george sand-第9章

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rge　Sand's　individualism。

Aurore　Dudevant　arrived　in　Paris　the　first　week　of　the　year　1831。　　The　woman　who　was　rebellious　to　marriage　was　now　in　a　city　which　had　just　had　a　revolution。

The　extraordinary　effervescence　of　Paris　in　1831　can　readily　be　imagined。　　There　was　tempest　in　the　air；　and　this　tempest　was　bound　to　break　out　here　or　there；　either　immediately　or　in　the　near　future；　in　an　insurrection。　　Every　one　was　feverishly　anxious　to　destroy　everything；　in　order　to　create　all　things　anew。　　In　everything；　in　art；　ideas　and　even　in　costume；　there　was　the　same　explosion　of　indiscipline；　the　same　triumph　of　capriciousness。　　Every　day　some　fresh　system　of　government　was　born；　some　new　method　of　philosophy；　an　infallible　receipt　for　bringing　about　universal　happiness；　an　unheard…of　idea　for　manufacturing　masterpieces；　some　invention　for　dressing　up　and　having　a　perpetual　carnival　in　the　streets。　　The　insurrection　was　permanent　and　masquerade　a　normal　state。　　Besides　all　this；　there　was　a　magnificent　burst　of　youth　and　genius。　　Victor　Hugo；　proud　of　having　fought　the　battle　of　_Hernani_；　was　then　thinking　of　_Notre…Dame_　and　climbing　up　to　it。　　Musset　had　just　given　his　_Contes　d'Espagne　el　d'Italie_。　Stendhal　had　published　_Le　Rouge　et　le　Noir_；　and　Balzac　_La　Peau　de　Chagrin_。　　The　painters　of　the　day　were　Delacroix　and　Delaroche。　　Paganini　was　about　to　give　his　first　concert　at　the　Opera。　　Such　was　Paris　in　all　its　impatience　and　impertinence；　in　its　confusion　and　its　splendour　immediately　after　the　Revolution。

The　young　wife；　who　had　snapped　her　bonds　asunder；　breathed　voluptuously　in　this　atmosphere。　　She　was　like　a　provincial　woman　enjoying　Paris　to　the　full。　　She　belonged　to　the　romantic　school；　and　was　imbued　with　the　principle　that　an　artist　must　see　everything；　know　everything；　and　have　experienced　himself　all　that　he　puts　into　his　books。　　She　found　a　little　group　of　her　friends　from　Berry　in　Paris；　among　others　Felix　Pyat；　Charles　Duvernet；　Alphonse　Fleury；　Sandeau　and　de　Latouche。　　This　was　the　band　she　frequented；　young　men　apprenticed　either　to　literature；　the　law；　or　medicine。　　With　them　she　lived　a　student's　life。　　In　order　to　facilitate　her　various　evolutions；　she　adopted　masculine　dress。　　In　her　_Histoite　de　ma　vie_　she　says：　　〃Fashion　helped　me　in　my　disguise；　for　men　were　wearing　long；　square　frock…coats　styled　a　_la　proprietaire_。　　They　came　down　to　the　heels；　and　fitted　the　figure　so　little　that　my　brother；　when　putting　his　on；　said　to　me　one　day　at　Nohant：　　‘It　is　a　nice　cut；　isn't　it？　　The　tailor　takes　his　measures　from　a　sentry…box；　and　the　coat　then　fits　a　whole　regiment。'　　I　had　‘a　sentry…box　coat'　made；　of　rough　grey　cloth；　with　trousers　and　waistcoat　to　match。　　With　a　grey　hat　and　a　huge　cravat　of　woollen　material；　I　looked　exactly　like　a　first…year　student。　。　。　。〃

Dressed　in　this　style；　she　explored　the　streets；　museums；　cathedrals；　libraries；　painters'　studios；　clubs　and　theatres。　　She　heard　Frederick　Lemaitre　one　day；　and　the　next　day　Malibran。　　One　evening　it　was　one　of　Dumas'　pieces；　and　the　next　night　_Moise_　at　the　Opera。　　She　took　her　meals　at　a　little　restaurant；　and　she　lived　in　an　attic。　　She　was　not　even　sure　of　being　able　to　pay　her　tailor；　so　she　had　all　the　joys　possible。　　〃Ah；　how　delightful；　to　live　an　artist's　life！　　Our　device　is　liberty！〃　she　wrote。＇6＇　She　lived　in　a　perpetual　state　of　delight；　and；　in　February；　wrote　to　her　son　Maurice　as　follows：　　〃Every　one　is　at　loggerheads；　we　are　crushed　to　death　in　the　streets；　the　churches　are　being　destroyed；　and　we　hear　the　drum　being　beaten　all　night。〃＇7＇　In　March　she　wrote　to　Charles　Duvernet：　　〃Do　you　know　that　fine　things　are　happening　here？　　It　really　is　amusing　to　see。　　We　are　living　just　as　gaily　among　bayonets　and　riots　as　if　everything　were　at　peace。　　All　this　amuses　me。〃＇8＇


＇6＇　_Correspondance_：　　To　Boucoiran；　March　4；　1831。　　＇7＇　_Ibid_。　　To　Maurice　Dudevant；　February　15；　I831。　　＇8＇　_Ibid_。　　To　Charles　Duvernet；　March　6；　1831。


She　was　amused　at　everything　and　she　enjoyed　everything。　　With　her　keen　sensitiveness；　she　revelled　in　the　charm　of　Paris；　and　she　thoroughly　appreciated　its　scenery。

