Letter from Henri Matisse, Paris, to Paul Rosenberg, 1939 August 7 : autograph manuscript signed.

Saying how happy he is that Rosenberg's inviting [Ambroise] Vollard [the art dealer] is not official/finalized. He asks how Rosenberg, who thinks of everything, could possibly take such a big risk. He's going too quickly. Rosenberg is going to Geneva to recover, and Matisse thinks the gallery is being run by crazy people. He needs to be careful. Matisse says he'll will greatly admire the works of art in Geneva, if his doctors allow him to go see them. Matisse tells him that the painting of Lausanne was sold and paid for that very day. Matisse is working hard, even on Sundays. He and Robinot [shipping agent] are sending some paintings to the B[anque] de France. The previous day he went to the Boulevard de Montparnasse, and when he entered in his apartment from the previous year, where he was relatively happy, and saw all the commotion there, he thought that he would never be able to forget it. He shouted, "Never!" and was struck with a nervous perspiration. He had to go back to the hotel to change his clothes. He asks how a woman [his wife] could have thought she had the right to do such a thing. And how, after destroying everything, could she want to return with a smile on her face. He is disgusted by what happened to everything that belonged to him and was dear to him, and his work seems to be soiled by mud or some other disaster. He'll never forget. He says he's been working headlong for 50 years, with few amusements, pursuing the realization of his ideas, and now look what has happened to him. Matisse has a lot of work to do and won't be able to join Rosenberg in Geneva. He says that Rosenberg can't imagine how much he regrets the encounter in the Gare St-Lazare that Rosenberg asked him to attend with excellent intentions and which turned out so badly. He likes to give people he meets a chance to be right. His wife, after this encounter, did the completely wrong thing and hoped to get back together with him. He says, basically, that she can go to hell and that women are charming but dangerous beings. He writes about the weather, which is bad. Everyone is complaining except him, because he's so happy to have his wife off his back, a wife who always gets in the way, who gets on your nerves even when she doesn't say anything, who finds everything you like ugly and who still acts as if she's a victim. He says that when he finished moving his paintings and what he's working on, he'll probably go to see Rosenberg in Geneva, anyway.