She and he; Lavinia; Memoir

by George Sand

During these first struggles in the literary path, Madame Dudevant's letters to her son and his tutor manifest her constant anxiety as to the welfare of those she had left behind, and of her longing for the time when, in accordance with her arrangements with Monsieur Dudevant, she could be with her children again. There is no touch of pride or vainglory in her naïve confessions, nor does she claim for herself any but an amateur's position in the world of letters. She writes to Monsieur Duvernet: "I nevertheless long to go back to Berry; for my children are dearer than all else. But for the hope of some day being more useful to them with the pen of the scribe than with the needle of the housewife, I should not be away from them so long. In spite, however, of the innumerable difficulties I encounter, I am resolved to take the first steps in this thorny career."

Soon after the appearance of the articles in the Figaro, the two fellow-provincials produced a novel entitled Rose et Blanche, ou la Comédienne et la Religieuse (Rose and Blanche, or the Actress and the Nun), which, through the good offices of Monsieur de Latouche, the director of the Figaro, also a native of Berry, to whom Madame Dudevant had been recommended by the Duvernets of La Châtre, realized four hundred francs. A difficulty arose touching the name of the author, which must be published with the work. Sandeau was in a quandary, for he risked incurring the reprobation of his relatives, who were averse to his entering upon literature to the prejudice of his law studies, should his name appear; while Madame Dudevant dreaded a scandal, if she were named as the author. As a result, a compromise was effected, and the book appeared as the work of Jules Sand.

The freedom required by Madame Dudevant in her new profession she soon found was greatly hampered by her sex; it was almost indispensable to visit many places from which women were generally barred; consequently, she adopted male attire, apparently at the suggestion of Madame Dupin, to whom such disguise was not infrequent in the course of her travels with her husband. For this shocking procedure she has been unnecessarily condemned; but her own explanation of the causes, and its advantages, seem to justify the singular course. Madame Dudevant was a singular woman; moreover, she found herself shackled in the execution of her new-found aims. The obstacles had to be overcome, and without fuss or parade she brushed the difficulty aside by the most direct means available. Under her disguise, she was free to enter cafés, theatres, lounge about the boulevard, visit picture-galleries, come and go at all hours, attended or otherwise—in a word, mix with all sorts and conditions, to gather the raw material which her rare skill enabled her to spin into such charming and provoking articles as she was at the time writing. But hardly had Madame Dudevant made her début as a journalist, when she found herself within measurable distance of La Force (a prison to which political offenders were consigned), in consequence of an article in the Figaro; for on March 9, 1831, she says in a letter to Monsieur Boucoiran: "You must know that I began with a scandal, a tilt at the National Guards. The issue of the Figaro of the day before yesterday was pounced upon by the police. I was making my preparations to spend six months at La Force, for I had decided that I would shoulder the responsibility for my article. Monsieur Vivien, however, foresaw how ridiculous such a prosecution would be, and caused the proceedings to be abandoned. All the worse for me! My reputation and fortune might have been made by a political conviction."

While the choice of literature as a career seems not to have aroused any opposition on the part of her own kin, the case was different as to her husband's. Baroness Dudevant dreaded the possibility of the name she bore appearing in printed books; but such a circumstance was not contemplated, and the baroness's dignity was saved.

The success of Rose et Blanche, in spite of its defects, was such as to pave the way for further novels. It was arranged between its joint authors that a new novel, entitled Indiana, should be prepared by them. On Madame Dudevant's return to Nohant for three months, she set about her part, and on reaching Paris in July, 1831, she called upon Sandeau, to submit her contribution; her collaborator had not even written a line of his share. Reading her work, he deemed it a masterpiece, and, notwithstanding the objections of Madame Dudevant, insisted on its publication as her sole production. A new difficulty here presented itself, but at the suggestion of Monsieur de Latouche it was solved by the use of their common literary name Sand, with the prefix George. This incident gave to the world the name which was soon to acquire such fame. Henceforward we shall speak of Madame Dudevant as George Sand.

