an egre-
gious mistake in involving religion
in the same sentence. As preachers
of democracy, they are entitled to
audience and belief; but as incul-
cators of atheism, they deserve to
be shunned as the bane of their
species.

A third set not only venerate the
virtuous intentions of these men,
but applaud that sagacity which dis-
cerned the connection between ci-
vil and religious tyranny, between
the claims of the priesthood and the
fundamental maxims of religion;
and demonstrated that mankind are

degenerate and miserable in propor-
tion as their conduct is modified by
deference to the written will of a
supposed God, and by homage to
the groundless distinctions of rank
and royalty.

In the opinion of these reasoners,
the Rolandists did not err in imput-
ing all the calamities of France to
the corruptions of the rulers and the
people, the lust of conquest and
war, the venal, luxurious and servile
spirit which overspread all ranks,
to the joint influence of the monar-
chical and religious spirit. Their
error consisted not in overrating the
mischief that flowed from this
source, but in underrating it. The
disease they supposed to be less in-
veterate, and more curable, than
the experiment proved it to be. To
abolish the monarchy and priest-
hood would take away the ills of
which they were productive, and
virtue, they thought, would imme-
diately spring from equality and
freedom. They were far from think-
ing that the shackles by which the
French people had so long been
held had gradually bereaved them
of reason; and, that to break these
shackles at once, was merely to give
scope to all the insane and ferocious
passions, of whose first excesses they
themselves were destined to be vic-
tims.

Madame Roland appears to have
reasoned nearly in this manner. For
a time she was the dupe of appear-
ances, and imagined that despotism
would speedily shake off the limita-
tions of the first constitution. Cour-
tiers and people were fit for nothing
but servitude, and her courage and
confidence were revived only by
the popular insurrection which de-
throned the king.

This confidence was quickly over-
turned, and she found that those
who, ere while, were running into
servitude, now took a contrary
course, and rushed into anarchy.
Tyrants, unsupported by fortune,

―295―

rank, or virtue, rose upon the ruins
of the monarchy. Cruelty and ha-
vock were let loose upon the good,
and the nation was laid waste by
judicial murders and military exe-
cutions. Her own persecution and
death were parts of this reverse, and
were proofs, in her eyes, of the
hopeless depravity of her country-
men; by whose vices their deli-
verance from the yoke of priests
and kings was converted from a
blessing to a curse.

In whatever light the French re-
volution may be viewed, these me-
moirs will afford us the highest in-
struction. Many momentous inci-
dents and characters fell within her
power to describe with more accu-
racy and force than can be expected
from most others. The portraits
are touched with a most powerful
and masterly hand, and their value
arises not more from the opportu-
nities of observation which her si-
tuation afforded her, than from the
keenness of her penetration, and
the accuracy of her distinctions.
She was in habits of confidential
intercourse with the men of literary
and political eminence; she listened
to the consultations of the minis-
ters; many acts of government were
dictated by her foresight and wis-
dom; she was involved in a nu-
merous proscription; she was rank-
ed with the chief of the vanquished
party; the terms of her accusation
and defence include a striking view
of the conduct and motives of men
who governed, for a time, the desti-
ny of France and of Europe. Hence
the value of this performance will
be little affected by difference of
opinion in those readers to whom
the present state of the world is a
subject of curiosity.

Madame Roland designed to have
written the annals of the revolution.
For this task she was eminently qua-
lified; but her fortune, by allotting
her a prison and an untimely death,
partly frustrated this design. Con-

demned to a prison, severed from
her child and her husband, the last
of whom was in momentary danger
of detection and murder, harrassed
by menaces and mistreatment, hour-
ly warned of her own fate, by that
of her friends, she was not deserted
by a generous disdain of injustice,
and the consciousness of innocence.

To secure a future vindication
she betook herself to her pen. She
composed narratives of public e-
vents connected with her own his-
tory, and that of her husband. The
first of these relates the incidents
preceding and attending her arrest.
Having finished this account, she
proceeds to tell the steps by which
Roland was changed from a pro-
vincial officer to a minister of state,
intermingling personal, domestic,
and social details with those of a
more public nature. These are de-
ficient in regularity: they are bold,
picturesque and rapid sketches,
loosely arranged, but imparting for-
cible views of her own character,
that of her husband and friends, and
of the machinations by which Ma-
rat, Danton, and Robertspierre ar-
rived at supreme authority.

