In the cells of Valdemosa, an old and deserted Carthusian monastery, situated in a wild and noble landscape, George Sand found poetic surroundings and associations that were so congenial that she says: "Had I written there that part ofLéliawhich has a monastery for its scene, I should have produced a finer and more real picture." The occupation of rooms in this lonely old retreat was perhaps the only pleasurable feature of the stay in Majorca. It was here thatSpiridionwas finished: a tale of a young monk who is filled with the fervor of divine love, but who later strays from his simple faith as the result of the agitations and doubts which philosophic teachings impart. This book probably reflects the experience of the author, more particularly that of her exaltation at the convent, and it also portrays her own spiritual conflicts and the calm of a sincere, broad faith that rises above dogma and rests secure in the divine love. After a short stay at Marseilles and a trip to Italy, George Sand returned to her home at Nohant.
We have now approached a period when Madame Sand's literary work was to show a change from the subjective lyricism of her previous works, which are the voice of her long-repressed early emotions, to a series of works in which she drew her inspiration largely from the religious, philosophic, and socialistic doctrines that her impressionable mind had espoused as expounding the true principles by which society and the individual should govern themselves. But, in yielding her art to the services of the reformers, George Sand had little thought for aught but the goodness of the principles, as they appeared to her, or, at any rate, had not taken measure of the practical difficulties within the circle of the reformers and those which passive resistance on the part of the great masses offered.
Before, however, the first of her books of the quasi-philosophical style appeared, our author made an essay as a playwright, andCosima, a drama in five acts, was produced at the Théâtre Français. It was received with hisses and hooting.—George Sand writes of it, on May 1, 1840: "The whole audience condemned the play as being immoral, and I am not sure that the Government will not prohibit it.... It was played through, being much attacked by some, and equally defended by others, ... and I will not alter a single word for the subsequent representations." The scene was laid in Florence, and the period was the Middle Ages, both time and place being unsuited to the wholly French sentiment of the play.
Madame Sand had for some time been a regular contributor to theRevue des Deux Mondes, but the novelHorace, written for its pages, was rejected by the editor as being of subversive tendencies; it was, therefore, published in theRevue Indépendante, a very advanced journal founded in 1840 by Pierre Leroux and Louis Viardot, to which George Sand gave her coöperation. This work portrays in its study of the titular character a sort of moral mountebank; the analysis is very clever and interesting of the weak, selfish man who for a time imposes with his claims for distinction, but who appears in his true light at last. Next came theCompagnon du Tour de France, in which socialist doctrines are the animating spirit. Though the freedom of the author's fancy clothes the subject and the characters with great interest and portrays many charming situations, yet there is a strained and not seldom unwelcome contrast presented by the necessity of keeping the individuals in line with the political purpose of the novel. Speaking of her writing, about this time, George Sand says: "Happily, I do not need to seek ideas; they are clearly fixed in my brain. I have no longer to struggle with doubts; these vanished like clouds in the light of conviction. I no longer have to examine my sentiments; their voice sounds aloud from the depths of my heart, and puts to silence all hesitation, literary pride, and fear of ridicule. So much has philosophy done for me."
In 1842, the beginning ofConsueloappeared in theRevue Indépendante, and its opening was so auspicious that the scope originally planned was considerably enlarged. The author tells us that she felt she had before her a grand subject and powerful types of character, with time, place, and historic incidents of deep interest, in great profusion awaiting the explorer. The heroine of the work is a lovely portraiture: lofty in mind, noble in heart, and chaste in thought.Consuelomust ever remain one of George Sand's finest creations. The work abounds in interesting situations; the exuberant fancy and poetic spirit of the author find full play in a series of marvellous and fascinating adventures; and the characters are portrayed with subtle skill and vigor. Nor can the prolixity and gloomy meditations of Comte Albert check the reader's interest. The meeting of Consuelo and Haydn and the wonderful musical performances of these wayfarers present lovely and by no means impossible pictures. The influence of George Sand's friendship with Liszt, who stayed at Nohant during the summer of 1837, and with Chopin, with whom she was on equally close terms, is seen in this work. TheComtesse de Rudolstadtis perhaps less likely to arouse enthusiasm and sustained interest; Consuelo has become the Comtesse de Rudolstadt, and with the change not a little of the charm disappears in the mystifying allegory and humanitarian theories which obscure the artist's poetic fancy and brilliant description. This work likewise appeared in theRevue Indépendante, in 1843.
