Sand's habitual unconscientious inaccuracy;
but the nature of her narrative will indeed be a sufficient warning to
the reader, for nobody can read it without at once perceiving that it is
not a plain, unvarnished recital of facts.

It would be interesting to know which were the compositions that Chopin
produced at Valdemosa. As to the Prelude particularly referred to by
George Sand, it is generally and reasonably believed to be No. 6 (in B
minor). [FOOTNOTE: Liszt, who tells the story differently, brings in
the F sharp minor Prelude. (See Liszt's Chopin, new edition, pp. 273 and
274.)] The only compositions besides the Preludes which Chopin mentions
in his letters from Majorca are the Ballade, Op, 38, the Scherzo,
Op. 39, and the two Polonaises, Op. 40. The peevish, fretful, and
fiercely-scornful Scherzo and the despairingly-melancholy second
Polonaise (in C minor) are quite in keeping with the moods one imagines
the composer to have been in at the time. Nor is there anything
discrepant in the Ballade. But if the sadly-ailing composer really
created, and not merely elaborated and finished, in Majorca the
superlatively-healthy, vigorously-martial, brilliantly-chivalrous
Polonaise in A major, we have here a remarkable instance of the mind's
ascendency over the body, of its independence of it. This piece,
however, may have been conceived under happier circumstances, just as
the gloomy Sonata, Op. 35 (the one in B flat minor, with the funeral
march), and the two Nocturnes, Op. 37--the one (in G minor)
plaintive, longing, and prayerful; the other (in G major) sunny and
perfume-laden--may have had their origin in the days of Chopin's sojourn
in the Balearic island. A letter of Chopin's, written from Nohant in the
summer of 1839, leaves, as regards the Nocturnes, scarcely room for such
a conjecture. On the other hand, we learn from the same letter that he
composed at Palma the sad, yearning Mazurka in E minor (No. 2 of Op.
41).

As soon as fair weather set in and the steamer resumed its weekly
courses to Barcelona, George Sand and her party hastened to leave the
island. The delightful prospects of spring could not detain them.

Our invalid (she says) did not seem to be in a state to stand
the passage, but he seemed equally incapable of enduring
another week in Majorca. The situation was frightful; there
were days when I lost hope and courage. To console us, Maria
Antonia and her village gossips repeated to us in c