The Dream Lover (34 page)

At the end of July, I made my way back to Paris. But I was miserable there. Without a love relationship, I found the city cold, even mocking. I could find no comfort, even in my work. In desperation, I decided to go to Nohant.

It was not my turn to be at the estate, and so Casimir would be there as well. Ironic, I thought, to be fleeing Paris and going back to the husband I had so decisively left on that January day three years ago.

All the way back to Nohant, I stared out the window at the landscape, taking the most private of inventories, wondering if I should have done anything differently, reviewing again the slow fall that had led Casimir and me to the place we found ourselves in now. I thought of Aurélien and Cauterets, and all that had come to pass in Casimir's family's home afterward.

September 1825

GUILLERY, NEAR NÉRAC

GASCONY

A
fter the glories of Cauterets, the country house of the Dudevants had, in my opinion, little to recommend it. It was dark, furnished roughly, and the quarters were cramped: Casimir, Maurice, and I were given two rooms on the main floor where we were always in one another's way. It rained ferociously, causing both the river and its tributaries to overflow. Fog enshrouded the woods we bordered, where wild pigs ran over the mossy earth. At night, the wolves howled, and I never got used to it; each time, the sound made for a sensation like needles pricking my backbone. Sometimes they were right outside our bedroom window, gnawing at the wooden shutters.

The meals were heavy and greasy, the sauces too rich for my constitution. There is little more tedious than sitting for hours at a table and eating virtually nothing, while those around you grunt in satisfaction.

While I adored my father-in-law as much now as when I'd first met him, the baroness, my mother-in-law, was a different story. Without saying a word, she made it clear that she believed Casimir needed to do more to take his wife in hand. I knew she found me demanding and moody, unwilling to graciously play the proper submissive role. My heart aching with missing Aurélien, I would not accommodate her: I gave her cold remark for cold remark, silence for silence.

I was restless, stuck there for many long hours without the company of my husband, unless I chose to accompany him on hunting expeditions. Though the hunts alleviated the boredom, they were not something I wanted to devote my life to, and Casimir never seemed happy that I was along, anyway. I was without my books,
without my harp or piano or guitar, without friends. The people in the area, though kind in many respects, were uncultured, and I found no one with whom I could engage in conversation. I would often sit alone at the edge of the bed, holding back tears. “Casimir hunts, and I age,” I wrote to Zoé. I wrote to Aurélien, as well, through Zoé, and it was through her that he wrote back to me. This epistolary relationship made survival in that bleak place possible.

One day I received a letter from Zoé inviting me to visit her in La Brède, where her family had a house. She suggested that Casimir and I pick her up in Bordeaux, and we could travel together from there. I was anxious to accept, because Aurélien was in Bordeaux.

I convinced Casimir that we should go because of the number of his relatives living in Bordeaux. We could stay there for a few days before continuing on to La Brède, I told him, giving him plenty of time to visit all of them.

Despite the letters that had flown back and forth between Aurélien and me, I had been worrying about losing the love I was suddenly so dependent upon. Aurélien had vowed that our relationship could remain platonic, but I feared that if I did not eventually submit to him, I would lose him entirely. And if I submitted to him, I believed I would not be able to live with myself. How to embrace my child, Maurice, who every day came running into my arms, when those arms had held a man other than his father? I wanted to see Aurélien and talk openly to him about this dilemma.

Casimir agreed to this visit, in part, I'm sure, because of my flagging spirits. I believed he looked at me as he might a problematic wheel on a carriage: something that he would rather not spend time on but that needed to be fixed in order that he could go on with his life. So it was that in early October, we left Maurice with my in-laws and journeyed to Bordeaux. With every mile that brought us closer to Aurélien, I felt better.

Yet it was with a mix of joy and despair that I first saw him. Zoé had told him where I was staying, and on the second day, when
Casimir had gone out to visit an uncle, Aurélien came to the hotel room.