In 1845, George Sand wrote theMeunier d'Angibault, a work also written under the influence of Leroux's teachings. The socialist idea is presented in the person of an artisan, Lémor, who refuses to marry a rich widow because she is rich, and, consequently, such a union would do violence to his principles. Finally, a fire destroys the widow's château, and she rejoices at her deprivation, inasmuch as she is now no longer separated by the possession of her property from the man who adores her. While this and similar works created for their author much enmity, their characters presented nothing but virtuous, if unrealizable, ideas. Following this, in 1846, appearedLa Mare au Diable, an exquisite idyl, a gem of rural poetry. We can well imagine with what delight George Sand penned this touching and beautiful poem. The construction is of the simplest form. A ploughman, a widower, is about to seek a wife, as a prudential step; he undertakes the charge of a young peasant girl who is going to fill a place as shepherdess a few miles from her home. The way is lost, and they camp for the night under great oaks. Here, Marie chats till overcome by sleep, but Germain indulges in dreams which result in cooling his interest in his proposed marriage venture. The rest is easily understood; Germain and Marie become husband and wife. The incidents are all natural and the dénouement quite expected. The reader cannot forget the charming story.
During the years since her final arrangement with Monsieur Dudevant, the home life of George Sand had been one of tranquillity and ease. We find her generally at Nohant, enjoying the society of her chosen friends; an entertaining hostess, retiring in disposition, and giving of her means with a liberal hand to those in need about her; caring with the tenderest solicitude for the present happiness and future welfare of her children; despising glory, and devoting herself to her literary work with assiduity. In May, 1847, a domestic event of unusual importance transpired. Madame Sand's daughter, Solange, was married to Monsieur Clésinger, respecting which she writes to the famous Italian patriot, Mazzini: "I have just married my daughter, and, as I believe, satisfactorily, to an artist of great talent and purpose. My only ambition for the dear creature was that she should love and be loved in return; my wish is gratified."
In this same year,Lucrezia Florianiappeared. The titular heroine is a cantatrice of fame, which, however, she despises, and early in life she retires from the world. Her noble character, which her experiences had failed to mar, attracts the devoted attachment of a prince. His protestations lead Lucrezia to think that each will find in the other the happiness desired. But Prince Karol soon entertains jealous sentiments concerning events of the earlier years of Lucrezia's life. The misery consequent on the prince's despotism year by year crushes Lucrezia's life. The chief interest in this work is, perhaps, due to the persistent determination to read therein an attack on Chopin, whose long-continued friendship with George Sand was broken at this time. The evidences of such an attack certainly appear very unsubstantial, nor does it seem that the eminent composer himself recognized it, at least until he had been influenced to do so by others. She says of it herself that it is "entirely an analytical and meditative work." It is a masterful presentment of the inception, development, and destructive culmination of jealousy.
In 1847, also,Le Péché de Monsieur Antoineappeared, in which the sentiments of Michel, of Bourges, find expression, and we cannot but sympathize with the victims of the social and political systems that George Sand depicts with so much energy and denunciatory style. We miss, however, once more the spontaneous poetry, the vivid imagination, that are natural to the writer, or, rather, it would be more correct to say that the beauty of such is obscured by the dissertations that are essential to the corrective aims in view. This vein of literary wealth was happily interrupted byIl Piccinino, an engrossing novel of Sicilian life. A family, owing to secret enmity, has been obliged to seek refuge in Rome. After a time, the father and the daughter return to Sicily, leaving the son and brother in Rome to pursue his art study. The latter returns later, having been unable to make his way. He later sees Princesse Agathe Palmarosa, whose kindly attentions to him have a mysterious appearance, and he becomes deeply enamored of her. He finds a terrible rival in Il Piccinino, a bandit, but the power of the princess suffices to control the bandit, and it is discovered that the young painter is the son of the princess. The style of the work, with its romantic situations and fascinating adventures, and the strongly accented characters make it remarkable.
François le Champinext appeared, in the feuilleton of theJournal des Débats. It is a simple pastoral of Berry, a centre sacred to George Sand by her lifelong associations. She was familiar with every detail of the landscape about her. Every nook and corner was filled with eloquent voices that her ear understood. In this book she adopts the dialect of the province. Madelon, a childless wife, is moved to pity for the poor foundling, François; she supplies almost the place of a mother to him, while he returns her affection as a son. Later, however, this relation of love changes, and they become husband and wife. There is little of intricacy in this rustic poem, but it exactly suits the genius of the author. As to her choice of this dialect, it is not without interest to read her own views thereon, which are expressed in her letter to Mazzini of July 28, 1847: "I entertain great respect and liking for the language of the peasants; in my judgment, it is the more correct."
At this time, Madame Sand had undertaken to write theHistoire de ma Vie, the source of many details given in this notice; and as a commentary on the spirit of its author, we may quote some of her remarks: "Our own lives are a part of our environments, and we can never exonerate ourselves without being obliged to accuse somebody; sometimes our best friend. But it is my desire to avoid accusing or wounding anybody. That would be hateful to me, and I should suffer more than my victims." An event was approaching which threw into the shade theHistoireand all work in hand: the Revolution of 1848.
