essed, and who
this man, worthy of Plutarch's pen, was. His name was Michel, and he was
an advocate at Bourges. He was only thirty-seven years of age, but he
looked sixty. After Sandeau and Musset, George Sand had had enough of
"adolescents." She was very much struck with Michel, as he looked like
an old man. The size of his cranium was remarkable, or, as she said of
his craniums: "It seemed as though he had two craniums, one joined to
the other." She wrote: "The signs of the superior faculties of his mind
were as prominent at the prow of this strong vessel as those of his
generous instincts at the stern."(21) In order to understand this
definition of the "fine physique" by George Sand, we must remember that
she was very much taken up with phrenology at this time. One of her
_Lettres d'un voyageur_ was entitled Sur _Lavater et sur une Maison
deserte_. In a letter to Madame d'Agoult, George Sand tells that her
gardener gave notice to leave, and, on asking him his reason, the
simple-minded man replied: "Madame has such an ugly head that my wife,
who is expecting, might die of fright." The head in question was a
skull, an anatomical one with compartments all marked and numbered,
according to the system of Gall and Spurzheim. In 1837, phrenology was
very much in favour. In 1910, it is hypnotism, so we have no right to
judge the infatuation of another epoch.

(21) _Histoire de ma vie_.

Michel's cranium was bald. He was short, slight, he stooped, was
short-sighted and wore glasses. It is George Sand who gives these
details for his portrait. He was born of peasant parents, and was of
Jacobin simplicity. He wore a thick, shapeless inverness and sabots. He
felt the cold very much, and used to ask permission to put on a muffler
indoors. He would then take three or four out of his pockets and put
them on his head, one over the other. In the _Lettre d'un voyageur_
George Sand mentions this crown on Everard's head. Such are the
illusions of love.

The first time she met Michel was at Bourges. She went with her two
friends, Papet and Fleury, to call on him at the hotel. From seven
o'clock until midnight he never ceased talking. It was a magnificent
night, and he proposed a walk in the town at midnight. When they came
back to his door he insisted on taking them home, and so they continued
walking backwards and forwards until four in the morning. He must have
been an inveterate chatterer to have clung to this public of three