AURORE DUPIN (DUDEVANT).
(George Sand.)
Aurore Dupin was born in Paris, July 5, 1804. Her father, Maurice Dupin de Franceuil, was the son of an illegitimate daughter of Marshal Saxe. His wife, Sophie Delaborde, was “a child of the people.” The death of Captain Dupin, in 1808, left little Aurore “a bone of contention” between her plebeian mother and her patrician grandmother. Most of her youth was passed with the latter, at Nohant, in Berri. Her education was irregularly carried on under an old tutor named Deschatres. At thirteen, she was sent to the Convent des Anglaises, at Paris. Here a strong religious enthusiasm took possession of her; and she desired to become a nun. But, her grandmother having removed her from the convent, her lonely study of the works of philosophers and metaphysicians wrought a change, and she “became a Protestant without knowing it.” In 1821 the grandmother died. Aurore lived unhappily with her mother, a woman of violent temper (to whom she was nevertheless deeply attached), and this fact may have influenced her in accepting the hand of M. Casimir Dudevant, to whom she was married in 1822. The disparity in age was not great, M. Dudevant being twenty-seven; but the marriage proved a most uncongenial one. In 1823, Aurore’s beloved son, Maurice, was born; in 1828, her daughter, Solange. In 1831 she made an arrangement with her husband by which she was free to spend every alternate three months, in Paris, working with her pen. He allowed her 3,000 francs a year. The education of the children was carefully provided for in their compact. And now Aurore’s career really began. In 1832 she published, under the pseudonym, “George Sand,” her first novel, Indiana. This created a sensation and established her fame. It was followed during her long life by Valentine, 1832,[3] Lélia, 1833, Jacques, 1834, Le Secrétaire intime, 1834, André, 1835, Leone Leoni, 1835, Simon, 1836, Mauprat, 1837, La Dernière Aldini, 1837, Les Maîtres Mosaïstes, 1837, Spiridion, 1840, Le Compagnon du Tour de France, 1840, Horace, 1842, Consuelo, 1842-1843, La Comtesse de Rudolstadt, 1843-4, Jeanne, 1844, Le Meunier d’ Angibault, 1845, La Mare au Diable, 1846, La Péché d’ M. Antoine, 1847, Lucrezia Floriani, 1847, La Petite Fadette, 1849, François le Champi, 1850, Le Château des Désertes, 1851, Les Maîtres Sonneurs, 1853, Les Beaux Messieurs de Bois Doré, 1858, Elle et Lui, 1859, L’ Homme de Neige, 1859, Constance Verrier, 1860, Jean de la Roche, 1860, Le Marquis de Villemer, 1861, Valvèdre, 1861, La Ville Noire, 1861, Mlle. La Quintinie, 1863, La Confession d’ une Jeune Fille, 1865, Cadio, 1868, Malgré tout, 1870, Pierre qui roule, 1870, Nanon, 1872, Contes d’ une Grand’ mère, 1873, and numerous other novels and tales; Cosima, 1840, Claudie, 1851, Le Mariage de Victorine, 1851, Le Pressoir, 1853, Maître Favilla, 1855, and other plays; Letters d’ un Voyageur (written 1834-6), Un Hiver à Majorque, 1842, Histoire de ma Vie, 1854-5, Journal d’ un Voyageur pendant le Siège, 1872, Impressions et Souvenirs, 1873, and other records of experience.
In 1836, M. and Mme. Dudevant finally separated, and the latter was known henceforward as Mme. Sand. She had from this time full control of her children, to whom she was devoted. Her intimacy with Alfred de Musset, broken off after their journey to Italy, in 1834, is well known and variously commented upon. Chopin was also her ardent admirer.
She took to the end a deep interest in public affairs. The last years of her life were passed quietly at Nohant, where she died, June 8, 1876.
The brief remarks on George Sand, by Charlotte Brontë and Mrs. Browning, have interest, as the words of sister authors who (as well as George Eliot), are sometimes classed with her.
“The immense vibration of George Sand’s voice upon the ear of Europe,” says Mr. Arnold, “will not soon die away. Her passions and her errors have been abundantly talked of. She left them behind her, and men’s memory of her will leave them behind also. There will remain of her to mankind the sense of benefit and stimulus from the passage upon earth of that large and frank nature, of that large and pure utterance.... There will remain an admiring and ever-widening report of that great and ingenuous soul, simple, affectionate, without vanity, without pedantry, human, equitable, patient, kind.”
Reminiscences of her childhood.
While I was yet very young, my mother commenced the cultivation of my intellectual faculties; my mind was neither particularly sluggish nor particularly active; left to itself it might have developed but slowly. I was rather backward in talking, but having once begun to speak I learned words very rapidly, and, when but four years old, I could read fluently. I was brought up with my cousin Clotilde. Our respective mothers taught us our prayers, and I recollect that I used to repeat mine by heart without a mistake, and also without having any idea of their meaning, except as regards the following words, which we were made to repeat when our little heads were laid upon the same pillow: “Mon Dieu, je vous donne mon cœur!” (My God, I give my heart to Thee!) I do not know why I understood those words better than the rest, for they are highly metaphysical; but certainly I did understand them, and it was the only part of my prayers that conveyed to me any idea either of God or myself....