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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume II

— February 1920

To Richard Murry


Here is a letter with an Ominous drawing of yourself in Aids to Eyesight. I hope you won't have to wear them. You have as you doubtless know, beautiful eyes, very rare, expressive, original and seldom seen eyes, the kind of eyes you might imagine a person having if he'd been born at sea while his wise parents cruised about among the Pacific islands and had spent the first days of his natural little life wondering what all that blue was. However, if you do have to have 'em glassed and framed—so do I. Mine—or rather one of mine is not at all the orb it used to be. I'm going to wear horn specs ‘those of the largest kind’ for working in. What a trio we shall present at the Heron. Pray make a drawing of us—surprised at our labours and suddenly all at various windows looking out to see who that is coming up the flagged walk—three faces at three windows page 11 —six prodigious eyes! Whoever it was faints among the pink peonies…

Yesterday, no the day before, I received a copy of Je ne Parle pas. I want to thank you for having printed it so beautifully. It makes me very happy to see your name on the back page. My share doesn't satisfy me at all, but yours fills me with pride. I hope a little handful of people buys it, for the sake of covering the expense. The page you send me of Cinnamon and Angelica looks very well. Are you going to make a map for the frontispiece with the arms of C. and A. very fairly drawn? or a tiny, tiny Durer-like drawing of Apricia, with a great flowery branch in the foreground—you know the kind of thing I mean? It is somehow most right that you should draw. When I come back you'll shew me your sketches? Another quite small insignificant little half-hour job for you is a stone carving for the garden of the Heron, something that will abide for ever with somewhere about it our names in beautiful lettering saying we lived and worked here.

I am out of Italy, as you see, and in France. I shall stay here until the end of April if I can manage it. That Italian villa got pretty dreadful and yet, now the time there is over, I wouldn't have it otherwise. I found out more about ‘writing.’ “Here” is a room with the window opening on to a balcony and below the balcony there is a small tree full of tangerines and beyond the tree a palm and beyond the palm a long garden with a great tangled—it looks like—a wood at the bottom of it. Palms, Richard, are superb things. Their colour is amazing. Sometimes they are bronze, sometimes gold and green, warm deep tiger-gold—and last night, under the moon in a little window, they were bright silver. And plus that, the creatures are full of drawing. How marvellous life is, if only one gives oneself up to it! It seems to me that the secret of life is to accept life. Question it as much as you like after, but first accept it. People to-day stand on the outskirts of the city wondering if they are for or against page 12 Life—is Life worth living—dare they risk it—what is Life—do they hate or love it—but these cursed questions keep them on the outskirts of the city for ever. It's only by risking losing yourself, giving yourself up to Life, that you can ever find out the answer. Don't think I'm sentimental. You know and I know how much evil there is, but all the same let's live to the very uttermost—let's live all our lives. People to-day are simply cursed by what I call the personal… What is happening to Me. Look at Me. This is what has been done to Me. It's just as though you tried to run and all the while an enormous black serpent fastened on to you. You are the only young artist I know. I long for you to be rich—really rich. Am I a dull little dog? Forgive me. I am working awfully hard and that always makes me realise again what a terrific thing it is—our job.