This was the hour when George Sand's fervent nature was to carry her into the vortex of politics, and for months the power of her energy was directed on a series ofLettres au PeupleandBulletins du Ministère de l'Intérieur. The spirit that animated her may be illustrated by her own words, written from Paris in March, 1848: "Situated as we now are, we must show not merely devotion and loyalty, but also, if required, fanaticism. We must rise above ourselves, forswear all weakness, and even brush aside our affections if they should run counter to the onward course of a power elected by the people." She is sincere in her convictions, fearless of the consequences of doing what she believes to be right, and always full of faith in the people. She both twits and tries to strengthen Lamartine and other leaders. But she is optimistic, for, before very long, she finds strange omens of the destruction of the Republic. Her letters during the stormy period of its existence are most interesting from a historical point of view, but it is unnecessary here to follow our author in her political career. Alternately hopeful and despairing in face ofententesand conspiracies, she continued her active interest and eloquent support to the Republic by her articles in theBulletin de la République, theCause du Peuple, and other journals. The excitements and disappointments of this period were the cause of many disillusionments, not, however, as to principle, but as to persons and methods. She bids adieu to politics, with a bruised heart. In a letter to Mazzini in September, 1850, she describes her feelings thus: "Hope has not revived in me, and I am not one to sing songs that do not spring from my soul.... I return to fiction.... I make popular types such as I no longer see, but such as they should and might be. In art, it is still feasible to substitute dreaming for reality; in politics, all poetry is a lie, which conscience rejects."
So, on the closing of her connection with politics, we find her at Nohant taking up her interrupted work and finishingFrançois le Champi, followed byLa Petite Fadette, in which her own genius shone forth with undimmed lustre. What interest she arouses in the reader in Fanchon and the twin brothers, and how graceful and alluring are the moral pictures she draws! We can fancy that the writing of these tales must have been a balm to the soul wearied by its struggles for a lost cause.
During a year previous to September, 1850, George Sand had been giving her attention once more to dramatic art, which, she writes: "Being novel to me, has restored me of late somewhat, and it is the only work to which I have been able to apply myself for an entire year." Her experience of the reception ofCosimain no way seems to have discouraged her. Indeed, we know that she expressed herself as satisfied.François le Champi, a pastoral comedy adapted from her novel of the same title, was produced in 1849 at the Odéon. Its success was genuine, and was followed byClaudie, in 1851, which was likewise received with public favor; their simple rural qualities were a novelty which was heartily appreciated. This period of labor was interrupted by the political situation in 1851, which had become turbulent: numberless arrests had been made; among others, of many of her oldest comrades and friends, and Madame Sand emerged from her retirement, not as a passionate writer, but as a pleader with President Louis Napoléon in behalf of the unfortunates involved, in which she was successful in a number of individual cases. The dramaMaître Favilla, produced at the Odéon, was also written at this period; it had been performed previously at the private theatre at Nohant, which had for years been one of the delightful pastimes of the home circle.
In the same year, she wroteLe Mariage de Victorine, a society comedy, which met with deserved success; and in 1852,Les Vacances de Pandolphe, a piece written, she says, "while anguish was gnawing my soul." In 1853, another drama appeared:Le Pressoir; it is a story of rural life, and, like its predecessors of the same kind, it enjoyed a very favorable reception. This series of excursions into bucolic scenes carried George Sand's popularity to the point of enthusiastic appreciation. The novelLes Maîtres Sonneurswas also written in 1853; it deals with rustic life of the century before, and is a delightful specimen of the author's imaginative work.
We must, however, pass over many of the minor works that go to make up the imperishable monument to the fame of this great writer. In 1855, theHistoire de ma Viewas published, which consists of a series of narratives of particular circumstances of her life rather than a close or connected autobiography. We have already seen that George Sand was constrained, in the preparation of this work, to sacrifice much to her sensitiveness on the score of others.
In the early part of this year, 1855, a great calamity befell Madame Sand. Her much-loved granddaughter, Jeanne Clésinger, to whom she was devoted, died; she of whom she writes, in December, 1852: "I have a charming little girl (my daughter's), on whom I bestow great care and much time." This event rendered her very despondent, and, not long after, she made a journey to Italy, which restored her health; for, she writes, she came back "cured." The impressions of this journey were embodied inLa Daniella, a novel that appeared shortly after. These impressions were not wholly pleasing, certainly not as to Rome, which, in a letter, George Sand describes as "horribly ugly and filthy."
But, despite her fancy for the drama, George Sand did not forsake romances; she soon produced some works of a semi-historic kind. Of these,Les Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doréwas published in 1857; it relates to the period of Louis XIII, and is a powerfully romantic work that appeals by its exciting incidents and rich descriptive quality. This was later dramatized and produced in 1862, and proved a great triumph for the author. Two years later,Elle et Luiwas given to the world, and the public was for the first time taken into George Sand's confidence as to the brief intimacy between herself and Alfred de Musset, broken more than a quarter of a century before. The novel was published in theRevue des Deux Mondes, and although many details are, of course, largely artistic fictions, yet it is recognized that the author is speaking of herself in the person of the heroine, Thérèse, and of De Musset in that of the strangely whimsical painter, Laurent. Whatever may be said of the wisdom of parading the miseries of the two quondam friends, it must not be forgotten that De Musset had long before railed at her in his writings, and the publication ofElle et Luiby Madame Sand is not without strong justification.
