ould be thought extravagant in my delight, let me give you some
words of George Sand, which I have since read. "I have never seen," she
says, "anything so bright, and at the same time so melancholy, as these
perspectives where the ilex, the carob, pine, olive, poplar, and cypress
mingle their various hues in the hollows of the mountain,--abysses of
verdure, where the torrent precipitates its course under mounds of
sumptuous richness and an inimitable grace.... While you hear the sound
of the sea on the northern coast, you perceive it only as a faint
shining line beyond the sinking mountains and the great plain which is
unrolled to the southward;--a sublime picture, framed in the foreground
by dark rocks covered with pines; in the middle distance by mountains of
boldest outline, fringed with superb trees; and beyond these by rounded
hills which the setting sun gilds with burning colors, where the eye
distinguishes, a league away, the microscopic profile of trees, fine as
the antennae of butterflies, black and clear as pen-drawings of India-ink
on a ground of sparkling gold. It is one of those landscapes which
oppress you because they leave nothing to be desired, nothing to be
imagined. Nature has here created that which the poet and the painter
behold in their dreams. An immense _ensemble_, infinite details,
inexhaustible variety, blended forms, sharp contours, dim, vanishing
depths,--all are present, and art can suggest nothing further. Majorca
is one of the most beautiful countries of the world for the painter, and
one of the least known. It is a green Helvetia under the sky of
Calabria, with the solemnity and silence of the Orient."

The village of Valdemosa is a picturesque, rambling place, brown with
age, and buried in the foliage of fig and orange trees. The highest part
of the narrow plateau where it stands is crowned by the church and
monastery of the Trappists (_Cartusa_), now deserted. My coachman drove
under the open roof of a venta, and began to unharness his horses. The
family, who were dining at a table so low that they appeared to be
sitting on the floor, gave me the customary invitation to join them, and
when I asked for a glass of wine brought me one which held nearly a
quart. I could not long turn my back on the bright, wonderful landscape
without; so, taking books and colors, I entered the lonely cloisters of
the monastery. Followed first by one small boy, I had a retinue of at
least fifteen children be