〃Paris；〃　she　wrote；　〃with　its　vaporous　evenings；　its　pink　clouds　above　the　roofs；　and　the　beautiful　willows　of　such　a　delicate　green　around　the　bronze　statue　of　our　old　Henry；　and　then；　too；　the　dear　little　slate…coloured　pigeons　that　make　their　nests　in　the　old　masks　of　the　Pont　Neuf　。　。　。〃＇9＇


＇9＇　Unpublished　letters　of　Dr。　Emile　Regnault。


She　loved　the　Paris　sky；　so　strange…looking；　so　rich　in　colouring；　so　variable。＇10＇


＇10＇　_Ibid_。


She　became　unjust　with　regard　to　Berry。　　〃As　for　that　part　of　the　world　which　I　used　to　love　so　dearly　and　where　I　used　to　dream　my　dreams；〃　she　wrote；　〃I　was　there　at　the　age　of　fifteen；　when　I　was　very　foolish；　and　at　the　age　of　seventeen；　when　I　was　dreamy　and　disturbed　in　my　mind。　　It　has　lost　its　charm　for　me　now。〃＇11＇


＇11＇　_Ibid_。


She　loved　it　again　later　on；　certainly；　but　just　at　this　time　she　was　over…excited　with　the　joy　of　her　newly…found　liberty。　　It　was　that　really　which　made　her　so　joyful　and　which　intoxicated　her。　　〃I　do　not　want　society；　excitement；　theatres；　or　dress；　what　I　want　is　freedom；〃　she　wrote　to　her　mother。　　In　another　letter　she　says：　　〃I　am　absolutely　independent。　　I　go　to　La　Chatre；　to　Rome。　　I　start　out　at　ten　o'clock　or　at　midnight。　　I　please　myself　entirely　in　all　this。〃＇12＇


＇12＇　_Correspondance_：　　To　her　mother；　May　31；　1831。


She　was　free；　and　she　fancied　she　was　happy。　　Her　happiness　at　that　epoch　meant　Jules　Sandeau。

In　a　letter；　written　in　the　humoristic　style　in　which　she　delighted；　she　gives　us　portraits　of　some　of　her　comrades　of　that　time。　　She　tells　us　of　Duvernet；　of　Alphonse　Fleury；　surnamed　〃the　Gaulois；〃　and　of　Sandeau。

〃Oh；　fair…haired　Charles！〃　she　writes；　〃young　man　of　melancholy　thoughts；　with　a　character　as　gloomy　as　a　stormy　day。　。　。　。　　　And　you；　gigantic　Fleury；　with　your　immense　hands　and　your　alarming　beard。　。　。　。　　And　you；　dear　Sandeau；　agreeable　and　light；　like　the　humming　bird　of　fragrant　savannahs！〃＇13＇


＇13＇　_Correspondance_：　　December　1；　1830。


The　〃dear　Sandeau；　agreeable　and　light；　like　the　humming　bird　of　fragrant　savannahs；〃　was　to　be　Baronne　Dudevant's　Latin　Quarter　_liaison_。　　Her　biographers　usually　pass　over　this　_liaison_　quickly；　as　information　about　it　was　not　forthcoming。　　Important　documents　exist；　though；　in　the　form　of　fifty　letters　written　by　George　Sand　to　Dr。　Emile　Regnault；　then　a　medical　student　and　the　intimate　friend　and　confidant　of　Jules　Sandeau；　who　kept　nothing　back　from　him。　　His　son；　Dr。　Paul　Regnault；　has　kindly　allowed　me　to　see　this　correspondence　and　to　reproduce　some　fragments　of　it。　　It　is　extremely　curious；　by　turn　lyrical　and　playful；　full　of　effusions；　ideas；　plans　of　work；　impressions　of　nature；　and　confidences　about　her　love　affairs。　　Taken　altogether　it　reflects；　as　nearly　as　possible；　the　state　of　the　young　woman's　mind　at　this　time。

The　first　letter　is　dated　April；　1831。　　George　Sand　had　left　Paris　for　Nohant；　and　is　anxiously　wondering　how　her　poor　Jules　has　passed　this　wretched　day；　and　how　he　will　go　back　to　the　room　from　which　she　had　torn　herself　with　such　difficulty　that　morning。　　In　her　letter　she　gives　utterance　to　the　gratitude　she　owes　to　the　young　man　who　has　reconciled　her　once　more　to　life。　　〃My　soul；〃　she　says；　〃eager　itself　for　affection；　needed　to　inspire　this　in　a　heart　capable　of　understanding　me　thoroughly；　with　all　my　faults　and　qualities。　　A　fervent　soul　was　necessary　for　loving　me　in　the　way　that　I　could　love；　and　for　consoling　me　after　all　the　ingratitude　which　had　made　my　earlier　life　so　desolate。　　And　although　I　am　now　old；　I　have　found　a　heart　as　young　as　my　own；　a　lifelong　affection　which　nothing　can　discourage　and　which　grows　stronger　every　day。　　Jules　has　taught　me　to　care　once　more　for　this　existence；　of　which　I　was　so　weary；　and　which　I　only　endured　for　the　sake　of　my　children。　　I　was　disgusted　beforehand　with　the　future；　but　it　now　seems　more　beautiful　to　me；　full　as　it　appears　to　me　of　him；　of　his　work；　his　success；　and　of　his　upright；　modest　conduct。　。　。　。　　Oh；　if　you　only　knew　how　I　love　him！　。　。　。　。〃