publicans。　　〃On　the　11th　of　May；　the　revolutionary　newspapers　published　a　manifesto　in　which　the　committee　for　the　defence　congratulated　and　encouraged　the　accused　men。　　One　hundred　and　ten　signatures　were　affixed　to　this　document；　which　was　a　forgery。　　It　had　been　drawn　up　by　a　few　of　the　upholders　of　the　scheme；　and；　in　order　to　make　it　appear　more　important；　they　had　affixed　the　names　of　their　colleagues　without　their　authorization。　　Those　who　had　done　this　then　took　fright；　and　attempted　to　get　out　of　the　dangerous　adventure　by　a　public　avowal。　　In　order　to　save　the　situation；　two　of　the　guilty　party；　Trelat　and　Michel　of　Bourges；　took　the　responsibility　of　the　drawing　up　of　the　manifesto　and　the　apposition　of　the　signatures　upon　themselves。　　They　were　sentenced　by　the　Court　of　Peers；　Trelat　to　four　years　of　prison　and　Michel　to　a　month。〃＇22＇　This　was　the　most　shocking　inequality；　and　Michel　could　not　forgive　Trelat　for　getting　such　a　fine　sentence。
  ＇22＇　Thureau　Dangin；　_Histoire　de　la　Monarchie　de　Juillet_；　II。　　297。
  What　good　was　one　month　of　prison？　　Michel's　career　certainly　had　been　a　very　ordinary　one。　　He　hesitated　and　tacked　about。　　In　a　word；　he　was　just　a　politician。　　George　Sand　tells　us　that　he　was　obliged　〃to　accept；　in　theory；　what　he　called　the　necessities　of　pure　politics；　ruse；　charlatanism　and　even　untruth；　concessions　that　were　not　sincere；　alliances　in　which　he　did　not　believe；　and　vain　promises。〃　　We　should　say　that　he　was　a　radical　opportunist。　　To　be　merely　an　opportunist；　though；　is　not　enough　for　ensuring　success。　　There　are　different　ways　of　being　an　opportunist。　　Michel　had　been　elected　a　Deputy；　but　he　had　no　_role_　to　play。　　In　1848；　he　could　not　compete　with　the　brilliancy　of　Raspail；　nor　had　he　the　prestige　of　Flocon。　　He　went　into　the　shade　completely　after　the　_coup　d'etat_。　For　a　long　time　he　had　really　preferred　business　to　politics；　and　a　choice　must　be　made　when　one　is　not　a　member　of　the　Government。
  It　is　easy　to　see　what　charmed　George　Sand　in　Michel。　　He　was　a　sectarian；　and　she　took　him　for　an　apostle。　　He　was　brutal；　and　she　thought　him　energetic。　　He　had　been　badly　brought　up；　but　she　thought　him　simply　austere。　　He　was　a　tyrant；　but　she　only　saw　in　him　a　master。　　He　had　told　her　that　he　would　have　her　guillotined　at　the　first　possible　opportunity。　　This　was　an　incontestable　proof　of　superiority。　　She　was　sincere　herself；　and　was　con…
  sequently　not　on　her　guard　against　vain　boasting。　　He　had　alarmed　her；　and　she　admired　him　for　this；　and　at　once　incarnated　in　him　that　stoical　ideal　of　which　she　had　been　dreaming　for　years　and　had　not　yet　been　able　to　attribute　to　any　one　else。
  This　is　how　she　explained　to　Michel　her　reasons　for　loving　him。　　〃I　love　you；〃　she　says；　〃because　whenever　I　figure　to　myself　grandeur；　wisdom；　strength　and　beauty；　your　image　rises　up　before　me。　　No　other　man　has　ever　exercised　any　moral　influence　over　me。　　My　mind；　which　has　always　been　wild　and　unfettered；　has　never　accepted　any　guidance。　。　。　。　　You　came；　and　you　have　taught　me。〃　　Then　again　she　says：　　〃It　is　you　whom　I　love；　whom　I　have　loved　ever　since　I　was　born；　and　through　all　the　phantoms　in　whom　I　thought；　for　a　moment；　that　I　had　found　you。〃　　According　to　this；　it　was　Michel　she　loved　through　Musset。　　Let　us　hope　that　she　was　mistaken。
