ageur_. She goes
along the Brenta. It is the month of May, and the meadows are in flower.
In the horizon she sees the snowy peaks of the Tyrolese Alps standing
out. The remembrance of the long hours spent at the invalid's bedside
comes back to her, with all the anguish of the sacred passion in which
she thinks she sees God's anger. She then pays a visit to the Oliero
grottoes, and once more her wounded love makes her heart ache. She
returns through Possagno, whose beautiful women served as models for
Canova. She then goes back to Venice, and the doctor gives her a letter
from the man she has given up, the man she has sent away. These poetical
descriptions, alternating with lyrical effusions, this kind of dialogue
with two voices, one of which is that of nature and the other that of
the heart, remind us of one of Musset's _Nuits_.

The second of these _Lettres d'un voyageur_ is entirely descriptive. It
is spring-time in Venice. The old balconies are gay with flowers; the
nightingales stop singing to listen to the serenades. There are songs
to be heard at every street corner, music in the wake of every gondola.
There are sweet perfumes and love-sighs in the air. The delights of the
Venetian nights had never been described like this. The harmony of "the
three elements, water, sky and marble," had never been better expressed,
and the charm of Venice had never been suggested in so subtle and,
penetrating a manner. The second letter treats too of the gondoliers,
and of their habits and customs.

The third letter, telling us about the nobility and the women of Venice,
completes the impression. Just as the Pyrenees had moved George Sand, so
Italy now moved her. This was a fresh acquisition for her palette. More
than once from henceforth Venice was to serve her for the wonderful
scenery of her stories. This is by no means a fresh note, though, in
George Sand's work. There is no essential difference, then, in her
inspiration. She had always been impressionable, but her taste was
now getting purer. Musset, the most romantic of French poets, had an
eminently classical taste. In the _Lettres de Dupuis et Cotonet_, he
defined romanticism as an abuse of adjectives. He was of Madame de
Lafayette's opinion, that a word taken out was worth twenty pennies, and
a phrase taken out twenty shillings. In a copy of _Indiana_ he crossed
out all the useless epithets. This must have made a considerable
difference to the length of the book. George