The passage from Palma to Barcelona was not so pleasant as that from Barcelona to Palma had been.  Chopin suffered much from sleeplessness, which was caused by the noise and bad smell of the most favoured class of passengers on board the Mallorquin—­i.e., pigs.  “The captain showed us no other attention than that of begging us not to let the invalid lie down on the best bed of the cabin, because according to Spanish prejudice every illness is contagious; and as our man thought already of burning the couch on which the invalid reposed, he wished it should be the worst.” [Footnote:  “Un Hiver a Majorque,” pp. 24—­25.]

On arriving at Barcelona George Sand wrote from the Mallorquin and sent by boat a note to M. Belves, the officer in command at the station, who at once came in his cutter to take her and her party to the Meleagre, where they were well received by the officers, doctor, and all the crew.  It seemed to them as if they had left the Polynesian savages and were once more in civilised society.  When they shook hands with the French consul they could contain themselves no longer, but jumped for joy and cried “Vive La France!”

A fortnight after their leaving Palma the Phenicien landed them at Marseilles.  The treatment Chopin received from the French captain of this steamer differed widely from that he had met with at the hands of the captain of the Mallorquin; for fearing that the invalid was not quite comfortable in a common berth, he gave him his own bed. [Footnote:  “Un Hiver a Majorque,” p. 183.]

An extract from a letter written by George Sand from Marseilles on March 8, 1839, to her friend Francois Rollinat, which contains interesting details concerning Chopin in the last scenes of the Majorca intermezzo, may fitly conclude this chapter.

Chopin got worse and worse, and in spite of all offers of service which were made to us in the Spanish manner, we should not have found a hospitable house in all the island.  At last we resolved to depart at any price, although Chopin had not the strength to drag himself along.  We asked only one—­a first and a last service—­a carriage to convey him to Palma, where we wished to embark.  This service was refused to us, although our friends had all equipages and fortunes to correspond.  We were obliged to travel three leagues on the worst roads in a birlocho [footnote:  A cabriolet.  In a Spainish Dictionary I find a birlocho defined as a vehicle open in front, with two seats, and two or four wheels.  A more detailed description is to be found on p. 101 of George Sand’s “Un Hiver a Marjorque.”] that is to say, a brouette.

On arriving at Palma, Chopin had a frightful spitting of blood; we embarked the following day on the only steamboat of the island, which serves to transport pigs to Barcelona.  There is no other way of leaving this cursed country.  We were in company of 100 pigs, whose continual cries and