  A　whole　correspondence　exists　between　George　Sand　and　Michel　of　Bourges。　　Part　of　it　was　published　not　long　ago　in　the　_Revue　illustree_　under　the　title　of　_Lettres　de　lemmze_。　　None　of　George　Sand's　letters　surpass　these　epistles　to　Michel　for　fervent　passion；　beauty　of　form；　and　a　kind　of　superb　_impudeur_。　　Let　us　take；　for　instance；　this　call　to　her　beloved。　　George　Sand；　after　a　night　of　work；　complains　of　fatigue；　hunger　and　cold：　　〃Oh；　my　lover；〃　she　cries；　〃appear；　and；　like　the　earth　on　the　return　of　the　May　sunshine；　I　should　be　reanimated；　and　would　fling　off　my　shroud　of　ice　and　thrill　with　love。　　The　wrinkles　of　suffering　would　disappear　from　my　brow；　and　I　should　seem　beautiful　and　young　to　you；　for　I　should　leap　with　joy　into　your　iron　strong　arms。　　Come；　come；　and　I　shall　have　strength；　health；　youth；　gaiety；　hope。　。　。　。　　I　will　go　forth　to　meet　you　like　the　bride　of　the　song；　‘to　her　well…beloved。'〃　The　Well…beloved　to　whom　this　Shulamite　would　hasten　was　a　bald…headed　provincial　lawyer　who　wore　spectacles　and　three　mufflers。　　But　it　appears　that　his　〃beauty；　veiled　and　unintelligible　to　the　vulgar；　revealed　itself；　like　that　of　Jupiter　hidden　under　human　form；　to　the　women　whom　he　loved。〃
  We　must　not　smile　at　these　mythological　comparisons。　　George　Sand　had；　as　it　were；　restored　for　herself　that　condition　of　soul　to　which　the　ancient　myths　are　due。　　A　great　current　of　naturalist　poetry　circulates　through　these　pages。　　In　Theocritus　and　in　Rousard　there　are　certain　descriptive　passages。　　There　is　an　analogy　between　them　and　that　image　of　the　horse　which　carries　George　Sand　along　on　her　impetuous　course。
  〃As　soon　as　he　catches　sight　of　me；　he　begins　to　paw　the　ground　and　rear　impatiently。　　I　have　trained　him　to　clear　a　hundred　fathoms　a　second。　　The　sky　and　the　ground　disappear　when　he　bears　me　along　under　those　long　vaults　formed　by　the　apple…trees　in　blossom。　。　。　。　　The　least　sound　of　my　voice　makes　him　bound　like　a　ball；　the　smallest　bird　makes　him　shudder　and　hurry　along　like　a　child　with　no　experience。　　He　is　scarcely　five　years　old；　and　he　is　timid　and　restive。　　His　black　crupper　shines　in　the　sunshine　like　a　raven's　wing。〃　　This　description　has　all　the　relief　of　an　antique　figure。　　Another　time；　George　Sand　tells　how　she　has　seen　Phoebus　throw　off　her　robe　of　clouds　and　rush　along　radiant　into　the　pure　sky。　　The　following　day　she　writes：　　〃She　was　eaten　by　the　evil　spirits。　　The　dark　sprites　from　Erebus；　riding　on　sombre…looking　clouds；　threw　themselves　on　her；　and　it　was　in　vain　that　she　struggled。〃　　We　might　compare　these　passages　with　a　letter　of　July　10；　1836；　in　which　she　tells　how　she　throws　herself；　all　dressed　as　she　is；　into　the　Indre；　and　then　continues　her　course　through　the　sunny　meadows；　and　with　what　voluptuousness　she　revels　in　all　the　joys　of　primitive　life；　and　imagines　herself　living　in　the　beautiful　times　of　ancient　Greece。　　