When I opened the door to him, all my plans for how to receive him—gladly, but with restraint—fell away. I burst into tears. He rushed to me and took me into his arms, and I leaned into him for support, my head on his shoulder. And then I closed my eyes and stayed there, because the feel of him was so wondrous and so welcome. When I at last opened my eyes, I saw Casimir standing at the threshold. On his face was a look of incredulity that rapidly turned to rage.

“Leave this place immediately!” he told Aurélien, who started to speak but was quickly silenced by Casimir repeating the command, much louder. I feared that all the guests in the hotel would hear. Aurélien gave me a helpless glance, then quickly strode off.

Now Casimir turned to me.

I backed away from him. “No, you misunderstand. I have not…we have not…”

“You will never see him again. Ever!”

I fell to my knees, sobbing. I could find no measure of control. I wept so hard, I could scarcely breathe.

“Please, please,” I said. “I have not dishonored you. He is only…It is an innocent…” Again, I began to sob. I tried to get up to make my way over to my husband, who stood a few feet away with his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed, but I fell again, and then lay still on the floor. “What have I done?” I moaned, and I meant losing Aurélien, for I thought I surely had.

Casimir took my words as a confession and an apology to him. He crouched down and patted my shoulder and spoke with a gruff tenderness: “Now, now. We shall overcome this. There are troubles that come in the course of a marriage; we shall be strong and carry on.”

I had thought, when he came over to me, that he was going to strike me, and I had turned my face away and covered it with my hands.

He did not strike me this time, but I wept on and on. Finally, from what seemed like a faraway place, I heard Casimir say, “Enough. Let me help you up, Aurore.” There was some fear in his voice.

Then Aurélien appeared again at the still-open door, and Casimir moved toward him, his hands balled into fists. I was too hysterical to hear what the two men said to each other. But in a few minutes, Casimir closed the door, then came to sit in a chair near me. I sat up, but did not yet trust myself to stand.

Casimir spoke quietly, calmly: “I understand now what has transpired between the two of you, and I forgive you, Aurore. I forgive you both, and I grant you the same freedom you had before. It will be upon your head if you choose to deceive me; but I know you as an honorable woman, and I believe you will uphold your true values. Come now, stop crying; it is over. We shall carry on as before, all three of us.”

“Thank you, Casimir,” I said, over and over. I moved to sit on the floor beside him and gingerly laid my hand upon his knee. After a while, he put his hand over mine. I thought,
I will give Aurélien up, I will not see him again
.

By morning, though, my feelings had changed. When Aurélien had first come to the room, he had given me two letters, which I had stuffed into my bodice before I fell into his arms. That night, when I changed clothes before bed, I hid the letters in a book I had brought along. At dawn, I tiptoed to the window and read the letters, standing with my back to Casimir, who lay sleeping.

What Aurélien told me in those pages made it clear that he neither expected nor desired a consummation of our relationship. Out of his great respect for me and my morals, he was prepared to continue with what we had: a chaste and, as he and I both saw it, a superior love. I cherished the idea that I could still have him.

Thus it was that, astonishingly, the four us—Zoé, Aurélien, Casimir, and I—set out for La Brède the next day. We chatted pleasantly, enjoying the beautiful fall day, and when my husband took
my hand in front of Aurélien, he and I only stared levelly at each other.

When we arrived at La Brède, Zoé and I went upstairs to refresh ourselves. There, I told her all that had happened the previous day.

“Ah! It will be all the more interesting, then, to see what is written here,” Zoé said, pulling from her bag a letter that Aurélien had given to her that morning to pass on to me.

I read it immediately, my hands trembling. Then, with tears in my eyes, I told Zoé that Aurélien said he had stood outside the whole night, looking up at my hotel room window to see if a light came on, worrying about whether or not I was all right. He said that he would do anything he needed to in order to take all the blame for what had passed between us. He would allow himself to be called or would call himself a rebuffed seducer, he would sacrifice anything for my safety, he loved me, adored me, now and forever. Our relationship was the centerpiece of his life, but if I wanted him to, he would let me go; he would always sacrifice his happiness for mine. Only tell him what I wanted; he would do it.

