case belongs to the small minority of loves where both parties are distinguished practitioners of ideal crafts.  Great would be the mistake, however, were we to assume that the elective affinities of such lovers are easily discoverable On the contrary, we have here another problem, one which, owing to the higher, finer, and more varied factors that come into play, is much more difficult to solve than the first.  But before we can engage in solving the problem, it must be properly propounded.  Now, to ascertain facts about the love-affairs of poets and artists is the very reverse of an easy task; and this is so partly because the parties naturally do not let outsiders into all their secrets, and partly because romantic minds and imaginative litterateurs are always busy developing plain facts and unfounded rumours into wonderful myths.  The picturesqueness of the story, the piquancy of the anecdote, is generally in inverse proportion to the narrator’s knowledge of the matter in question.  In short, truth is only too often most unconscionably sacrificed to effect.  Accounts, for instance, such as L. Enault and Karasowski have given of Chopin’s first meeting with George Sand can be recommended only to those who care for amusing gossip about the world of art, and do not mind whether what they read is the simple truth or not, nay, do not mind even whether it has any verisimilitude.  Nevertheless, we will give these gentlemen a hearing, and then try if we cannot find some firmer ground to stand on.

L. Enault relates that Chopin and George Sand met for the first time at one of the fetes of the Marquis de C., where the aristocracy of Europe assembled—­the aristocracy of genius, of birth, of wealth, of beauty, &c.:—­

The last knots of the chaine anglaise had already been untied, the brilliant crowd had left the ball-room, the murmur of discreet conversation was heard in the boudoirs:  the fetes of the intimate friends began.  Chopin seated himself at the piano.  He played one of those ballads whose words are written by no poet, but whose subjects, floating in the dreamy soul of nations, belong to the artist who likes to take them.  I believe it was the Adieux du Cavalier...Suddenly, in the middle of the ballad, he perceived, close to the door, immovable and pale, the beautiful face of Lelia. [Footnote:  This name of the heroine of one of her romances is often given to George Sand.  See Vol.  I., p. 338.] She fixed her passionate and sombre eyes upon him; the impressionable artist felt at the same time pain and pleasure...others might listen to him:  he played only for her.

  They met again.

  From this moment fears vanished, and these two noble souls
  understood each other...or believed they understood each
  other.