These are followed by portraits
and anecdotes; by remarks occasion-
ally suggested by passing events; by
a more regular account of the ad-
ministration of Roland; by com-
ments on the accusation of the Bris-
sotines, and a speech intended to be
read at the bar in her own behalf;
by letters and papers, addressed to
her friend, servants and daughters,
and written on the eve of execu-
tion. These performances indicate
a spirit incapable of bending to pain
or suffering; fearless of death, and
only swerving from its equanimity
when invaded by thoughts of her
husband's fate, and her daughter;
by compassion for the woes and hor-
ror at the depravity of her country-
men.

We are afterwards presented with
memoirs of her private life, till her

―296―

marriage with Roland; and by a
series of familiar letters to the friend
who is the editor of these collec-
tions.

These various pieces afford us
sufficient materials for a knowledge
of the author's character. The cir-
cumstances in which they were writ-
ten remarkably attest the loftiness
and vigour of her spirit. She fre-
quently breaks off the thread to no-
tice some mournful particular in
her condition; and the contrast be-
tween the nature of her employ-
ment and the danger and distress
that surrounded her, is highly af-
fecting.

Her private memoirs are short,
but they contain a great display of
incidents and characters. They
exhibit a mind easily swayed by
reason or intreaty; but, even in
childhood, inflexible to threats and
blows; eager after knowledge, and
placing its supreme delight in study;
free from the usual prejudices of a
rich, indolent, and pampered edu-
cation; accustomed to household
and personal offices; and as expert
in the kitchen and market as in the
library, the drawing-room, and the
council of statesmen; practising the
lessons of rigid independence, and
drawing her chief consolation from
the consciousness of rectitude.

Her heart was the seat of ardent
affections. Her attachment to her
youthful friends, and to her mother,
testifies that enthusiasm of temper,
which, chastened by reason and ex-
perience, is the parent of excel-
lence. Her affliction, on the death
of the latter, was immoderate. It
was, likewise, singular, and leaves
us somewhat at a loss in what man-
ner to account for it.

Her heart was early open to the
impulse of religion. She even wish-
ed to become a nun. If her wishes
had been accomplished, the unifor-
mity of a recluse life would have
been curiously contrasted with her
active and illustrious career. Thou-

sands, no doubt, have buried in a
convent, the same talents and ener-
gies.

Religious impulses were weaken-
ed by time, and by reading. The
process of her reflections, in conse-
quence of which she became a deist,
is accurately described. The au-
thors whom she took for her guides,
tended to subject her to the vacancy
and dreariness of atheism. There
were times when her mind was
swayed by their reasonings, and she
was prompted to reject the being of
a God, and a future state. These
moments seem to have been rare,
and her disbelief was far from being
permanent or habitual. While con-
templating the order and magnifi-
cence of nature, while suffering in-
justice and oppression, or glowing
with social and benevolent emo-
tions, her heart raised itself to the
author of being, and found peace
in the sense of his approbation, and
the hope of the re-union of her es-
sence with his.

When the tenets and forms of
the Romish religion are considered,
and the prevalence of this religion
in France, by which men were, in
general, precluded from comparing
it with other forms of christianity,
a candid observer will, perhaps,
make some allowance for the errors
of a strong and upright mind. The
education of this woman had made
her regard papal claims, and the
seven sacraments, as ingredients of
the christian religion. In abjuring
these claims and these rites, she be-
lieved herself condemning the chris-
tian faith, and imagined that no al-
ternative was offered her, but the
worship of the host or the disbe-
lief of the gospels.

There are parts of this narrative
in which the sex of the writer is
strongly displayed. The process
of nature, in maturing her physi-
cal constitution, and her conduct
to her lovers, are by no means the
least valuable parts of her perform-

―297―

ance. On this head some censure
has accrued to her. She has been
charged with infringing the laws of
decorum, and needlessiy expatiating
on that which the customs of the
world command to be kept secret.

