12 February 1921

12 February 1921

Villa Isola Bella, Menton, France

Forgive an impudent woman. Shes very very serious really. And because we are fellow-workmen may I say I think you sometimes know more than you say & sometimes you say less than you know . . . Does that convey anything?

I find my great difficulty in writing is to learn to submit. Not that one ought to be without resistance - of course I dont mean that. But - when I am writing of 'another' I want so to lose myself in the soul of the other that I am not . . .

I wish we could have a talk about writing one of these days.

Was there really a new baby in your letter? Oh dear some people have all the babies in this world . . . And as sometimes happens to us women just before your letter came I found myself tossing a little creature up in the air and saying: "Whose boy are you?" But he was far too shadowy, too far away to reply.

So tell me about your baby - will you? And when I do get out of this old bed I shall drive to the lace shop & buy a cobweb to make a cap for himher. Farewell. May the Fairies attend you. No, dear woman, it is grim work - having babies. Accept my love and my sympathy.

                           Yours ever

                     Katherine Mansfield

[Letter to Sylvia Lynd in Collected Letters, 10 February 1921.]