Mas de l'Écriture
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02 · The Estate

Words and cuvées to say it

When the juice of the vine replaces the ink of the pen.

“So that words would not be all that remained, I named the estate Mas de l'Écriture.” The sentence runs across every label in tight calligraphy. It says everything about the project.

The estate's plots at dusk, hills behind
The plots at dusk, facing the hills

A terroir of stone and wind

The vines grow on three soil types: clay-limestone, clay, and rolled pebbles. The wind coming down off the causse and the sea air rising from the Mediterranean maintain the temperature swing the grapes need to keep their freshness.

It is this meteorological particularity, more than the Languedoc climate in general, that gives the Terrasses du Larzac its signature. The estate today farms nine hectares, planted with syrah, grenache, mourvèdre and carignan. The oldest goblet-pruned vines yield little but speak with the accent of our soil.

Pascal and Léa in the cellar, glass in hand
Pascal and Léa, in the cellar

Pascal et Léa

The handover happened in family continuity. Pascal planted new vines, built the cellars, named the cuvées and drew the first labels. Léa carries the work forward with her intuition and her elegance.

Pascal and Léa vinify together, taste, blend, and vintage after vintage write the estate's story.

Neck of L'Écriture, quill embossed on the capsule
The quill, embossed on every capsule

Why these names

The names of the cuvées are not an affectation or a marketing device, but a choice of thought and of the heart.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's line — « It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye » — inspired us when it came to naming our cuvées. Victor and L'Émotion are the heart speaking; Les Pensées, the mind of the estate; L'Écriture is life itself.

That leaves Victor, the only first name among the words. Origin of the name to be confirmed with the family.

Read in that order, the cuvées trace the path of a piece of writing: emotion, then thought, then text. A vintage reads back like a page — with its tics, its progress, sometimes its crossings-out.

In pictures

A plot and its dry-stone hut, seen from above Old goblet-pruned vine, leaves and bunches Vine rows at moonrise Stones and soil from the plot The vat room, wooden foudres and steel tanks
The estate and its plots from above, at golden hour

The cellar

The cellar is the case that lets the wine travel. The winegrower raises his wine in two senses: like a child being introduced to life, like a work transcended by a movement upward.

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