Frédéric Chopin to a friend

Palma, 28 Dec 1838

Imagine me, between rocks and sea, in a cell in an

immense, deserted monastery, it's doors bigger than the

coach entrance to any Paris mansion. Here I am with my

hair uncurled, no white gloves, and as pale as usual. My

cell, shaped like a great coffin, has a vast and dusty arched

ceiling, and a little window looking to the garden with its

orange trees, palms and cypresses. Opposite the window,

below a rosette in the lacy Moorish style, is a camp-bed.

Beside the bed is an old

untouchable

, a kind of square

desk, on which stands a wax candle...on the same desk,

Bach, my scribbles, and other papers, not mine...(....and

the orange trees, palms and cypresses...) Silence... If

you shout...silence again... In short I am writing from a

very strange place...