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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume II

February 1920

To J. M. Murry

It's the most divine spring—summer weather—very hot. This is the kind of thing that happens at 1.30. A big car arrives. We go in from our coffee and liqueurs on the balcony. May is waiting to dress me—I wear ‘somebody's’ coat—‘anybody's’—we get in, there are rugs, cushions, hassocks, and yesterday the tea basket, and away we go. Yesterday we went to La Turbie (I can't spell it and am ashamed to ask.) It's up, up high, high on the tops of mountains. It's a tiny, ancient Roman town, incredibly ancient! with old bits with pillars and capitals—Oh, dear—it is so lovely. The road winds and winds to get there round and round the mountains. I kept seeing it all, for you—wishing for you—longing for you. The rosemary is in flower (our plant it is). The almond trees, pink and white; there are wild cherry trees and the prickly pear white among the olives. Apple trees are just in their first rose and white—wild hyacinths and violets are tumbled out of Flora's wicker ark and are everywhere. And over everything, like a light are the lemon and orange trees growing. If I saw the house which was ours, I saw twenty. I know we never shall live in such houses, page 19 but still they are ours—little houses with terraces and a verandah—with bean fields in bloom with a bright scatter of anemones all over the gardens. When we reached the mountain tops we got out and lay on the grass, looking down, down—into the valleys and over Monaco which is— if anything in this world is, Cinnamon's capital. The palace, seen from so high—with its tufts of plumy trees— the harbour basin with his yacht and a sail boat and a minute pinnace. Angelica's chemises were hanging out to dry in a royal courtyard. I saw them through the glasses. The hedge sparrow had cushions and rugs for her—the American whose name is D. lay flat on her back smoking— J., never still for a moment, roamed about and one heard her singing. She couldn't keep still and C. (of course) unpacked the tea basket and fed us all and poured cream down us and then gave away the cakes to two funny little mountain children who watched us from behind a rock. We stayed there about 2 hours and then dropped down by another road to Monte—the light and the shadow was divided on the hills, but the sun was still in the air, all the time—the sea very rosy with a pale big moon over by Bordighera. We got home by 6.30 and there was my fire, the bed turned down—hot milk—May waiting to take off all my things. “Did you enjoy it, Madam? “Can you imagine such a coming back to Life?