In 1859, also, appearedL'Homme de Neige, a most fantastic work of imagination whose scene is laid in Sweden. It abounds in enchanting details and excellent character sketches; the period is the eighteenth century. The use of the marionette player and his performances are noteworthy as showing the interest the author took in such exhibitions, and of how great use they may be made artistically. At Nohant, the puppet-show had long been a favorite; we learn that more than twenty plays were prepared for it, and that the little puppet-actors numbered more than a hundred.
Pierre qui Roulewas written at this time. The Rolling Stone is a law student in Paris, who becomes enamored of a genuinely talented and virtuous young actress, for love of whom he abandons his hopes of bar and bench and joins a theatrical company. The delineation of character and the wealth of incident and adventure in this book render it one of the most attractive of George Sand's works. The story was later continued asLe Beau Laurence, which will be mentioned further on.
The next important work was theMarquis de Villemer, a society romance, in which the analysis of character is extremely fine, and the variety of incidents amazing. The aristocratic marquise, her two sons, and Caroline de Saint-Geneix keep the reader's interest throughout. They seem real persons, as we read the pages, so clearly and distinctly are their individualities maintained. This popular novel was dramatized in 1864, and performed successfully. The qualities of the drama are manifestly superior to most of the author's work as a playwright, whether due to the aid given her by Alexandre Dumas the Younger, as is reasonably supposed, or not. This drama andLe Mariage de Victorineare generally regarded as the two plays on which George Sand's reputation as a dramatist mainly rests. The latter was admittedly inspired by Sedaine'sLe Philosophe sans le Savoir. Her contributions as a playwright number more than a score, but of most of them it may be said that they demonstrate that the author's true vocation was not found in writing for the stage.
Jean de la Rocheis a work of this period, the ripened period when experience, both of life and the art of her craft, had furnished the author with the keenest perception of the forces of the one and the requisites of the other. The phase of love that is used as the controlling influence in the development of the subject of the work is that of the heroine for her little brother, whose jealousy of her lover prevents the marriage of the happy and favored pair. The skill employed in depicting the incidents which lead to the removal of this obstacle is beyond praise.
Late in 1860, Madame Sand was at work on the opening ofLa Famille de Germandre, when she was stricken down by typhoid fever; but its completion was delayed until the spring of 1861, when she had regained her health after a stay at Tamaris. In this year also appearedAntonia. In 1862, Madame Sand saw the fulfilment of a cherished design: her son Maurice was married to Mademoiselle Calamatta, an event which was a source of great joy to Madame Sand, for the husband and wife settled at Nohant, and thus kept the home circle intact.
The following year,Mademoiselle de La Quintinieappeared, but its chief interest is that it was so strong in controversy that it aroused the anger of the clergy. That it had seized upon the popular sympathy seems to be indicated by George Sand's remarks in a letter to her son, from Paris, March 1, 1864, wherein she says: "I have just returned [she had been witnessing the first performance ofVillemer], attended by the students, who shouted: 'George Sand for ever!Mademoiselle de La Quintiniefor ever!'" This work can hardly be ranked among the author's important works.
Of her later works, it may be said thatL'Autre, the latest of her plays that were quite successful, was adapted with considerable modification from the author's novelLa Confession d'une jeune Fille, which had been published six years earlier. Madame Sarah Bernhardt played the heroine's part, and it is interesting to read George Sand's opinion of this talented actress, of whom she writes in October, 1871: "Sarah does not give more consolation [than another leading actress whose foibles had greatly worried Madame Sand], unless her ways have been considerably modified. She is an excellent girl, but she does not study, and is concerned only about enjoying herself. When acting her rôle, she improvises it, which, though sometimes effective, is not always accurate."Le Beau Laurenceis the sequel toPierre qui Roule, and both works are tales of actors and stage adventures. The incidents are full of variety, and the descriptions picturesque and daring. The heroine of the story, Impéria, is a pure and lovely character, who is delineated with consummate skill; while the other characters, such as would be found in a strolling troupe, are cleverly drawn and handled. Love is, of course, the pivotal force, and here again Madame Sand has shown her wonderful powers of imagination and artistic excellence by unravelling her plot in the most attractive and artistic fashion.
Le Chateau de Pictordu,La Tour de Percemont,Le Chêne Parlant,Les Dames Vertes,Le Diable au Champ, as well, of course, as theContes d'une Grand'mère, were written for the pleasure and instruction of her grandchildren. They not merely discover fresh treasures of imagination, but take us back to the impressions of the author's early childhood days at Nohant. In theJournal d'un Voyageur pendant le Siège, we have the impressions of a close observer, a record of events and conditions which escape the formal historian, and the reflections of a matured mind directed by an active participation in the public affairs of her time.Nanonis a tale of the Revolutionary period, and is a very picturesque work, full of spirit and touching incidents. The rustic heroine is another of the sweet women characters that George Sand has known so well how to depict; the signs of old age are certainly not discoverable in this fresh and entertaining work.