I looked at Zoé, who shrugged. “Well, what
do
you want?”

The truth sprang from my mouth: “To give myself to him.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Zoé said, as blithely as if I had requested to take a leisurely stroll on the grounds. “After Casimir goes hunting. He will go hunting, will he not?”

I nodded.

“I'll tell Aurélien. I am glad for the two of you.”

Leaving me to dress for dinner, she turned suddenly at the threshold, grinning. “Alert me when you awaken; I will help you prepare.”

I
WORE WHITE.
Z
OÉ LAUGHED,
calling it overly obvious, but I liked the way I looked in that dress. She had come to my room before the
sun was up and had helped me with my hair, with the selection of my undergarments.

“Do you suppose he is being as meticulous?” I asked Zoé.

“Of course! Just now, I imagine he's looking into the mirror, saying, ‘Top hat or not? Pearl stickpin or…oh no, look, a nose hair gone wild!' ”

We laughed, but I was nervous; my mouth was sticking to itself, and one hand continually massaged the other. Zoé poured me water and cautioned me not to drink all of it. She stood back and regarded me when I had finished dressing. My dress was ankle-length and had a pleated bodice. A black velvet belt accentuated my small waist, and a round neckline showed off my bosom. The sleeves were puffed and ended with a frill at the wrist. I wore the double-stranded pearls my grandmother had given me, trying not to think of what she might say about what was going to occur. My shoes were black and dainty, and I reminded myself to take small steps and not go running to Aurélien the moment I saw him. Zoé dabbed perfume at the back of my neck, straightened a ringlet at the side of my head. She handed me a beautiful silk shawl, something she had recently purchased and had yet to wear herself.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She kissed my cheek. “He awaits you in the garden, beneath the oak closest to the back of the house.”

I descended the staircase quietly, aware that with each step I was getting closer to something I could never undo and might profoundly regret. I kept on.

Once outside, despite the dimness, I saw him immediately. He stood with his back to me, and I could tell by his complete immobility, his overly correct posture, that he was nervous, as well.

When I got closer, he spun around. “Aurore. My God, how beautiful you are!” He held his arms out, and I stepped into them. I closed my eyes and luxuriated in the scent of him.

He said my name again, softly.

I stepped back and looked up into his face. He smiled tenderly. “I have worried so about you. Tell me what happened after I left you in Bordeaux. He didn't hurt you, did he?”

“No. He forgave me. He forgave us both.”

His face was uncomprehending.

“He has left it to us to behave in a way that will not dishonor us. He says he trusts us.”

As soon as I said the words, I knew I should not have. Aurélien stepped back, away from me, and hung his head. “I did not sleep last night, for worrying about the pain we might cause if we were found out. But now…Ah, Aurore, what nobility he has shown, in leaving it to us to decide whether or not to betray him! What a great heart we would wound if we were to go forward with what we long to do! And however much pleasure we would enjoy, what agitated guilt we would harbor afterward!”

“But then…what shall we do?”

He sighed. “There is no answer. I cannot have you; I cannot be without you.”

“Aurélien,” I began, in the calmest, most reasonable voice I could muster, but he seemed not to hear.

“In giving us our freedom, your husband has made us prisoners of our conscience. Aurore, we cannot go on with this. We must cease even from exchanging letters.”

“But then you love him more than me!”

“No, no, my darling, of course not. But surely you see what an impossible situation we find ourselves in. Let us live in the memory of our love, but also in peace. In time…”

I knew there was no persuading him away from his decision. He looked deeply into my eyes, then motioned for me to go back to the house.

When I climbed the stairs to my room, I encountered Zoé in the hallway. “Aurore! What has happened?”

I offered the smallest movement of my hand.

“Shall I come with you?”

“Not just now,” I said, surprised by the calmness of my voice.