Читать книгу Leone Leoni - George Sand - Страница 6

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You know that I am the daughter of a rich jeweller of Brussels. My father was skilful in his trade, but had little cultivation otherwise. He had raised himself from the position of a common workman to that of possessor of a handsome fortune which his flourishing business increased from day to day. Despite his lack of education, he was on terms of intimacy with the richest families in the province; and my mother, who was pretty and clever, was well received in the opulent society of the tradespeople.

My father was naturally mild and apathetic. Those qualities became more marked each day, as his wealth and comfort increased. My mother, being more active and younger, enjoyed unlimited freedom of action, and joyfully made the most of the advantages of wealth and the pleasures of society. She was kind-hearted, sincere and full of amiable qualities, but she was naturally frivolous, and her beauty, which was treated with marvellous respect by the years as they passed, prolonged her youth at the expense of my education. She loved me dearly, beyond question, but without prudence or discernment. Proud of my youthful charms and of the trivial talents which she had caused me to acquire, she thought of nothing but taking me about and exhibiting me; she took a delicious but perilous pride in covering me constantly with new jewels, and in appearing with me at parties. I recall those days with pain and yet with pleasure; since then, I have reflected sadly on the futile employment of my early years, and yet I sigh for those days of careless happiness which should never have ended or never have begun. I fancy that I can still see my mother with her plump, graceful figure, her white hands, her black eyes, her coquettish smile, and withal so kind that you could see at the first glance that she had never known anxiety or vexation, and that she was incapable of imposing the slightest restraint upon others, even with kindly intentions. Ah! yes, I remember her well! I remember our long mornings devoted to planning and preparing our ball dresses, our afternoons employed in making our toilets with such painstaking care that hardly an hour remained to show ourselves on the promenade. I see my mother, with her satin dresses, her furs, her long white feathers, and the whole fluffy mass of lace and ribbons. After finishing her toilet, she would forget herself a moment to look after me. It was a great deal of a bore to unlace my black satin boots in order to smooth out a wrinkle on the instep or to try on twenty pairs of gloves before finding one of a shade sufficiently delicate for her taste. Those gloves fitted so tight that I often tore them after taking the greatest pains about putting them on; then I must begin anew, and we would have heaps of débris in front of us before we had finally selected those that I was to wear an hour, and then leave to my maid. However, I had become so accustomed from childhood to regard these trifling details as the most important occupations of a woman's life, that I submitted patiently. We would set out at last, and at the rustling of our silk gowns and the perfume exhaled by our handkerchiefs, people would turn to look after us. I was accustomed to hearing our names mentioned as we passed, by all sorts and conditions of men, and to see them glance curiously at my impassive face. This mixture of coldness and innocent effrontery constitutes what is called good breeding in a young woman. As for my mother, she felt a twofold pride in exhibiting herself and her daughter; I was a reflection, or, to speak more accurately, a part of herself, of her beauty, of her wealth; her good taste was displayed in my costume; my face, which resembled hers, reminded her as well as others of the scarcely impaired freshness of her early youth; so that, seeing my slender figure walking at her side, she fancied that she saw herself twice over, pale and delicate as she had been at fifteen, brilliant and beautiful as she still was. Not for anything in the world would she have gone out without me; she would have seemed to herself to be incomplete, half dressed as it were.

After dinner, the solemn discussion concerning ball dresses, silk stockings and flowers began anew. My father, who gave his whole attention to his shop during the day, would have preferred to pass the evening quietly by his fireside; but he was so easy-going, that he did not notice the way in which we deserted him. He would fall asleep in his chair while our hair-dressers were striving to understand my mother's scientifically devised plans. As we were going away, we would rouse the worthy man from his slumbers and he would go obligingly and take from his strong-box magnificent jewels mounted according to his own designs. He would fasten them himself about our arms and necks and take pleasure in remarking their effect. These jewels were intended for sale. We often heard envious women about us crying out at their splendor and whispering spiteful jests; but my mother consoled herself by saying that the greatest ladies wore what we had cast off, and that was true. They would come to my father next day and order jewels like those we had worn. A few days later he would send the self-same ones; and we did not regret them, for they were always replaced by others more beautiful.

Amid such surroundings, I grew up without thought for the present or the future, without making any effort to form or strengthen my character. I was naturally gentle and trustful like my mother; I was content to float along as she did on the current of destiny. I was less vivacious, however; I felt less keenly the attractions of pleasure and vanity; I seemed to lack the little strength that she had, the desire and the faculty of constant diversion. I accepted so easy a lot knowing nothing of its price, and without comparing it with any other. I had no idea of passion. I had been brought up as if I were never to know it; my mother had been brought up in the same way and considered that she was to be congratulated; for she was incapable of feeling passion and had never had any occasion to fight against it. My intelligence had been applied to studies in which the heart had no occasion to exercise control over itself. I performed brilliantly on the piano, I danced beautifully, I painted in water-colors with admirable precision and vigor; but there was within me no spark of that sacred fire which gives life and enables one to understand life. I loved my parents, but I did not know what it was to love in any other way than that. I was wonderfully clever in inditing a letter to one of my young friends; but I had no more idea of the value of words than of sentiments. I loved my girl friends as a matter of habit, I was good to them because I was obliging and gentle, but I did not trouble myself about their characters; I scrutinized nothing. I made no well-reasoned distinction between them; I was fondest of the one who came oftenest to see me.