There　are　days　and　pages　when　George　Sand；　under　the　afflux　of　physical　life；　is　pagan。　　Her　genius　then　is　that　of　the　greenwood　divinities；　who；　at　certain　times　of　the　year；　were　intoxicated　by　the　odour　of　the　meadows　and　the　sap　of　the　woods。　　If　some　day　we　were　to　have　her　complete　correspondence　given　to　us；　I　should　not　be　surprised　if　many　people　preferred　it　to　her　letters　to　Musset。　　In　the　first　place；　it　is　not　spoiled　by　that　preoccupation　which　the　Venice　lovers　had；　of　writing　literature。　　Mingled　with　the　accents　of　sincere　passion；　we　do　not　find　extraordinary　conceptions　of　paradoxical　metaphysics。　　It　is　Nature　which　speaks　in　these　letters；　and　for　that　very　reason　they　are　none　the　less　sorrowful。　　They；　too；　tell　us　of　a　veritable　martyrdom。　　We　can　easily　imagine　from　them　that　Michel　was　coarse；　despotic；　faithless　and　jealous。　　We　know；　too；　that　more　than　once　George　Sand　came　very　near　losing　all　patience　with　him；　so　that　we　can　sympathize　with　her　when　she　wrote　to　Madame　d'Agoult　in　July；　1836：
  〃I　have　had；　my　fill　of　great　men　（excuse　the　expression）。　。　。　。　　I　prefer　to　see　them　all　in　Plutarch；　as　they　would　not　then　cause　me　any　suffering　on　the　human　side。　　May　they　all　be　carved　in　marble　or　cast　in　bronze；　but　may　I　hear　no　more　about　them！〃　　_Amen_。
  What　disgusted　George　Sand　with　her　Michel　was　his　vanity　and　his　craving　for　adulation。　　In　July；　1837；　she　had　come　to　the　end　of　her　patience；　as　she　wrote　to　Girerd。　　It　was　one　of　her　peculiarities　to　always　take　a　third　person　into　her　confidence。　　At　the　time　of　Sandeau；　this　third　person　was　Emile　Regnault；　at　the　time　of　Musset；　Sainte…Beuve；　and　now　it　was　Girerd。　　〃I　am　tired　out　with　my　own　devotion；　and　I　have　fought　against　my　pride　with　all　the　strength　of　my　love。　　I　have　had　nothing　but　ingratitude　and　hardness　as　my　recompense。　　I　have　felt　my　love　dying　away　and　my　soul　being　crushed；　but　I　am　cured　at　last。　。　。　。〃　If　only　she　had　had　all　this　suffering　for　the　sake　of　a　great　man；　but　this　time　it　was　only　in　imaginary　great　man。
  The　influence；　though；　that　he　had　had　over　her　thought　was　real；　and　in　a　certain　way　beneficial。
  At　the　beginning　she　was　far　from　sharing　Michel's　ideas；　and　for　some　of　them　she　felt　an　aversion　which　amounted　to　horror。　　The　dogma　of　absolute　equality　seemed　an　absurdity　to　her。　　The　Republic；　or　rather　the　various　republics　then　in　gestation；　appeared　to　her　a　sort　of　Utopia；　and　as　she　saw　each　of　her　friends　making　〃his　own　little　Republic〃　for　himself；　she　had　not　much　faith　in　the　virtue　of　that　form　of　government　for　uniting　all　French　people。　　One　point　shocked　her　above　all　others　in　Michel's　theories。　　This　politician　did　not　like　artists。　　Just　as　the　Revolution　did　not　find　chemists　necessary；　he　considered　that　the　Republic　did　not　need　writers；　painters　and　musicians。　　These　were　all　useless　individuals；　and　the　Republic　would　give　them　a　little　surprise　by　putting　a　labourer's　spade　or　a　shoemaker's　awl　into　their　hands。　　George