During her early struggles in Paris, the mother and friend is never lost in the enthusiastic and impulsive writer; her letters to her son, to his tutor, and to other friends, present a very intelligible reflex of her mind. She is not to be turned back because she does not meet with success at once. A close observer of all that is going on about her, she is a lively critic, and an equally enthusiastic supporter; she finds enjoyment anywhere "where hatred, suspicion, injustice, and bitterness do not poison the atmosphere." Her children's welfare is the burden of her mind. Her letters are full of tenderness and a complete entering into their joys and pleasures, and are charged with wise and interesting counsel.

With the publication of Indiana, George Sand's renown was established. In a letter to Monsieur Duvernet, written July 6, 1832, she says: "The success of Indiana makes me feel nervous. I never looked for anything like it; but hoped that I might labor without attracting notice, or deserving attention. But the Fates have willed otherwise. It is my part to justify the unmerited favor shown to me." While the authorship of this book was an enigma to many critics, the public seized on the work with avidity. Its success was beyond all cavil. People recognized in it a master hand tracing a new path in romance-writing. We are forbidden by George Sand to consider the book as a romance history of herself, for she always protested against her works being interpreted as autobiographical; still, we might almost say that Indiana came into the world ready-made. Its conception at least was, as it were, the burden of her musings in the quiet hours at Nohant. Her ideal was formed of a loving, tender woman, a woman with a heart that beat only for chaste and profound love, love controlling all, pure in itself, and believing all else to be pure. Unquestionably, the work was the spontaneous outburst of the long-indulged dreams of the disappointed woman. All the accessories to her central idea were not far to seek, and her marvellous imaginative power and poetic fancy sufficed to clothe her ideas with an artistic mantle that would obscure the individuality. Of course, Colonel Delmare is not Maurice Dudevant. Nor is Ralph found in the life about her: he is the creature of her idea.

With the success of Indiana, George Sand found publishers seeking her work, both the Revue de Paris and the Revue des Deux Mondes engaging her services. The irritation of compulsion to work was now largely removed; even in the early part of February, 1832, she writes to her mother: "I can now take it quietly, without worrying myself. If I sometimes work by night, it is simply because I cannot leave a thing half finished." On her return to Paris in April of the same year, she was accompanied by her little daughter, Solange, who was then between three and four years old, and the mother's letters to her son tell of the doings of his little sister, and show how good is the distraction thus afforded to the mother. The visits to the Luxembourg, the Jardin des Plantes, the circus, all the little talk that could please and comfort her boy, the fond mother pours out in child-like, easy prattle that bespeaks her entire sympathy with her children.

Again at Nohant for the summer, George Sand applied herself strenuously to the composition of Valentine; so closely, indeed, that, if she is to be taken seriously as to a letter written in August, 1832, she was rather weary of her work. At any rate, its early issue was marked by so brilliant a success, that the labor and weariness of her task may well have been forgotten. This book, like its predecessor, was severely criticised by those who saw in it an outspoken challenge to recognized social decrees. With what wealth of poetry, what beauty of imagery, and what force, is told the story of a girl sacrificed by a marriage of expediency! The crime is not the author's; she strikes at the system which destroys a pure heart and substitutes misery and shame for happiness and dignity. The author would trace the fault, to have it remedied.

Though the subject of Valentine is, like that of Indiana, unhappy marriage, the former, in arrangement, plan, and style, gave further convincing evidence of the author's artistic skill and promise of rich literary treasures of diverse and widely varying style and conception. Valentine, the heroine, has been brought up according to the prejudices and decrees of the aristocratic class. She marries in accordance with the dictates of her family. Her heart is not involved; she is passive in the matter. Later, the abandonment she suffers, and the passion of her own soul, lead her into a false position, of which the man who is entitled to call her his wife takes advantage. The climax is dishonor, death.