strong light upon the
modest little salon in which the unfortunate Girondists met four times a
week to discuss the grave problems that confronted them. A salon in the
old sense it certainly was not. It had little in common with the famous
centers of conversation and esprit. It was simply the rallying point of
a party. The only woman present was Mme. Roland herself, but at first
she assumed no active leadership. She sat at a little table outside
of the circle, working with her needle, or writing letters, alive to
everything that was said, venturing sometimes a word of counsel or
a thoughtful suggestion, and often biting her lips to repress some
criticism that she feared might not be within her province. She had
left her quiet home in the country fired with a single thought--the
regeneration of France. The men who gathered about her were in full
accord with her generous aims. It was not to such enthusiasms that the
old salons lost themselves. They had been often the centers of political
intrigues, as in the days of the Fronde; or of religious partisanship,
as during the troubles of Port Royal; they had ranged themselves for and
against rival candidates for literary or artistic honors; but they had
preserved, on the whole, a certain cosmopolitan character. All shades of
opinion were represented, and social brilliancy was the end sought, not
the triumph of special ideas. It is indeed true that earnest
convictions were, to some extent, stifled in the salons, where charm
and intelligence counted for so much, and the sterling qualities of
character for so little. But the etiquette, the urbanity, the measure,
which assured the outward harmony of a society that courted distinction
of every kind, were quite foreign to the iconoclasts who were bent
upon leveling all distinctions. The Revolution which attacked the whole
superstructure of society, was antagonistic to its minor forms as well,
and it was the revolutionary party alone which was represented in the
salon of Mme. Roland. Brissot, Vergniaud, Petion, Guadet, and Buzot were
leaders there--men sincere and ardent, though misguided, and unable to
cope with the storm they had raised, to be themselves swept away by
its pitiless rage. Robespierre, scheming and ambitious, came there,
listened, said little, appropriated for his own ends, and bided his
time. Mme. Roland had small taste for the light play of intellect and
wit that has no outcome beyond the meteoric display of the momen