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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume I

December 30, 1915

December 30, 1915

Midi. This morning I went to the woman who introduced me to the Villa. She is a Spaniard, from Barcelona, and we are really sincerely friends. She is a dear creature and at first I knew she didn't like me but now really we have jokes together and she laughs, showing her pretty teeth. She tried to find me a femme de menage but could not so her daughter Marie, a dark-eyed Spanish beauty—a really fascinating creature with a fringe, big eyes and bright colour, is coming instead. But do we mind cuisine espagnole? “Pas du tout.” Then I went to the Church for a minute—I feel I must keep in close touch with God. They were dressing the altar with white and yellow jonquils—a sweet savour must have mounted. I prayed that my prayer was heard at the same moment and that God was pleased. Then I went to the station to ask what trains arrived and then to our villa by the path that you are coming. The door was open. The woman was inside hanging up saucepans. So we went through the inventory together and she said she would give me teacups and a teapot … because we were English. Also she offered to take me to any shops where I wanted to buy anything. I then went over the villa again. There is the loveliest green water pot like you admired. We must find something to fill it with. Then I went back to her house and together with her husband made out a lease, signed, paid, and put the key in my pocket. A friend came in and we sat talking a little. They told me not to buy flowers for your arrival. They had enough in their garden—and she said she would come in when Marie arrived on Saturday and show her how to make the fire. I walked home with the key in my hands.

Friday. Noon. Now I am just waiting. I have ordered the little stores and the wine and the wood. All page 65 the windows are open—all the doors—the linen is airing. I went to the flower market and stood among the buyers and bought, wholesale you know, at the auction in a state of lively terrified joy three dozen rose buds and six bunches of violets.

[Note added by J. Middleton Murry:]

We lived, very happily, at the Villa Pauline for the next three months. The next two letters were written on a journey to Marseilles where K. M. had gone to meet her sister (Mrs. Cecil Pickthall) who was returning from India.