A Winter in Majorca
A Winter in Majorca (whose original title in French is Un hiver à Majorque) is an autobiographical travelogue written by George Sand, at the time in a relationship with Frédéric Chopin.
She had written Lettres d'un voyageur a few years before, a work which she nodded to in the preface of Un hiver by describing it as a "Letter from an ex-traveler to a settled friend".
In 1833, the Spanish reign of Isabella II began, characterized by political tensions, a strong military power, and no major economic difficulties.
When George Sand arrived in Majorca, the writer's lessons praising free enterprise were a little excessive, but in line with her concern for social justice, efficiency and the fair distribution of wealth.
As a conduit for the experience of the inhabitants the novel is a failure: steeped in the ideas of the French Revolution and the Enlightenment, George Sand did not understand the Majorcans.
However, she would write Un hiver later, after her return to France, piqued by the publication of a Majorca travelogue written by Jean-Joseph Bonaventure Laurens.
We had nicknamed Majorca the Island of Monkeys, because, seeing ourselves surrounded by these sly, plundering and yet innocent beasts, we had become accustomed to protecting ourselves from them without any more rancor and spite than the mischievous and fugitive jockos and orangs cause the Indians.
[1] Sand's haughty attitude towards the Spanish is constant: quand nous fuyons le foyer d’action pour chercher l’oubli et le repos chez quelque peuple à la marche plus lente et à l’esprit moins ardent que nous, [...] When we flee from the center of action to seek oblivion and rest among some people whose march is slower and whose spirit is less ardent than ours, [...] Sand constantly reproaches them for their religious feelings, and expresses antisemitism: le juif est inexorable, mais patient.
Les juifs pourront s’y constituer à l’état de puissance, comme ils ont fait chez nous, [...] The Jew is inexorable, but patient.
Her detractors claimed that since she was able to appreciate and describe the charms of the Valldemossa Charterhouse, where she stayed, in high literary style, she could have written equally well of those who built it and of the spiritual motivation for its construction; instead of referring to the values of the French Revolution, machines and hard work.
But then Sand appears to deny the severity and even existence of Chopin's disease: Mais l’autre, loin de prospérer avec l’air humide et les privations, dépérissait d’une manière effrayante.
In the winter of 1838, the author takes the boat to Majorca and docks at Palma, accompanied by Sand's children and Frédéric Chopin, seriously ill.
The author proposes that "[t]he character of a people is revealed in its costume and furnishings, as well as in its features and language" and concludes the absence of any "intellectual life" in the Majorcan.
Sand claims that the absence of hardship has made Majorcans lazy: Quand on se demande à quoi un riche Majorquin peut dépenser son revenu dans un pays où il n’y a ni luxe ni tentations d’aucun genre, on ne se l’explique qu’en voyant sa maison pleine de sales fainéants des deux sexes, qui occupent une portion des bâtiments réservée à cet usage, et qui, dès qu’ils ont passé une année au service du maître, ont droit pour toute leur vie au logement, à l’habillement et à la nourriture.
When one wonders what a rich Majorcan can spend his income on in a country where there are neither luxuries nor temptations of any kind, one can only explain it by seeing his house full of dirty idlers of both sexes, who occupy a portion of the buildings reserved for that purpose, and who, as soon as they have spent a year in the service of the master, have a right to lodging, clothing, and food for their whole lives Agriculture is no less backward there than in some French regions, but, for George Sand, the Majorcan peasant is incredibly poor, soft and slow: Dans nos provinces du centre, où l’agriculture est le plus arriérée, l’usage du cultivateur ne prouve rien autre chose que son obstination et son ignorance.
As we set foot on this beautiful man-of-war, kept with the cleanliness and elegance of a drawing-room, seeing ourselves surrounded by intelligent and affable faces, receiving the generous and solicitous care of the commander, the doctor, the officers and the whole crew; as we shook hands with the excellent and spiritual consul of France, M. Gautier D'Arc, we leapt for joy on the bridge, shouting from the bottom of our hearts: "Long live France!"