Besides these, the last ten years of her life producedMalgré Tout,Francia,un Bienfait n'est jamais perdu,Impressions et Souvenirs,Ma Sœur Jeanne,La Laitière et le Pot au Lait,Les deux Frères,Flamarande,Marianne,Dernières Pages,Légendes Rustiques,Fanchette,Nouvelles Lettres d'un Voyageur. The last work of the great author was a critique on Renan'sDialogues et Fragments Philosophiques; it is dated May 6, 1876.
During the same month, Madame Sand had manifested to her anxious family the evidences of an illness of which she still ignored the importance; but at the close of the month, she yielded to their wish that medical treatment should be resorted to. The hold of internal paralysis was, however, too secure, and on June 8th she glided quietly, imperceptibly, over the borderland of life.
Such, in brief, is the life of this extraordinarily gifted woman. We are amazed when we consider the stupendous work she accomplished: the whole list of her writings forms a monumental undertaking. Only the possession of a singularly rare genius could have produced such results. We know from her letters that Madame Sand's literary work was almost a spontaneous creation; her real work consisted in her maternal cares and her vast correspondence. She has said that she sometimes forgot the titles of her works, and that she could not recall the names of her characters or the method by which she worked out her subject. We cannot fail to see that she wrote from the impulse or fulness of her heart, and that her unhewed thoughts were enriched by a golden eloquence with a charm of grace that far excels the results of more carefully wrought-out works.
As a flower unconsciously takes its tints and scents from the elements by which it is surrounded, so George Sand drew from her environments the tone and character of her works. We see throughout, a lack of system, of coordination; it is manifest, of course, that there was artistic modification and development, but there is no strong evidence that the education of the artist counts for much in the success of our author. Among the finest of her works are those which early appeared,—the impulsive outpouring of her heart. She is at her best when unfolding the picture of nature treasured in her mind; when giving free rein to the development of the rôle of the characters conceived by her ardent and poetic imagination; then there is a sweet music in her language and a fervor in her descriptions that wholly fascinate. Like her love of nature, was her fondness for the marvellous. We are told that she vividly remembered her first doubt as to the existence of Father Christmas. This moment was a sorrowful one for the tiny child. How marked this characteristic was, we see in her enjoyment of the fairy-tales and folk-lore which she shared with her child-companions and the peasants at Nohant, and later at the convent; again it finds voice inConsuelo,The Snow Man, and the plays and stories written for her children and grandchildren.
George Sand's imagination was never at rest. To it her greatness and much of her suffering are alike traceable. In her friendships, she conceived too lofty an ideal; few persons could bear the test of her standard: her mother, her grandmother, her husband, political and social guides—all suffered from the discrepancy between her estimate of what they should be and what they were. To this fact it seems not altogether unreasonable to attribute the succession of reproaches, embroilments, and separations that attended the career of this marvellous woman. She is glad to escape from the distress she suffers from her mother's angry outbreaks and find relief with the Duplessis family; she finds life intolerable with her husband; again, there is evidence that the same exacting ideal was responsible for the differences with De Musset, Pagello, Chopin, Michel, Lammenais, and even Mazzini. Once a principle was believed to be right, she could not fetter its application by any considerations of expediency. At least, this is generally so as to the early years; later, it underwent some modification. Conscious of her own rectitude, Madame Sand fearlessly gave utterance to the decisions of her energetic mind. With her, a sentiment speedily becomes a feeling, and the feeling calls for expression. "My calling is to abhor evil, to love good, and to bend the knee to the beautiful," is her conviction in 1836, as she states it.
As in her novels, so in her political writings George Sand pursued an ideal. In a letter to her friend Mazzini, written in 1850, she says: "My Communism supposes men to be quite different from what they are, but such as I feel they should be. The ideal, the dream of my social happiness, is in the sentiments I feel in myself." She acted from the heart more than from the mind; she could not reduce her principles to a formula, of which, she says, if she had one: "I would part with it very cheaply." And again: "My whole heart is in what I say to you; when you are fully acquainted with me, you will know that you can blindly trust in the instinct of my heart."
It has been asserted that George Sand's works, or many of them, are repugnant to the sense of morality. Before saying anything in refutation, let us present the creed of the author in her own words, written to her friend, the Comtesse d'Agoult, in 1836: "To rush into the bosom of Mother Nature, to consider her really as amotherand asister; to resist with all obstinacy the proud and wicked; to be meek and lowly with the wretched ones; to weep over the poor man's misery, and hope for the fall of the rich as my only consolation; to believe in no other God than He who preaches justice and equality to men; to venerate what isgood; to judge severely what is onlystrong; to live on nearly nothing; to give almost everything, in order to reëstablish primitive equality and to restore divine institutions—such is the religion I would proclaim in my humble retreat." Nor was this creed belied, even to the giving "almost everything"; for we find Madame Sand writing to Monsieur Ulbach, in November, 1869: "I have earned by my writings about a million, but I have not laid aside a singlesou. I gave away all, except twenty thousand francs, which I invested two years ago, so that if I fall ill my children will not be put to too much expense; and yet I am not sure that I shall be able to keep even that little fund, for I may meet with people who may need it more imperatively than myself."
