most unmistakably would be much at a loss if they were called upon to detect George Sand’s extraordinary depth of feeling [Innigkeit] in her voice.  The latter is dull and faded, without sonority, but soft and agreeable.  The naturalness of her speaking lends it some charm.  Of vocal talent she exhibits not a trace!  George Sand sings at best with the bravura of a beautiful grisette who has not yet breakfasted or happens not to be in good voice.  The organ of George Sand has as little brilliancy as what she says.  She has nothing whatever of the sparkling esprit of her countrywomen, but also nothing of their talkativeness.  The cause of this taciturnity, however, is neither modesty nor sympathetic absorption in the discourse of another.  She is taciturn rather from haughtiness, because she does not think you worth squandering her cleverness [Geist] upon, or even from selfishness, because she endeavours to absorb the best of your discourse in order to work it up afterwards in her works.  That out of avarice George Sand knows how never to give anything and always to take something in conversation, is a trait to which Alfred de Musset drew my attention.  “This gives her a great advantage over us,” said Musset, who, as he had for many years occupied the post of cavaliere servente to the lady, had had the best opportunity to learn to know her thoroughly.  George Sand never says anything witty; she is indeed one of the most unwitty Frenchwomen I know.

While admiring the clever drawing and the life-like appearance of the portrait, we must, however, not overlook the exaggerations and inaccuracies.  The reader cannot have failed to detect the limner tripping with regard to Musset, who occupied not many years but less than a year the post of cavaliere servente.  But who would expect religious adherence to fact from Heine, who at all times distinguishes himself rather by wit than conscientiousness?  What he says of George Sand’s taciturnity in company and want of wit, however, must be true; for she herself tells us of these negative qualities in the Histoire de ma Vie.

The musical accomplishments of Chopin’s beloved one have, of course, a peculiar interest for us.  Liszt, who knew her so well, informed me that she was not musical, but possessed taste and judgment.  By “not musical” he meant no doubt that she was not in the habit of exhibiting her practical musical acquirements, or did not possess these latter to any appreciable extent.  She herself seems to me to make too much of her musical talents, studies, and knowledge.  Indeed, her writings show that, whatever her talents may have been, her taste was vague and her knowledge very limited.