Jardins de la Cartoixa

“You may imagine me this: between the sea and the mountains in an enormous abandoned Carthusian monastery, in a cell with doors larger than those of the largest coach houses in Paris. Imagine me without white gloves, without my hair curled, pale as ever. My cell is in the shape of a large coffin, with vaults covered in dust and a small window that looks out over orange trees, palms and cypresses. Opposite my window, below a rosette in a Moorish style, is my bed. Beside it, a writing desk, which is old, sunken, with a lead candlestick — a great luxury — and its tallow candle. Bach’s works, my manuscripts, my notes and some other papers, here you have all that I possess. An absolute calm reigns over all; you could shout at the top of your voice without anybody hearing you. In short, I’m writing to you form a very strange place.”