wife was incurably mad.
Altho’ since he is a man, no doubt he had found ways — he hinted that for some years he kept one of his wife’s nurses — what he had longed for were these wifely attentions, these groomings & pettings. I had not known that I longed for them too.
As a matter of fashion as well, he made another great change in my life: No more whale bones! He actually stomped on my corsets with his boots, in a rage that tho’ feigned succeeded in “busting-up” the stays. He said it wasa garment to which no free woman should submit & urged me to consult Madame Sand about alternatives.
Much to Rebecca’s dismay, I did — & discovered that tho’ Madame never wears any form of corset herself, she was happy to introduce me to a bandage-like wrapping, with buttons, of softest linen, that resembles something I remember our grandmothers wearing. This old-new soft “corselette” necessitated a lengthy visit to the dressmaker to have all my clothes taken out — Rebecca was appalled — I cannot tell you, dear Sophie, the results! I felt free as a floating angel in my raiment! I cannot imagine that an inch or two more on the waist matters to any but the silliest young girls or the stiffest dowager. (& I will tell you, confidentially, that it matters not a whit to a real man.) Eventually, I had an Italian dressmaker show me how to fashion the loose robes that the women of intellectual & artistic circles in Europe favor, something between a reg’lar dress & a dressing gown, gathered at the bosom, & blessedly, utterly, without stays or hoops.
If Rebecca guessed at my afternoons, she said not a thing. I was so in love that nothing else seemed terribly serious, or fretsome, for a while — never before had I known that feeling of being outside of Time, that attends on two people wholly in love. & Then at last the calendar began to worry me — I received a letter from Mazzini, in which il magnifico urged me to see his mother in Genoa as soon as possible to deliver his letter — but not, he had decided, to try to bringor send anything back for himself, not even through a third party. He had been warned by his friends that, once I visited his mother, my movements would be watched & my correspondence would be read by the authorities. The protection & discretion he had once thought he could secure from my prominence & my rôle as a foreign, nearly official, visitor to Italy, he no longer trusted. Mish at first did not want me even to visit Mazzini’s mother, but I reminded him that I was, as he had said himself so many times, “no ordinary woman,” & that I did not fear to do what I knew to be right.
All I feared was leaving Mish. He had said, many times, that he must & would sever ties with his wife, but we neither of us, I speak sincerely, believed he should. No matter the terrible things she had done to him & to their children, she was not to blame — only her madness was to blame — & her frailty required his protection. The children lived safely now with an aunt, just outside Paris — how could he be sure to see them often? Moreover, he could not leave France without risking arrest — & If he travelled in disguise that would prevent him from doing his public work on behalf of the great cause.
Our Idyll was broken that day as we discussed Mazzini’s letter, & it was made the more difficult because Mish decided to become jealous — I saw him decide, like a naughty boy calculating to throw a fit — of Mazzini, who is not married, & whose letter contained certain endearments addressed to myself. Why must I meet his mother? Why does he call me “his own dear lady” & “his cigno trombetta ” (trumpeterswan)? Swan! Ha! I was a goose, but I was his goose, his farmyard goose, &c, &c.
That evening, in the twilight, we lingered longer than usual. We had lost much of the language with which we had begun our courtship, I noticed ruefully — we were no longer the emanations of the Divine, no longer the New
Altho’ since he is a man, no doubt he had found ways — he hinted that for some years he kept one of his wife’s nurses — what he had longed for were these wifely attentions, these groomings & pettings. I had not known that I longed for them too.
As a matter of fashion as well, he made another great change in my life: No more whale bones! He actually stomped on my corsets with his boots, in a rage that tho’ feigned succeeded in “busting-up” the stays. He said it wasa garment to which no free woman should submit & urged me to consult Madame Sand about alternatives.
Much to Rebecca’s dismay, I did — & discovered that tho’ Madame never wears any form of corset herself, she was happy to introduce me to a bandage-like wrapping, with buttons, of softest linen, that resembles something I remember our grandmothers wearing. This old-new soft “corselette” necessitated a lengthy visit to the dressmaker to have all my clothes taken out — Rebecca was appalled — I cannot tell you, dear Sophie, the results! I felt free as a floating angel in my raiment! I cannot imagine that an inch or two more on the waist matters to any but the silliest young girls or the stiffest dowager. (& I will tell you, confidentially, that it matters not a whit to a real man.) Eventually, I had an Italian dressmaker show me how to fashion the loose robes that the women of intellectual & artistic circles in Europe favor, something between a reg’lar dress & a dressing gown, gathered at the bosom, & blessedly, utterly, without stays or hoops.
If Rebecca guessed at my afternoons, she said not a thing. I was so in love that nothing else seemed terribly serious, or fretsome, for a while — never before had I known that feeling of being outside of Time, that attends on two people wholly in love. & Then at last the calendar began to worry me — I received a letter from Mazzini, in which il magnifico urged me to see his mother in Genoa as soon as possible to deliver his letter — but not, he had decided, to try to bringor send anything back for himself, not even through a third party. He had been warned by his friends that, once I visited his mother, my movements would be watched & my correspondence would be read by the authorities. The protection & discretion he had once thought he could secure from my prominence & my rôle as a foreign, nearly official, visitor to Italy, he no longer trusted. Mish at first did not want me even to visit Mazzini’s mother, but I reminded him that I was, as he had said himself so many times, “no ordinary woman,” & that I did not fear to do what I knew to be right.
All I feared was leaving Mish. He had said, many times, that he must & would sever ties with his wife, but we neither of us, I speak sincerely, believed he should. No matter the terrible things she had done to him & to their children, she was not to blame — only her madness was to blame — & her frailty required his protection. The children lived safely now with an aunt, just outside Paris — how could he be sure to see them often? Moreover, he could not leave France without risking arrest — & If he travelled in disguise that would prevent him from doing his public work on behalf of the great cause.
Our Idyll was broken that day as we discussed Mazzini’s letter, & it was made the more difficult because Mish decided to become jealous — I saw him decide, like a naughty boy calculating to throw a fit — of Mazzini, who is not married, & whose letter contained certain endearments addressed to myself. Why must I meet his mother? Why does he call me “his own dear lady” & “his cigno trombetta ” (trumpeterswan)? Swan! Ha! I was a goose, but I was his goose, his farmyard goose, &c, &c.
That evening, in the twilight, we lingered longer than usual. We had lost much of the language with which we had begun our courtship, I noticed ruefully — we were no longer the emanations of the Divine, no longer the New
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