18 September

18 September 1920

Travelling to Menton, France

My dear Richard,
I was very glad to hear from you. The drawing of the Flight into Menton was really superb; Athy was the spit of himself.
Yes, I think you'd find the South of France was good country. I could be content to stay here for years. In fact I love it as Ive never loved any place but my home. The life, too, is so easy there is no division between ones work and one's eternal existence - both are of a part. And you know what that means. My small, pale yellow house with a mimosa tree growing in front of it - just a bit deeper yellow - the garden, full of plants, the terrace with crumbling yellow pillars covered with green (lurking-place for lizards) all belong to a picture or a story - I mean they are not remote from one's ideal - one's dream. The house faces the sea, but to the right there is the Old Town with a small harbour, a little quai planted with pepper and plane trees. This Old Town, which is built flat against a hill - a solid wall, as it were, of shapes & colours is the finest thing Ive seen. Every time I drive towards it it is different.
And then, there's no doubt that the people here - I mean the work¬ing people make no end of a difference. My servant Marie is a master¬piece in her way. Shes the widow of a coachman - just a woman of the people, as we say, but her feeling for Life is a constant surprise to me. Her kitchen is a series of Still Lives; the copper pans wink on the walls. When she produces a fish for lunch it lies in a whole, tufted green seascape with a large tragic mouthful of ‘persil' still in its jaws. [Letter to Richard Murry in Collected Letters, c. 19 September 1920]