But to return to the charge we have mentioned, which is still made in some quarters, and which, at the most, will apply less to matter than to manner. Let each individual test the question by his own sentiment and judgment. Who has put down one of George Sand's books and felt himself less pure from the reading? Nay, more, who has gone from its perusal without a quickened admiration of virtue and a corresponding dislike of vice? If our sympathies are frequently aroused for the transgressor, is this something of which to be ashamed in itself? If we look at the offences laid to the charge of the author, is there not found a manifest purpose on her part to present a victim who will arouse interest enough to give force to the author's denunciations of the system she would overthrow, and to whose charge she would ascribe the offence of her victim? Are these victims impure of heart and vicious of purpose? The charge in question is mainly directed atIndiana,Valentine, andLélia. Let us see what Madame Sand says in a letter in 1842: "I find society abandoned to the most dreadful disorder, and in the front rank of the iniquities to which I see it given over are the relations of the sexes, which I regard as being regulated in the most unjust and ridiculous manner.... Love, fidelity, and motherhood are, notwithstanding, the most necessary, the most important, and the most sacred things in a woman's life." Her attacks were directed, be it understood, not against marriage, but against the debasing and unjust conditions under which, in her judgment, a woman's marriage placed her, and against which Madame Sand revolted, and gloried in her revolt. Her fault, if it must be called such, is that her sentiment was aroused, and the exuberance of her eloquence and the vividness of her imagination impelled her to a directness of attack that spared nothing. Nor were the conditions of society confronting the author such as to suggest concession on her part, and it is difficult to see how the prevailing taste should have been shocked, at least by her matter. But there was another powerful opposition—a religious one.
To certain practices and duties of the Roman Catholic Church, George Sand could not bend her conscience, and her conviction thereon is found in a letter to a curé, written in 1844, in which she says: "Since the spirit of liberty has been suppressed in the Church, since in Catholic doctrine there is no longer a place for discussions, counsels, progress, or light, I regard that doctrine as a dead letter set as a political check under thrones and above peoples. It is for me a dark veil obscuring the word of Christ—a false interpretation of the sublime Gospels, and an insurmountable obstacle to the sacred equality that God promises, which God will grant to men, on earth as in Heaven." Hence it was that our author found herself at variance with the ecclesiastical teaching; but it seems somewhat difficult to find in her works an anti-Christ belief; she is full of faith in the divine love and mercy; hers is a broad, tolerant creed. A great stride has been made toward liberality in religious belief since George Sand wrote the works that were attacked, and it is not likely that on this score they would arouse any serious outcry against their author had they been written in these days.
But to the two points we have indicated—for the pardonable eccentricities of the woman scarcely deserve notice—is due the denunciation of George Sand's works. What, then, must be the power, the rare qualities, which made them triumph over powerful opposition and acquired for the author a world-wide fame, and which during her life secured her the homage and esteem of her nation? Monsieur de Latouche, her first literary mentor, said: "Your qualities transcend your defects." These qualities are a vivid poetic imagination, a passionate love of nature, a sincere and loyal purpose, a tender sympathy for the weak and oppressed, an innate hatred of injustice, a keenly observant mind, a prompt and vigorous power of analysis of the human heart and mind, and an eloquence that is irresistible. It is almost useless to compare George Sand with any other writer. She stands alone; her mind and her energy are virile, her heart is a woman's. When all allowance is made for defects of style, for the family likeness perceived in many of her characters, for the discursive tendency that is at times marked, and for the weakness of the dramatic element—we are conscious of a charm that enchants, an interest that entrains, and a skill that engrosses. She sought no model, looked to no teachers; but presented an ideal. She wrote as she believed; her individuality is inseparable from her works; hence, no little of their charm. To use her own words, the reader "feels he has to do with a living soul, not with a mere instrument."
Of the woman, it is less easy to speak. She was early placed in a singular position; lacking the prudent and consistent training that might have produced more settled views and different tendencies, she was left to form her own opinions out of the chaotic instruction she had obtained. Contradictory elements were at work about and within her. Her heart was loving and tender, her impulses affectionate and good; but before her judgment could be formed, her affections were bruised, her tenderness was slighted.
Buffeted by the storms of passion and grief, George Sand's true life as a woman can hardly be said to have commenced till she settled down at Nohant in the full repossession of her children and her home. In the unrestrained enjoyment of her duties as a mother, we find the woman. How peaceful, how lovely, was that life with her family and friends about her! All the treasures of her soul were lavishly bestowed on her children; their present enjoyment and their future welfare her happiness and care; and, as the years roll on, the same tenderness is bestowed on her grandchildren. Madame Sand's letters throw a brilliant light on this heart-satisfying life, during which her literary work was carried on unceasingly, or only interrupted by occasional visits to Paris on business, or to seek clemency at the hand of the Emperor on behalf of some political victims, or by trips for health.
