My room was not far from the chapel, and every night at two a.m.I could hear the old monks chanting their offices.
Most of the monks had been conscripted and were fighting in the French army; only a few of the older ones remained.

But by day and night at stated intervals the volume of their prayer and praise rose up above the noise of war, just as it had risen through the centuries of the past.

There were beautiful gardens which the monks tended carefully, and also many grape vines on the walls.

We used to watch the silent old men doing their daily work and making signs to one another instead of speaking.

In the evening I would make my way up the spiral staircase to the west-end gallery, which looked down upon the chapel.