The woman Sand is the Prudhomme of immorality. She has always been
a moralist. Only formerly she practiced amorality. Also she has
never been an artist. She has the famous _fluent style_, dear to the
bourgeois.
She is stupid, she is heavy, she is a chatterbox. She has, in moral
matters, the same depth of judgment and the same delicacy of feeling as
innkeepers and kept women. What she has said of her mother; what she
has said of poetry. Her love for the workingman.
George Sand is one of those old ingenues who do not wish to quit the
boards.
See the preface to _Mlle. La Quintinie_, where she claims that true
Christians do not believe in hell. Sand is for the God of good folks,
the god of innkeepers and of domestic sharpers.
She has good reason to wish to wipe out hell.