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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume II

December 31, 1922

To the Countess Russell

I am sending this, as you see, at the last last moment while the old year is in the very act of turning up his toes. I wish I could explain why I have not written to you for so long. It is not for lack of love. But such a black fit came over me in Paris when I realised that X-ray treatment wasn't going to do any more than it had done beyond upsetting my heart still more that I gave up everything and decided to try a new life altogether. But this decision was immensely complicated with “personal” reasons, too. When I came to London from Switzerland I did (Sydney was right so far) go through what books and undergraduates call a spiritual crisis, I suppose. For the first time in my life, everything bored me. Everything, and worse, everybody seemed a compromise and so flat, so page 268 dull, so mechanical. If I had been well I should have rushed off to darkest Africa or the Indus or the Ganges or wherever it is one rushes at those times, to try for a change of heart (One can't change one's heart in public) and to gain new impressions. For it seems to me we live on new impressions—really new ones.

But such grand flights being impossible I burned what boats I had and came here where I am living with about 50–60 people, mainly Russians. It is a fantastic existence, impossible to describe. One might be anywhere, in Bokhara or in Tiflis or Afghanistan (except, alas! for the climate!). But even the climate does not seem to matter so much when one is whirled along at such a rate. For we do most decidedly whirl. But I cannot tell you what a joy it is to me to be in contact with living people who are strange and quick and not ashamed to be themselves. It's a kind of supreme airing to be among them.

But what nonsense this all sounds. That is the worst of letters; they are fumbling things.

I haven't written a word since October and I don't mean to until the spring. I want much more material; I am tired of my little stories like birds bred in cages.

Goodbye, my dearest cousin. I shall never know anyone like you; I shall remember every little thing about you for ever.