Solange marries in a fortnight Clesinger, the sculptor, a man of great talent, who is making much money, and can give her the brilliant existence which, I believe, is to her taste. He is very violently in love with her, and he pleases her much. She was this time as prompt and firm in her determination as she was hitherto capricious and irresolute. Apparently she has met with what she dreamt of. May God grant it!
As regards myself, the young man pleases me also much and Maurice likewise. He is little civilised at first sight; but he is full of sacred fire and for some time past, since I noticed him making advances, I have been studying him without having the appearance of doing so...He has other qualities which compensate for all the defects he may have and ought to have.
...Somebody told me of him all the ill
that can be said of a
man [on making inquiries George Sand found
that Clesinger was
a man “irreproachable in the best
sense of the word"].
M. Dudevant, whom he has been to see, consents. We do not know yet where the marriage will take place. Perhaps at Nerac, [footnote: Where M. Dudevant, her whilom husband, resided.] in order to prevent M. Dudevant from falling asleep in the eternal to-morrow to the province.
Madame Sand to Mazzini; Nohant, May 22, 1847:—
I have just married and, I believe, well married my daughter to an artist of powerful inspiration and will. I had for her but one ambition—namely, that she should love and be loved; my wish is realised. The future is in the hand of God, but I believe in the duration of this love and this union.
Madame Sand to Charles Poncy; Nohant, August 9, 1847:—
My good Maurice is always calm, occupied, and lively. He sustains and consoles me. Solange is in Paris with her husband; they are going to travel. Chopin is in Paris also; his health has not yet permitted him to make the journey; but he is better.
The following letter, of an earlier date than those from which my last two excerpts are taken, is more directly concerned with Chopin.
Madame Sand to Gutmann; Nohant, May 12, 1847:—
Thanks, my good Gutmann, thanks from the bottom of my heart for the admirable care which you lavish on him [Chopin]. I know well that it is for him, for yourself, and not for me, that you act thus, but I do not the less feel the need of thanking you. It is a great misfortune for me that this happens at a moment like that in which I find myself. Truly, this is too much anxiety at one time! I would have gone mad, I believe, if I had learned the gravity of his illness before hearing that the danger was past. He does not know that I know of it, and on account, especially, of the embarras in which he knows I find myself, he wishes it to be concealed from me. He wrote to me yesterday as if nothing had taken place, and