One of COLETTE's last letters from Monaco. 1954.

Sidonie Gabrielle Colette , known as COLETTE (1873.1954)

Autographed letter signed to his friend Elvire Choureau, known as "Patron".

Four octavo pages on letterhead of the Hôtel de Paris in Monaco.

 [Monaco. February 27, 1954, according to the postmark].

« … one of the worst days of bad writing I've ever endured… »

After a correspondence spanning more than ten years, Colette wrote a final and deeply moving letter to her friend. She died five months later in Paris.

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" Tell me, my dear, is this aventurine? If it isn't aventurine, I don't know what to call this crystal, cloudy here, clear there, which is challenging one of the worst days of bad writing I've ever endured. I'd like you to believe that my various ailments of rheumatism are better, and that I deserve to wear one of those necklaces (Indian, I think?) that I loved so much, that I feel I'm going to love again. Yours, my dear, is the most captivating. Pink and mauve at the same time, and adorned with a pendant that is a frozen fruit. My dear, you mustn't be too kind to me. I'm too attached to everything I'm attached to. I couldn't do without you for five minutes." Already, Monte Carlo is adorned with far too many charms, among which I include the mistral, which has been blowing early since this morning. It's cold, it smells sweet, it sways the palm trees, it brings us a blue, a green, and a white edge of foam. Gigi's success pleases us greatly. Our naiveté isn't so far removed. Maurice is even more charming than in Paris… Dear Edwige, I want to write to no one but you today. In the hollow of your ear, I whisper a confession you must accept: you are a truly formidable person. There are certain harmonies—tone of voice, face, handshake, and how to describe a certain look, a victorious look—that never cease to captivate me. That's how it is. What can I do? Kiss me, Edwige! Your Colette. Maurice is entirely your friend. Excuse my poor handwriting.

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Elvire Choureau (1892-1986) – founder of the bookshop L'Artisan du livre, which she ran for over fifty years – met Colette at the dawn of the Second World War. The two friends remained close until Colette's death.