thor 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 t