opportunities for observing were less limited than
those of the physician, had the same presentiment. After a long and
anxious struggle she decided to disregard the strongly-urged advice of
the physician and to obey the voice that said to her, even in her sleep:
"Bleeding will kill him; but if you save him from it, he will not die,"
She was persuaded that this voice was the voice of Providence, and that
by obeying it she saved her friend's life. What Chopin stood most in
need of in his weakness and languor was a strengthening diet, and that,
unfortunately, was impossible to procure:--

What would I not have given to have had some beef-tea and a
glass of Bordeaux wine to offer to our invalid every day! The
Majorcan food, and especially the manner in which it was
prepared when we were not there with eye and hand, caused him
an invincible disgust. Shall I tell you how well founded this
disgust was? One day when a lean chicken was put on the table
we saw jumping on its steaming back enormous Mattres Floh,
[FOOTNOTE: Anglice "fleas."] of which Hoffmann would have made
as many evil spirits, but which he certainly would not have
eaten in gravy. My children laughed so heartily that they
nearly fell under the table.

Chopin's most ardent wish was to get away from Majorca and back to
France. But for some time he was too weak to travel, and when he had got
a little stronger, contrary winds prevented the steamer from leaving
the port. The following words of George Sand depict vividly our poor
Carthusian friends' situation in all its gloom:--

As the winter advanced, sadness more and more paralysed my
efforts at gaiety and cheerfulness. The state of our invalid
grew always worse; the wind wailed in the ravines, the rain
beat against our windows, the voice of the thunder penetrated
through our thick walls and mingled its mournful sounds with
the laughter and sports of the children. The eagles and
vultures, emboldened by the fog, came to devour our poor
sparrows, even on the pomegranate tree which shaded my window.
The raging sea kept the ships in the harbours; we felt
ourselves prisoners, far from all enlightened help and from
all efficacious sympathy. Death seemed to hover over our heads
to seize one of us, and we were alone in contending with him
for his prey.

If George Sand's serenity and gaiety succumbed to these influences,
we may easily imagine how much more they oppressed