CHAPTER IV.

LOVE, AND LOVE OF THE IDEAL. (1789-1791.)

THE principal characteristic of this time was in the parties springing from two faiths-two opposing faiths, the devout and royal idolatry, and the republican ideality. In the one, the mind, excited by the sentiment of pity, threw itself violently into the past, attached itself to human idols, to material gods which it had almost forgotten. In the other, the soul is prepared and exalted for the culture of pure ideas; no more idols, no other object of religion than the ideal, country, and liberty.

Women, less spoiled by sophistry and scholastic habits, distanced men in these two faiths. It was a noble and touching thing to see amongst them, not only the pure, the irreproachable, but even those less worthy, following a noble movement towards a grand disinterestedness, making

their country their dearest friend, and for their lover, eternal right.

Did customs change at that time? No, love had taken its flight towards the higher thoughts. Their country, its liberty, love for mankind, had entered the hearts of women. If the virtue of Rome did not evince itself in manners, it did in the imagination, in the soul, and in noble desires. They look around for the heroes of Plutarch; and they have succeeded. To talk of Rousseau and Mably does not satisfy them. Ardent and sincere, adopting all ideas seriously, they would wish words to become acts. They have always loved determination. They compare modern man to the ideal of ancient strength, whose spirit they have before them. Nothing, perhaps, has more contributed than this comparison, this claim of women, to hasten men to precipitate the rapid course of our revolution.

This society was excitable! In approaching it, it seems as if a heated air fanned our faces.

We have seen, in our day, great acts, immense sacrifices, crowds of men who have yielded up their lives; and, notwithstanding, every time that I withdraw from the present and return to the

past, to the history of the Revolution, I find more ardor; the temperature is entirely different! What! can the world have frozen since that time?

Men of the present age have told me the difference, but I have not understood it. In time, in proportion as I studied the detail, dwelling not only on the mechanical legislative body, but on the movements of parties, not only on the parties but on the men, the people, and the biographies of individuals, then I commenced to understand the representation of the old men.

The difference of the times may be summed up in one word-they loved.

Interest, ambition, the universal passions of men, were in play as they are at this time, but the most powerful passion was and is still that of love. Take this word in all its meaning, love for the ideal, love for woman, love of country and mankind. They loved both transient and lasting beauty; two ideas united, as gold and bronze in Corinthian brass.*

* In proportion as one enters into a more serious analysis of the history of these times, is discovered the often secret but immense influence that the heart has had in the destiny of man,

Women reigned in 1791 by feeling, passion, and the superiority also, it must be confessed, of their position as leaders. Never, either before or afterwards, have they ever had so much influence. In the eighteenth century, under the encyclopedists, mind had ruled society; later, it was action, a murderous and terrible action. In 1791, feelings had the mastery, and, in consequence, wo

men.

The heart of France beat strongly at this epoch. The emotions, since Rousseau, had been strengthened. At first sentimental and dreaming, an age of anxious expectation, like the hour before a storm, like a young heart filled with an indistinct love before the lover. A tornado in 1789, and every heart beats; then in 1790, the confederation, brotherhoods, and tears; in 1791, the crisis, the debate, the excited discussion. But women were everywhere, and everywhere the mingling of individual with public feeling; the drama of private and social life was joined; under one bond

whatever may have been his character. Not one of them was an exception, from Necker to Robespierre. This reflecting generation gave ideas, but the affections governed it with as much power.

of union the two threads were interwoven. Alas! suddenly they will be cut asunder!

An English story was circulated which increased still more in the French the spirit of emulation. Mrs. Macaulay, the eminent historian of the Stuarts, had inspired the old minister, Williams, with so much admiration for her genius and virtue, that, even in a church, he had consecrated a marble statue of her as the Goddess of Liberty.

There were few literary women who did not dream of being the Macaulay of France. The inspiring goddess was found in every saloon. They dictated, corrected, and remodelled the discourses which, the next day, would be pronounced to the clubs and National Assembly. They followed these discourses, went to hear them pronounced at the tribunes; they were seated as arbitrators, and sustained by their presence the weak or timid orator. Let us arise and look around. We see the delicate smile of Madame de Genlis, between her fascinating daughters, the princess and Pamela. That black eye, so full of life—is not that Madame de Stael? How could eloquence fail, or courage be wanting, in the presence of Madame Roland?