jorca were George Sand's "Un Hiver a Majorque" and "Histoire de ma
Vie." But now we have also Chopin's letters to Fontana (in the Polish
edition of Karasowski's "Chopin") and George Sand's "Correspondance,"
which supplement and correct the two publications of the novelist.
Remembering the latter's tendency to idealise everything, and her
disinclination to descend to the prose of her subject, I shall make
the letters the backbone of my narrative, and for the rest select my
material cautiously.

Telling Chopin that she would stay some days at Perpignan if he were not
there on her arrival, but would proceed without him if he failed to make
his appearance within a certain time, Madame Sand set out with her two
children and a maid in the month of November, 1838, for the south of
France, and, travelling for travelling's sake, visited Lyons, Avignon,
Vaucluse, Nimes, and other places. The distinguished financier and
well-known Spanish statesman Mendizabal, their friend, who was going to
Madrid, was to accompany Chopin to the Spanish frontier. Madame Sand was
not long left in doubt as to whether Chopin would realise his reve de
voyage or not, for he put in his appearance at Perpignan the very next
day after her arrival there. Madame Sand to Madame Marliani, [FOOTNOTE:
The wife of the Spanish politician and author, Manuel Marliani. We
shall hear more of her farther on.] November, 1838:-- Chopin arrived at
Perpignan last night, fresh as a rose, and rosy as a turnip; moreover,
in good health, having stood his four nights of the mail-coach heroically.
As to ourselves, we travelled slowly, quietly, and surrounded at all
stations by our friends, who overwhelmed us with kindness.

As the weather was fine and the sea calm Chopin did not suffer much on
the passage from Port-Vendres to Barcelona. At the latter town the party
halted for a while-spending some busy days within its walls, and making
an excursion into the country-and then took ship for Palma, the capital
of Majorca and the Balearic Isles generally. Again the voyagers were
favoured by the elements.

The night was warm and dark, illumined only by an
extraordinary phosphorescence in the wake of the ship;
everybody was asleep on board except the steersman, who, in
order to keep himself awake, sang all night, but in a voice so
soft and so subdued that one might have thought that he feared
to awake the men of the watch, or that he himself was half
asleep. We did n