22 April 1922

Victoria Palace Hotel, Paris

   We are both longing to get away to that small Bavarian village and to work. I feel I have spent years and years at this hotel. I have eaten hundreds of wings of hotel chickens and only God knows how many little gritty trays with half cold coffee pots on them have whisked into my room and out again. It doesn't matter. Really one arrives at a rather blissful state of defiance after a time when nothing matters and one almost seems to glory in everything. It rains every day. The hotel window sills have sprouted into very fat, self-satisfied daisies and pitiful pansies. Extraordinary Chinamen flit past one on the stairs followed by porters bearing their boxes which are like large corks; the lift groans for ever. But it's all wonderful - all works of the Lord - and marvellous in His sight. John and I went for a drive in the Bois the other day. Elizabeth, it was divine. That new green, that grass; and there were cherry trees in flower - masses of adorable things. . .
[To Elizabeth, Countess Russell, 23 April 1922.]