The radiant Rosemary Harris lent class and substance to her characterization of George Sand. I only saw this production once, long ago and far away when it was originally televised and yet, as in a dream, there are images that linger, just beyond my grasping. I remember George Chakiris as Chopin, on Majorca, a grand piano and flowing curtains, and thinking at the time that his performance was unexpectedly good, given the work he had done previously. I remember the superficial friendship between Aurore and Marie and of making it a point to commit the proper pronunciation of Sinéad Cusack's name to memory. (Fortuitous, that.) But mostly I remember Rosemary Harris's performance as Sand, making of this woman of questionable literary credentials a credible and compelling writer to be attended to. This mini-series was a credit to everyone artistically connected with it, from script through final edit, and I find it perplexing that it has not yet been made available, preferably on DVD, but any format, at this point, would be welcome.