This censure is unjust. The
customs of her own country, and
her mode of education, authorized
her freedom in this instance. By
these alone could she reasonably be
governed in a case where the laws
of virtue were silent. Her details
are momentous and instructive,
and, in no degree, detract from
the rectitude and purity of her sen-
timents. Our own customs, and
the customs of the English, are fas-
tidious in this respect: they are far
from being proofs of superior chas-
tity. They have probably risen
among us, in some sort, accidentally,
and cannot be deemed arguments
of a depraved temper; but, with
as little reason, can they be consi-
dered as proofs of extraordinary pu-
rity.

In examining the catalogue and
portraits of her lovers, we are struck
with the inequality which subsisted
between this woman and those of
the other sex with whom she was
classed. She had no sister or bro-
ther. Her parents, and relations,
and visitants, were, for the most
part, totally unlike herself. To
meet a fit companion in the other
sex, whose age, talents and pro-
pensities resembled her own, was
not her destiny. One is tempted
to suppose that such an one never
existed, though, perhaps, a charac-
ter like her's was not more singular
among men than among women.
The chances that two such should
meet would, consequently, be di-
minished, and the lady's marriage
with an equal might be ranked with
those wonderful and fortunate
events, the non-occurrence of
which, as it must be generally

expected, ought to excite no re-
gret.

Roland had less sensibility and
genius than herself. His voice, air
and manners, were rugged, blunt,
and unprepossessing. The fire of
youth had probably been very fee-
ble in his bosom, even during his
youth, and could not, therefore,
be very active after near fifty years
of celibacy, severe studies, and po-
litical occupations. Of all topics
that engage the attention of men,
in the present state of society, that
of marriage is the most important.
The few pages which this lady be-
stows upon the reasons of her choice
are the most curious and instructive
of the whole performance, and ex-
hibit a mind of the highest order.
We shall conclude our remarks
with quoting her own relation.

“On M. Roland's return, I found my-
self in possession of a friend. His gra-
vity and his studious habits concurred
in making me consider him as a person
of no sex, or rather as a philosopher,
who had only a mental existence. A
kind of confidence grew up between us;
the pleasure he took in my company
making him feel a desire of coming more
frequently. It was near five years since
my acquaintance with him began, when
he first made a declaration of his tender
sentiments. I did not hear it with in-
difference, because I esteemed him more
than any man I had yet seen; but I had
remarked that neither he nor his family
were altogether indifferent to worldly
considerations. I told him frankly that
I felt myself honoured by his addresses,
and that I should be happy to make him
a return for his affection; but that I did
not think he would find me a proper
match. I then disclosed to him, with-
out reserve, the state of my father's af-
fairs—he was a ruined man. By pre-
vailing on myself to ask him for an account
of my fortune, at the risk of incurring
his displeasure, I had saved five hundred
livres* a year, making, with my little
moveables, all that remained of the ap-
parent opulence in which I had been
brought up.

“My father was still in the vigour of

  * Ninety-two dollars and fifty cents.


―298―

life: his errors might lead him to con-
tract debts, which his inability to pay
might render disgraceful: he might
marry imprudently, and add to those
evils little beggars, who would bear my
name, &c. &c. I was too proud to ex-
pose myself to the malevolence of a fa-
mily, which might feel its consequence
hurt by the connection, or to the gene-
rosity of a husband who would find in
it a source of chagrin. I advised M.
Roland, as a third person might have
done, to give up all thoughts of me.
He persisted; I was moved; and con-
sented to his taking the necessary steps
with my father. But as he preferred
making his application in writing, it was
agreed that he should not send his letter
till his return to his usual place of resi-
dence. During the rest of his stay at
Paris I saw him every day; considered
him as the being with whom my future
fate was to be connected; and conceived
a real affection for his person. As soon
as he returned to Amiens he wrote to
my father, making known his wishes and
designs. My father thought the letter
dry: he did not like M. Roland's seve-
rity, and felt no inclination to have for
a son-in-law a man of rigid principles,
whose very looks would wear the appear-
ance of reproach. He answered in rude
and impertinent terms, and shewed me
the whole, when his letter was sent off.
I came to a resolution immediately. I
wrote to M. Roland, and told him the
event had justified my fears in respect to
my father; that I did not wish to be the
cause of his receiving farther affronts, and
that I begged him to abandon his design.
I made known to my father what his
conduct had induced me to do; and ad-
ded, he could not be surprized if I should,
in conseqence, seek a new situation, and
retire to a convent. But as I knew he
had several debts of an urgent nature,
I left him the share of plate that belong-
ed to me, to satisfy his creditors; hired
a little apartment in the convent of the
congregation, and there took up my
abode, with a firm resolution to regulate
my expenses by my income. I did so;
and curious particulars I should have to
relate of a situation in which I began to
avail myself of the resources of a strong
mind. I calculated my expenses to a
farthing, reserving a trifle for presents
to the persons who did the menial offices
about the house. Potatoes, rice, and
dry kidney-beans, dressed in a pot, with
a sprinkling of salt, and a small bit of

