Epistolary fiction; French fiction -- Translations into English; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Married women -- Fiction
I feel as if I had left the convent to-day for the first time. For
society I do not yet exist; I am unknown to it. What a ravishing moment!
I still belong only to myself, like a flower just blown, unseen yet of
mortal eye.
In spite of this, my sweet, as I paced the drawing-room during my
self-inspection, and saw the poor cast-off school-clothes, a queer
feeling came over me. Regret for the past, anxiety about the future,
fear of society, a long farewell to the pale daisies which we used to
pick and strip of their petals in light-hearted innocence, there was
something of all that; but strange, fantastic visions also rose, which I
crushed back into the inner depths, whence they had sprung, and whither
I dared not follow them.
My Renee, I have a regular trousseau! It is all beautifully laid away
and perfumed in the cedar-wood drawers with lacquered front of my
charming dressing-table. There are ribbons, shoes, gloves, all in lavish
abundance. My father has kindly presented me with the pretty gewgaws a
girl loves--a dressing-case, toilet service, scent-box, fan, sunshade,
prayer-book, gold chain, cashmere shawl. He has also promised to give
me riding lessons. And I can dance! To-morrow, yes, to-morrow evening, I
come out!
My dress is white muslin, and on my head I wear a garland of white
roses in Greek style. I shall put on my Madonna face; I mean to play the
simpleton, and have all the women on my side. My mother is miles away
from any idea of what I write to you. She believes me quite destitute of
mind, and would be dumfounded if she read my letter. My brother honors
me with a profound contempt, and is uniformly and politely indifferent.
He is a handsome young fellow, but melancholy, and given to moods. I
have divined his secret, though neither the Duke nor Duchess has an
inkling of it. In spite of his youth and his title, he is jealous of his
father. He has no position in the State, no post at Court, he never has
to say, "I am going to the Chamber." I alone in the house have sixteen
hours for meditation. My father is absorbed in public business and his
own amusements; my mother, too, is never at leisure; no member of the
household practises self-examination, they are constantly in company,
and have hardly time to live.
I should immensely like to know what is the potent charm wielded by
society to keep people prisoner from nine every evening till two or
three in the morning, and force them to be so lavish alike of strength
and money. When I longed for it, I had no idea of the separations it
brought about, or its overmastering spell. But, then, I forget, it is
Paris which does it all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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