We find her bestowing of her earnings in charity to those in need about her, and helping modestly to alleviate the sufferings of those with whom she is brought in contact; helping with advice and encouragement those who seek her counsel in literary matters; coming forth from her solitude when national peril threatens, and stirring with the fervor of her eloquence as she had appealed to her countrymen on political and social questions. Happily, these latter wanderings from her true vocation, brilliant as they were, were not for long periods; but it is interesting to note that from first to last she espoused the cause of the people without wavering. Her instincts were wholly democratic, nor, although time and careful observation later imposed restraint on the former impetuous journalist, did she at any time sacrifice an iota of her principles; only, she came to recognize that it was impossible to change the course of society by a theoretical exposition of principles, and abandoned the idea of curing social ills by mere strenuous declamation.
In 1870, when the darkest hours were gathering over her beloved country, and its future government was at stake, her invincible faith in humanity was reiterated. She writes: "Let us believe in humanity, for he who doubts it, doubts himself." She had learned by experience that patient waiting is a virtue, that events cannot be forced to an untimely issue with good results. "I have seen revolutions," she writes in 1872, "and closely observed the actors in them; I sounded the depths of their souls,—I should perhaps say, of their bags: lack of principles!"
In reviewing her life, in 1872, George Sand writes to Gustave Flaubert: "Do not laugh at the principles of a very candid child, principles which I held throughout life, throughLéliaand the romantic period, through love and doubt, through enthusiasm and disappointment. Love, self-sacrifice, the repossession of my own self only in cases where my sacrifice was hurtful to the objects of it, and further abnegation with the hope of serving some true cause,—such has been my life, such my conception of love." Madame Sand is not here speaking of personal passion, but of the love of the species, of the extension of the sentiment of self-love, of the horror ofself only.
In the literary beginnings of younger authors George Sand took the warmest interest, and unsparingly and judiciously advised and encouraged them. Her counsel and tender solicitude in the case of Flaubert and many others show how large was her heart and how untiring her aid. Concerning her views on her art, her opinion is well expressed in a letter written in the last year of her life: "Art should be the seeking for truth, and the latter consists in something more than representing evil or good. Theartistewho notices but the blemishes is as incomplete as he who brings forth only good qualities." The imaginative played in Madame Sand a greater part than the real. Love was the force out of which all that is good or just should spring; she says: "He who abstains from love, abstains from justice."
This great writer, whose works have triumphed over prejudice and secured her a homage that rarely falls to the lot of authors, was as unassuming as she was brilliant and fearless. She disliked all parade, and while ever ready and prompt to come to the front when circumstances rendered her prominence necessary or desirable, she preferred retirement. Of her literary claims she says, in her calm old age: "I have never entertained the pretension of being a first-rate writer. My object has been to react on my contemporaries, even were they only a few, and to induce them to partake of my ideal of meekness and poetry."
After an interval of usual reaction from great popularity, which George Sand's works have not escaped, a reawakened interest has come. Time has removed many prejudices, and her aim and intent are better understood. Of the multitude of works she has contributed, it is not too venturesome to assert that posterity will cherish many of her romances as classic treasures. As long as the human heart feels the burden of the real life, so long will men and women take delight and comfort in the ideal life; in wandering amid scenes that will shed a cheering ray to lighten the gloom and brighten the sadness of our real world. Nor will it be found that George Sand takes us so out of the reality that we shall experience only a mere wondering diversion. She indeed pictures life as it should, and might, be; but she also describes it as she sees it; she feels what she writes; she reads and interprets the "never-changing language of nature"; she recognizes that the romance must be human before all else, and assumes that true reality consists in a mixture of good and evil. Her writings are too interestingly human for humanity to lose its appreciation of those of them that are not precluded by special reasons from enjoying lasting fame.
J. A. B.
Philadelphia, 1902.
"MY DEAR THÉRÈSE:
"Since you permit me not to call you mademoiselle, let me tell you an important piece of news inthe world of art, as our friend Bernard says. Ah! there's a rhyme;[1]but what I am going to tell you has neither rhyme nor reason.
"Fancy that yesterday, after boring you with my visit, I found, on returning to my rooms, an English milord (by the way, perhaps he isn't a milord; but he surely is an Englishman), who said to me in his dialect:
"'Are you a painter?'
"'Yes, milord.'
"'You paint faces?'
"'Yes, milord.'
"'And the hands?'
"'Yes, milord; also the feet.'
"'Good!'
"'Very good!'
"'Oh! I am sure of it! well, would you like to paint my portrait?'
"'Yours?'
"'Why not?'
"Thewhy notwas said with so much good humor, that I ceased to take him for an idiot, especially as this son of Albion is a magnificent man. He has the head of an Antinous on the shoulders of—well, of an Englishman; he is a Greek type of the best epoch on the bust, somewhat strangely dressed and cravatted, of a perfect specimen of Britannicfashion.
