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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume I

Hotel Oasis, Marseilles — March 1916

Hotel Oasis, Marseilles
March 1916

I got through to the 2nd and had a very comfortable journey. I nearly fell out of the train at the last moment looking for and then at you. But no, you walked away. It was rather awful—wasn't it? The country on the way here is so lovely. Where there used to be pink heather there is gorse now and white and red trees everywhere. Cook's weren't much consolation, but they referred me to the P. and O. people, rue Colbert (opposite the Post Office) and I found out from them that the Sardinia is definitely expected at 8.30 a.m. on Thursday morning. Also I explained my situation and obtained from them a card permitting me to go on board. So I must stay. It's a good thing I came. She ‘moors,’ says my card further at Mole C—Bassin National. I shall find it. Cook's will tell me the way. The P. and O. people were not inclined to over amiability. Then (very hungry as usual when en voyage) I went and bought my bag for 13 francs. It was expensive, but it is just what you would have bought (Oh, how she flatters him!) Darling, it's a lovely bag, though, mouse blue, well finished and strong, and with or without a handle, and the shape you said, and deep enough to hold my passport. But my things somehow don't belong, don't quite belong to me until you have seen them—and they've spiritually passed through the customs. Until you've more or less put a little white chalk squiggle page 66 on this bag it isn't quite mine, though I'm very pleased with it. Then I came here and was remembered—but it was “Eh, comment va Monsieur?” from Monsieur, Madame and especially that nice rather slatternly maid, who was very friendly and shook hands. I have the same room (I'm in it now) the same flowers on the wall paper (that came out and bowed when I had fever). Only the couch has been ‘re-covered’ in large yellow and black three-eyed beetles. The same little chap has gone for my bag, because it is pouring with rain and has been ever since I set foot. A nuisance—for I don't feel I can buy a 3.75 umbrella. However, the rain is warm, and smells of Spring. I don't really mind it, but my boots do—and they wouldn't be protected with an umbrella anyway—I had two mingy eggs cooked in margarine, a pot of tea, and one lumpish little roll for lunch, 1.70. Two eggs are I franc: tea 60 c.—bread 10 c. It was at the place we always went to. I protested, but was told a long story. Everything has augmented. I was very angry—especially as I couldn't eat the eggs for all my hunger. Our cooking spoils one for anything else. I bought 2 penny packets of note-paper, a pen, a bottle of ink, a Daily Mail and Radical and tabac. So here I am waiting for the baggage—as usual.

Madame Ferrand was at Cassis station; in the corridor of the train we met, and she did not acknowledge my bow. Why are people so horrid?