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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume II

— Tuesday — Villa Isola Bella, Menton-Garavan September 14, 1920

To J. M. Murry


Tuesday
Villa Isola Bella, Menton-Garavan

What shall I tell you first? I have thought of you often and wondered if the beau temps is chez vous aussi, now that I've gone away.

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We had a good journey but a slight contretemps in Paris. Ida disappeared with the porter to find a taxi, and she forgot the door she'd gone out—rushed off to another and lost me. After about half an hour I appealed to the police but they were helpless. The poor creature had lost her head and when we did meet finally it was only because I saw her in the distance and simply shouted. This tired me and made my nose bleed and I had a very bad night and had to do my review in bed next day, being fanned and bathed with eau de cologne. It's of no importance to me but I felt all the time I was betraying you and the paper. Forgive me once again.

We arrived here yesterday at 4.50 after a day of terrible heat. Mentone felt like home. It was really bliss to sit in the voiture and drive through those familiar streets and then up a queer little leafy ‘way’ and then another at right angles to a gate all hidden by green where la bonne Annette stood waving her apron and the peke leapt at her heels. This villa is—so far—perfect. It has been prepared inside and out to such an extent that I don't think it will ever need a hand's turn again. The path from the gate to the two doors has a big silver mimosa showering across it. The garden is twice as big as I imagined. One can live in it all day. The hall is black and white marble. The salon is on your right as you enter—a real little salon with velvet covered furniture and an immense dead clock and a gilt mirror and two very handsome crimson vases which remind me of fountains filled with blood. It has two windows: one looks over the garden gate, the others open on to the terrace and look over the sea. I mustn't forget to mention the carpet with a design of small beetles which covers the whole floor. The dining room is equally charming in its way—and has French windows, too. It abounds in cupboards full of wessels and has a vrai buffet with silver teapot, coffee and milk jug which catch the flashing eye, all is delightful. There are even very lovely blue glass finger bowls… On the other side of the passage is the garde-linge, big page 39 enough for all our boxes as well. The linen is overwhelming. It is all in dozens—even to maid's aprons… The kitchen premises are quite shut off with a heavy pair of doors. The kitchen gleams with copper. It's a charming room and there's a big larder and a scullery big enough for a workshop, and outside there's a garden and three large caves and the lapinière. Upstairs are four bedrooms—the maid's on the entresol. The others have balconies and again are carpeted all over and sumptuous in a doll's house way.

Annette had prepared everything possible. The copper kettle boiled. Tea was laid. In the larder were eggs in a bowl and a cut of cheese on a leaf and butter swimming and milk, and on the table coffee, a long bread, jam, and so on. On the buffet a dish heaped with grapes and figs lying in the lap of fig leaves. She had thought of everything and moreover everything had a kind of chic—and she in her blue check dress and white apron sitting down telling the news was a most delightful spectacle.

The heat is almost as great as when we arrived last year. One can wear nothing but a wisp of silk, two bows of pink ribbon and a robe de mousseline. Moustiques and moucherons are in full blast; we are both bitten to death already. They are frightful. But so far I can accept them without a reproach, the compensations are so great.

I must tell you a very big date palm grows outside my bedroom balcony window. At the end of the garden wall —(a yellow crumbling wall) there is a vast magnolia full of rich buds. There is a tap in the garden. In the vegetable garden the French artichokes are ready to eat and minute yellow and green marrows. A tangerine tree is covered in green balls.

The view is surpassingly beautiful. Late last night on the balcony I stood listening to the tiny cicadas and to the frogs and to someone playing a little chain of notes on a flute.

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