Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1896-12-17
FAMOUS LETTER OF LOVE.
Written by George Sand to Her Italian
Lover, DR.. Pagello.

Lover, DR.. Pagello
One of the finest love poems in any
language has just come to light |
Though, prose in form, it is a poem in
spirit; though apparently a mere i'm
FASHIONED love letter, it is, in it's way.
work of art, and as such may we'll
be placed in the same category with
the wonderful letters of Eloise and
Abelard.
George Sand is this nineteenth cen
tury Eloise, and the Abelard to whom
her fiery words are addressed is Pie,ro
Pagello, an italian doctor. The great
authoress was pasSionately in love with
this pOnderous Italian. and some Gu
rious stories have been published in
regard to her intimacy with, him How
he attracted her is rather a mystery.
Some writer's claim that the magic lay
in his broad shoulders and general
physical robustness. But can any one
account for a wOman's tastes? Can
any one explain why Mary of Scotland
fell in love with the brutal Boutwell,?
DR.. Pagello is still Hving-90 years
old he is-and from him DR.. Cabanes
obtained a copy of the fine letter which
the New York Herald has published.
A hearty old man Pagello is, and
| greatly fattered he seems to be on
! account of the attention which is being
| paid to him at present. Among his
treasures are few porcelain cups out
of which George Sand used to drink,
and these he always shows to visitors.
! Talking Of the woman who has made
his name famous he says that she was
! fond of Turkish tobacco and used to
make her own cigarets, that she was
always sweet tempered and content
with her lot, that fish was her favorite
food, that she excelled in making
sauces, and that she drank good deal
of tea as a stimulant to work
Young Page1lo, his son, adds further
details ''This was a mere episode in
my fathers life" he says: nothing
more. George Sand, wearied with AL
fred de Musset's caprices, fell in love
with my father, who was a fine, hand
some, broad-shouldered young fellow
My father loved the handsome French
woman for her genius, her, kindness
indeed, to tell the truth, he was capt.
waited with her. But this little incident
was soon forgotten by him"
How cold, nay, heartless these words
seem as we read George Sands out
| burst of passionate alteration! Would
she have written thus if she had fore
wi in how 70
in time be regarded as little Incl
dent in her lovers life?
She would, perhaps, be ais much OPP
posed to the publication of this love
letter as some members of her family
are now to the publication of her pri,
vate documents. Her daughter, Nine
Clesinger, was very angry when she
heard that this letter had been pub
hshed, and she at once asked the court
to Interfere in her behalf Lawyers,
however, are of the opinion that she
has no case. A letter, they say, be-
longs partly to the author and partly
to the person to whom it is addressed,
and under ordinary circumstances no
third party has any claim to it. More
over, George Sand bequeathed all the
letters relating to herself and De Mus
set to NJ. Emile Ancante, a member of
the Calmann Levy firm of publishers,
with full instructions to publish them
whenever he might see fit. NJ. Ancante
says, that he will carry out her desire,
and that her letters to De Musset will
be published shortly. Nine. Clesinger
and the other members of George
Sands family, he claims, have not a
shadow of title to her letters He will
publish them, and the originals will
then be deposited in the National or
some other great French library.
Even admitting, however, that the
members of THE family have some
rights as regards the letters to De Mus
set, it is difficult to see what claim
they can have on the letters written
to Pagello, and which are, apparently.
in his possession
Now for the famous letter itself:
''Since we were born under different
skies, we have neither the same
thoughts nor the same language, but
| have we not, at least, the same hearts 4?
The warm and foggy climate of my
native land has left in me sweet and
melancholy impressions; what passions
do you owe to the generous sun. which
| has bronzed your brow? I know how
| to love and to suffer, and you, how do
1 you love? | do not know if you really
love me. | shall never know. You
are only able to speak few words
in my tongue and I do not know your
mother tongue sufficiently to enable
mo to frame questions so subtle. Per-
haps even if I knew your language
thoroughly it would be impossible for
me to make myself understood. The
places in which we have lived, the per-
sons who have instructed US, are doubt
less the cause why we cannot explain,
each to the other, our ideas, our senti-
ments, our needs. My weak nature
and your fiery temperament must nee
essarily give birth to thoughts that
are widely different. Of a surety you
either ignore or despise the thousand
pangs that assail me; of a surety you
laugh at that which brings tears to my
eyes. Perhaps you do not know what
tears are?
''Will you be for me a helpmate or
a master? Will you console me for all
the ills which I suffered before met |
you? Will you understand why I am
sad? Do you know what compassion, |
patience friendship mean? Perhaps |