Out of La Trappe, which does
not suit a Protestant man, there is perhaps no place where one
can be so perfectly alone. I might study even but, as I said,
there are noises going on; a _last_ desperate spasmodic effort
of building,--a new top-story to the house, out of which is to be
made one "spacious room" (so they call it, though it is under
twenty feet square) where there shall be air _ad libitum,_ light
from the sky, and no _sound,_ not even that of the Cremorne
Cannons, shall find access to me any more! Such is the prophecy;
may the gods grant it! We shall see now in about a month;--then
adieu to mortar-tubs to all Eternity:--I endure the thing,
meanwhile, as well as I can; might run to a certain rural
retreat near by, if I liked at any time; but do not yet: the
worst uproar here is but a trifle to that of German inns, and
horrible squeaking, choking railway trains; and one does not go
to seek this, _this_ is here of its own will, and for a purpose!
Seriously, I had for twelve years had such a sound-proof
inaccessible apartment schemed out in my head; and last year,
under a poor, helpless builder, had finally given it up: but
Chelsea, as London generally, swelling out as if it were mad,
grows every year noisier; a _good_ builder turned up, and with a
last paroxysm of enthusiasm I set him to.
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