The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume I
October 27, 1918 —
To the Hon. Dorothy Brett
Really, in spite of all England shrieking and imploring everybody not to make Peace until they've had a rare kick at him and a rare nose-in-the-mud rubbing one does feel that Peace is in the Air.
“It is all about, my sister
Yet it is unborn”—
(Those lines struck me suddenly and seemed suddenly mysteriously lovely.) They took my breath away. It was like listening at the door and hearing the winter steal away leaving Spring, Spring, in a basket on the doorstep of the world.
Oh, Brett—let there be no more War.
I have been spending all my days gradually fitting into a smaller and smaller hole as my puff gets less. Now I'm in bed—and here I must stay for a bit. This is very cursed: in fact, it's Hell, but I shall get out of it and once we have lain down our knife and fork and agreed to eat no more German I'll be well again—But England! What! Peace! It's like suddenly snatching away all their next coupons—What did my son die for, Sir? To keep the war going or to end it, Sir? To keep it going, Sir, until everybody else's son is as dead as he! They, the old gentlemen over 70, who write to The Times would like to have such a Peace that they could plant a campstool in any corner of Europe, sit down, throw their handkerchiefs over their faces and go to sleep there without being disturbed by one single solitary soul. But they won't get their way—
Lawrence and Frieda have been in town. Frieda was ill and in bed but I saw a very great deal of Lawrence—For me, at least, the dove brooded over him, too. I loved him. He was just his old, merry, rich self, laughing, describing things, giving you pictures, full of enthusiasm and joy in a future where we become all ‘vagabonds’—we simply did not talk about people. We kept to things like nuts and cowslips and fires in woods and his black self page 216 was not. Oh, there is something so loveable about him and his eagerness, his passionate eagerness for life—that is what one loves so. Now he is gone back to the country.