Lot n° 40
1500 - 2000
Result with fees
: 5 200EUR
DELACROIX Eugène (1798-1863).
L.A.S. "E. Delacroix", Souillac 28 October 1820, to Achille PIRON, "employé des Postes, Hôtel des Postes", in Paris; 3 pages in-4, address (address crossed out with small ink corrosions).
Staying in the Lot with his brother-in-law Raymond de Verninac.
He has been at his brother-in-law's for about ten days, "in the midst of excellent people who make a hell of a meal, and among whom it is very difficult to find a moment of freedom to write to his friends. [...] It is possible that I will leave very soon. It is also possible that I will stay longer than I think now. [...] I live like those pigs that are fed to fatten them. In the time of fever, my cruel enemy, I saw endless sweats wearing out my strength and making my face pale; at the same time, the dripping food was lifting my stomach. I ate nothing. Today, a frightful hunger came to replace this disgust. I would eat endlessly. Unfortunately, it is necessary to digest and this is a matter for me. [...] One of the things that is singularly flattering about this place is the beauty of the valley where this little town is built. There are admirable mountains, immense views. But as it seems that Satan blew on my trip where almost everything was fatal, the rain, after many days of the most beautiful sun, while I was languishing unfit, in an armchair, began the day before our departure from the forest. It accompanied us on the way and has kept us company ever since we got there. You can feel the sadness of a man who needed exercise to recover a little, forced to join a house. The rivers are overflowing, every day is cloudy or rainy. Mud is in every street, in every corner. So in the final analysis there is only dinner that is not subject to the vicissitudes of the weather. Every day at about six o'clock in the evening, one goes down to a large room where there are at least twenty faces at table. Then there are appetizers, roasts, entremets, desserts, and finally, regals that are endless. So in spite of the most moderate resolutions in the world, I always come out of these real table cuttings with my stomach tense and my step noticeably heavier, so that my foot often catches the step of the stairs. If God permits, I will get out of here without any serious accident. [...]
Farewell, my good friend; I hope to see you again. This dog of Paris, so dirty, so suffocating, has nevertheless the secret of calling you back to him and of making you find yourself good for something when you find yourself there. I attribute the virtue of its attraction to one thing only. The merit is all, I believe, in the people whom one has the pleasure of finding there"...
Lettres intimes (XXIII, p. 123).
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