intended for
the ventilation of the cell, and above was a loft in which the
maize, onions, beans, and other simple winter provisions were
kept. On the south the three rooms opened on a flower garden,
exactly the size of the cell itself, which was separated from
the neighbouring gardens by walls ten feet high, and was
supported by a strongly-built terrace above a little orange
grove which occupied this ledge of the mountain. The lower
ledge was covered with a beautiful arbour of vines, the third
with almond and palm trees, and so on to the bottom of the
little valley, which, as I have said, was an immense garden.

The flower garden of each cell had all along its right side a
reservoir, made of freestone, from three to four feet in width
and the same in depth, receiving through conduits placed in
the balustrade of the terrace the waters of the mountain, and
distributing them in the flower garden by means of a stone
cross, which divided it into four equal squares.

As to this flower garden, planted with pomegranate, lemon, and
orange trees, surrounded by raised walks made of bricks which,
like the reservoir, were shaded by perfumed arbours, it was
like a pretty salon of flowers and verdure, where the monk
could walk dry-footed on wet days.

Even without being told, we should have known that the artists who
had now become inmates of the monastery were charmed with their
surroundings. Moreover, George Sand did her utmost to make life within
doors comfortable. When the furniture bought from the Spanish refugee
had been supplemented by further purchases, they were, considering the
circumstances, not at all badly off in this respect. The tables and
straw-bottomed chairs were indeed no better than those one finds in the
cottages of peasants; the sofa of white wood with cushions of mattress
cloth stuffed with wool could only ironically be called "voluptuous";
and the large yellow leather trunks, whatever their ornamental
properties might be, must have made but poor substitutes for wardrobes.
The folding-beds, on the other hand, proved irreproachable; the
mattresses, though not very soft, were new and clean, and the padded
and quilted chintz coverlets left nothing to be desired. Nor does
this enumeration exhaust the comforts and adornments of which the
establishment could boast. Feathers, a rare article in Majorca, had been
got from a French lady to make pillows for Chopin; Valencienn