"'Faith!' said I, 'you are a fine model, that is sure, and I should like to make a study of you for my own benefit; but I cannot paint your portrait.'
"'Why not, pray?'
"'Because I am not a portrait-painter.'
"'Oh! Do you pay here in France for a license to practise this or that specialty in art?'
"'No; but the public doesn't permit us to follow more than one branch. They insist upon knowing what to expect, especially when we are young; and if I who am speaking, and who am very young, should have the ill-luck to paint a good portrait of you, I should find it very difficult to succeed at the next Exposition with anything but portraits; and, in like manner, if I made only a moderately good one, I should be forbidden ever to try another: the public would pass judgment to the effect that I had not the essential qualities of a portrait-painter, and that I was a presumptuous fellow to make the attempt.'
"I told my Englishman much more nonsense, which I spare you, and which made him open his eyes; after which he began to laugh, and I saw clearly that my arguments inspired in him the most profound contempt for France, if not for your humble servant.
"'Let us say the word,' he said. 'You do not like portrait-painting.'
"'What! what sort of a clown do you take me for? Say, rather, that I do not as yet dare to paint portraits, and that I could not do it, since it must be one of two things: either a specialty, which admits no rivals, or perfection, and, as one might say, the crown of talent. Certain painters, incapable of inventing anything, are able to copy faithfully and agreeably the living model. These are sure of success, provided that they have the knack of presenting the model in its most favorable aspect, and of costuming it becomingly while costuming it according to the fashion; but, when one is only a poor historical painter, very much of a novice, and of disputed talent, as I have the honor to be, one cannot contend against the people who make it a business. I confess that I have never studied conscientiously the folds of a black coat and the peculiar idiosyncrasies of a given face. I am unfortunate as an inventor of attitudes, types, and expressions. All these must yield to my subject, my idea, my dream, if you choose. If you would permit me to costume you to suit myself, and to place you in a picture of my own invention—— But no, that would be good for nothing, it wouldn't be you. It would not be a portrait to give your mistress—much less your lawful wife. Neither of them would recognize you. So do not ask me now to do what I may perhaps be able to do some day, if I ever happen to become a Rubens or a Titian, because then I can remain a poet and creator, while grasping, without effort and without fear, the potent and majestic reality. Unfortunately, it is not likely that I shall ever become anything more than a madman or a fool. Read Messieurs So-and-So and So-and-So, who have said as much in their criticisms.'
"You can imagine, Thérèse, that I did not say to my Englishman a word of what I have said to you; one can always arrange one's thoughts better when talking to one's self; but of all that I could say to excuse myself for not painting his portrait, nothing had any effect but these few words: 'Why the devil don't you apply to Mademoiselle Jacques?'
"He saidOh! three times, after which he asked me for your address, and off he went without the slightest comment, leaving me exceedingly confused and irritated because I could not finish my dissertation on portrait-painting; for, after all, my dear Thérèse, if that handsome brute of an Englishman comes to see you to-day, as I believe he is capable of doing, and repeats to you all I have written you, that is to say, all that I did not say to him, about thefaiseursand the great masters, what will you think of your ungrateful friend? May he place you among the first, and judge you incapable of painting anything else than pretty portraits which please everybody! Ah! my dear friend, if you had heard all that I said to him about you—after he had gone! You know what it was; you know that in my eyes you are not Mademoiselle Jacques, who paints excellent portraits that are much in vogue, but a superior man disguised as a woman, who, although he has never made the Academy, divines and has the art of making others divine a whole body and a whole soul from a bust, after the manner of the great sculptors of antiquity and the great painters of the Renaissance. But I say no more; you are not fond of having people tell you what they think of you. You pretend to take such talk for mere compliments. You are very proud, Thérèse.
"I am altogether down in the mouth to-day, I don't know why. I breakfasted so poorly this morning—I have never eaten with so little satisfaction since I have had a cook. And then one cannot get any good tobacco nowadays. The government monopoly poisons you. And then I have a pair of new boots which don't fit at all. And then it rains. And then—and then—I don't know what. The days have been as long as days without bread, for some time past, don't you find them so? No, you don't, of course. You know nothing of this feeling of gloom, the pleasure that bores, the boredom that intoxicates, the nameless disease of which I spoke to you the other evening in the little lilac salon where I would like to be now; for I have a horrible light for painting, and not being able to paint, it would please me to bore you to death by my conversation.
"So I shall not see you to-day! You have an insupportable family who steal you from your most delightful friends! In that case I shall be driven to do some foolish thing this evening! Such is the effect of your kindness to me, my dear, tall comrade. It makes me so stupid and so good for nothing when I do not see you, that I absolutely must divert myself at the risk of shocking you. But never fear, I will not tell you how I employ my evening.
"Your friend and servant,
"LAURENT.
"May 11, 183—."