31 January 1922

Victoria Palace Hotel, Paris

Elizabeth, on our knees we beg - write a new play. Oh, how thrilling it would be to sit by John and watch your play. I reread The Cherry Orchard to take the taste of Clemence Dane away - and the real fascination of the real thing shines through it. It's an exquisite play.
I hope your work goes well. I think of you often - This weather is odious. Today was a disgrace to God. Would you lunch with us on Sunday? or any day that suits you - I hope you like dear De la Mare. There is one poem "Why is the rose flowered and faded And these eyes have not seen" - - - I'm not sure of the words. It seems to me almost the best. I hope you meet him one day.
With very much love,
and thank you for everything.
Katherine. To Elizabeth Russell, late January 1922.]

My precious dear,
Although I have not seen Manoukhine yet and am in fact waiting for my bregchick I must write you a little note to be posted in all haste. To tell you what you call news. Bogey - Montana is a wonderful place. Since I left I have not once had shortness of breath or a second's trouble with my heart. I am exactly like an ordinary common garden person in that respect. I had to walk at the Gare de Lyon quite a long way and except that my pegs were tired - I have been scoring on paper for so long now (oh it dies hard, my dearest. . . notre jeu) I felt as I used to 5 years ago.
Perfect journey. The hotel is extremely quiet. There is a huge salle de bains. I have a bedroom, hall with private door & this - well its a dressingroom bathroom for 20 francs a day. I wallowed in a bath on arrival put on clean clothes and am lying down. Its like a dream not to be out of breath & to be alone with ones own sponge again.
Of course numbers and numbers of marvellous things happened on the journey. I am keeping a journal instead of putting them in letters. Its less boring for anyone to read them unashamedly put forth like that. But I suppose my love of you is at the root of everything. Meine Wurzeln sind tauig begiessen with that und mit frischen Buhlen erfullt. Dear Eckermann and dear Goethe! I slept last night in the little hollow in the bed between the two of them. Wasn't that review of Lynd sickening. Didn't it make Lynd a sorry worm. There was nothing in the papers (D.N.) but a white satin tea cosy handpainted with fiags of the Empire for Princess Mary. [To J.M. Murry, 31 January 1922.]