11 October

11 October 1920

Villa Isola Bella Menton, France

Oh, Bogey I dont like the world. Its a horrid place. When I think of the Schiffs - Sunday lunch - Osbert Sitwell & Cie - I feel there is no place for us except Beyond the Blue Mountains. I want to wander through valleys with you drink out of leaves for cups, sit on Villa Pauline when the almond tree was in flower remembering how I warm hill¬sides & listen to bees in the heather. I want a house as small as possible and there to live & watch the clouds and mark the seasons - with you. There to work and live - no servants. Friends sometimes to see us, but all jet simple . . . (I came to the back door then with a bowl of crumbs for some migratory birds that had come to rest on our hill top after a storm and were still too weak to fly. They were quite tame - hopping about -rather large slender grey birds with silver breasts. You came walking from the field with a pail of milk. Our lovely little fawn cow was just wandering away. The pail glittered - you strolled along. I looked at the cow & the birds & thought all are enchanted.)
[. . .]
Now theres an asp come out of a hole - a slender creature, red, about 12 inches long. It lies moving its quick head. It is very evil looking but how much nicer than a caller. I was warned yesterday against attempt¬ing to kill them. (Do you see me trying to kill them, Boge?) But they spring at you, if you do. However darling, Ill catch this one for you at the risk of my life & put it in your Shakespeare for a marker at the scene where the old man carries in the basket of figs. You will have to hold your Shakespeare very firmly to prevent it wriggling, Anthony darling.
Lovingly yours

[Letter to J. M. Murry in Collected Letters 10 October 1920]

Darling Bogey,
I send the story. As usual I am in a foolish panic about it. But I know I can trust you. You know how I choose my words; they can't be changed. And if you don't like it or think its wrong just as it is Id rather you didn't print it. Ill try & do another.
Will you tell me, if you've time, what you think of it. Again (as usual) I burn to know & you see there's NO-ONE here.
It was one of my queer hallucinations; I wrote it straight off. And Ive no copy.
Wig.
I hope you like my little boy. His name is HENNIE. May I use that address? [Letter to J. M. Murry in Collected Letters]