Vain lamentations! Henceforth given over to my ill fortune, I was never again to find maternal consolation.
My father had a sister who was very unfortunate in her marriage; she left her husband and came to live with us. She and my mother could never get on; they detested each other, and were perpetually quarrelling.
Witnessing their disputes, my father sometimes took the part of one, sometimes of the other; still more often he reproved both of them, and drew their anger upon himself. The arrival of my paternal grandmother, who, growing old, came to be with her son, led to fresh subjects for wrangling; and as they were all violent and passionate, our house was like a veritable hell upon earth.
These interminable quarrels were not caused, as might be supposed, by the cares attending poverty. Though my father’s post brought him in no more than a hundred francs a month, he had always plenty of money. He was well dressed, and often gave large dinners. He had abundance of provisions, and his cellar contained wines of the best kinds. He had a very pretty house and a splendid garden.
But these advantages were far from making up to me for my annoyances, or from doing away with the mortal weariness I felt in the bosom of my family.
I bewailed my fate unceasingly; I felt humiliated by my circumstances; I envied the ladies who possessed many servants, beautiful mansions, fine equipages, and most of all those who were received at Court.
These lofty aspirations were always with me; they were so deeply graven on my mind, so natural to me after a fashion, that I should have liked always to live with the great, and felt myself grievously hurt when I was obliged to keep company with common people.
I had, too, a decided taste for the fine arts; I had a passion for antiquities, and I do not doubt that I should have made great progress if my talents had been cultivated.
However, from the age of seven I was given lessons in writing, dancing, music, etc.