butter, varied my food, and were cook-
ed with little loss of time. I went out
twice a week; once to visit my aged re-
lations; and once to my father's, in or-
der to look over his linen, and take
away with me whatever stood in need
of mending. The rest of my time, shut
up under my roof of snow, as I used to
call it, (for I was lodged near the sky,
and it was in the winter) and refusing
to mix habitually with the boarders, I
applied to my studies; steeled my heart
against adversity; and, by deserving hap-
piness, avenged myself on fate, which
denied it me. Every evening the kind-
hearted Agatha came to pass an hour
with me, and accompanied the effusions
of her soul with the consolatory tears of
friendship. A few turns in the garden,
when every body was out of the way,
constituted my solitary walks. The re-
signation of a patient temper, the quiet
of a good conscience, the elevation of
spirit which sets misfortune at defiance,
the laborious habits that make the hours
pass so rapidly away, the delicate taste
of a sound mind finding, in the consci-
ousness of existence and its own value,
pleasures which the vulgar never know:
these were my riches. I was not always
free from melancholy; but even melan-
choly had its charms. Though I was
not happy, I had within me all the means
of being so; and had reason to be proud
of knowing how to do without what I
wanted in other respects.

“M. Roland, astonished and afflicted,
continued to write to me, like a man
constant in his affection, but offended at
my father's conduct. He came at the
expiration of five or six months, and felt
the flame of love revive on seeing me at
the grate, where I preserved an ap-
pearance of prosperity. He was desirous
of taking me out of my confinement, of-
fered me his hand again, and pressed me
to receive the nuptial benediction from
his brother the prior. I entered into a
deep deliberation concerning what I
ought to do. I could not help being sen-
sible, that a man under forty-five would
not have waited several months without
endeavouring to make me change my re-
solution; and I readily confess that my
sentiments were reduced, by that consi-
deration, to a state which admitted of no-
thing like illusion. I considered, on the
other hand, that his perseverance, the
fruit also of mature deliberation, proved
his sense of my merit; and since he had
overcome his repugnance to the disagree-

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able circumstances that might attend the
match, I was the more secure of retain-
ing his esteem, which I should not find
it difficult to justify. Besides, if matri-
mony was, as I thought, a rigorous tie,
a partnership, in which the woman ge-
nerally undertakes to provide for the hap-
piness of both parties, was it not better
to exert my faculties and my courage in
that honourable station, than in the for-
lorn and ascetic life I was leading in a
convent? Here I might state, at length,
the many prudent reflections, as I con-
ceive them to be, that guided me; and
yet I did not make all those that the cir-
cumstances might have warranted, but
which experience alone can suggest. I
became then the wife of a truly honest
man, who continued to love me the
more, the better he new me. Married
when my reason was matured, I met
with nothing that could disturb its seri-
ous course; and fulfilled my duties with
an ardour that was rather the effect of
enthusiasm than calculation. By study-
ing my partner's happiness, I perceived
something was wanting to my own.—I
have never ceased a moment to consider
my husband as one of the most estima-
ble men in existence; as a man to whom
I might be proud of belonging; but I
have often felt the disparity between us.
I have often felt the ascendancy of an
imperious temper, joined to that of
twenty years more than I could count,
rendered one of those advantages a great
deal too much. If we lived in solitude,
I had sometimes disagreeable hours to
pass: if me mixed with the world, I was
beloved by persons, some of whom ap-
peared likely to take too strong a hold of
my affections. I immersed myself in
study with my husband—another excess
by which I was a sufferer: I accustomed
him not to know how to do without me
at any time, or on any occasion what-

ever.”