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'Katherine Mansfield Today' Blog
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What was KM thinking and writing 90 years ago today? The ‘KM blog’ posts daily extracts of her letters and notebooks written almost 90 years ago...
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10 December 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
My dear Lady Rothermere.
I was so glad to hear from you, so sorry to know you are not coming to Fontainebleau until January. I have been hoping, for days, to hear of your arrival. We miss you here awfully.
[letter incomplete, 10 December 1922.]
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9 December 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Yesterday when I was in the stable Mr Salzmann came up. He had just returned from his work - sawing logs in the far wood. And we began to talk about poverty. He was talking of the absolute need for us today to be poor again, but poor in the real sense. To be poor in ideas, in imagination, in impulses, in wishes, to be simple, in fact. To get rid of the immense collection with which our minds are crammed and to get back to our real needs. But I shall not try to transcribe what he said. It sounds banal; it was not. I hope you will meet this man one day. He looks a very surly, angry and even fierce workman. He is haggard, drawn, old looking with grey hair cut in a fringe on his forehead. He dresses like a very shabby forester and carries a large knife in his belt. I like him almost as much as I like his wife. Together they seem to me as near an ideal couple as I could imagine.
Bogey are you having fine weather? Today is perfectly glorious. There was a heavy frost last night but its marvellously clear and fine. No, I don't want any money just now, thank you, darling heart. What nonsense to say those WS. [War Savings] certificates are mine. Why? They are yours! And don't go building a 7 roomed house. 7 rooms for 2 people! I will write again in a day or two. Goodbye for now, dearest darling Bogey.
Ever your own
Wig.
Don't forget the photograph! [To J. M. Murry, 9 December 1922.]
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8 December 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
What do you read? Has Dunning any unfamiliar books? You have rather a horror of anything at all. . . Eastern - haven't you? I read Ouspensky's Tertium Organum the other day. For some reason it didn't carry me away. I think it is extremely interesting but - perhaps I was not in the mood for books. I am not at present, though I know that in the future I shall want to write them more than anything else in the world. But different books. There is Mr Hartmann here with whom I have great talks nearly every evening about how and why and when. I confess present day literature simply nauseates me, excepting always Hardy and the other few whose names I cant remember. . .But the general trend of it seems to me quite without any value whatever.
[To J. M. Murry, 9 December 1922.]
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7 December 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
My darling Bogey
I have never had a letter from you that I so ‘understood' as your last about your house & how you are living & the wages you gave to John & Nicholas. I can't say what a joy it is to know you are there. It seems to me very mysterious how so many of us nowadays refuse to be cave dwellers any longer but in our several ways are trying to learn to escape. The old London life, whatever it was, but even the life we have led recently wherever we have been is no longer even possible to me. It is so far from me that it seems to exist in another world. This of course is a wrong feeling. For, after all, there are the seeds of what we long after in everybody and if one remembers that any surroundings are possible . . . at least. [To J. M. Murry, 9 December 1922.]
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6 December 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
I don't know how you feel. But I still find it fearfully hard to cope with people I do not like or who are not sympathetic. With the others all goes well. But living here with all kinds I am simply appaled at my helplessness when I want to get rid of someone or to extricate myself from a conversation, even. But I have learnt how to do it, here. I have learnt that the only way is to court it, not to avoid it, to face it. Terribly difficult for me, in practice. But until I really do master this I cannot get anywhere. There always comes the moment when I am uncovered, so zu sagen, and the other man gets in his knockout blow.
Oh, darling, I am always meaning to ask you this. I came away this time without a single photograph of you. This is intolerable. I really must have one, Bogey. Not only because I want it fearfully for myself but people keep on asking me. And I am proud of you. I want to show them what you look like. Do please send me one for Xmas. This is very important.
Goodbye for now, my own Bogey. I am ever your loving
Wig.[To J. M. Murry, 6 December 1922.]
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5 December 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
There is a small steep staircase to a little railed off gallery above the cows. On the little gallery are divans covered with persian carpets (only two divans). But the whitewashed walls and ceiling have been decorated most exquisitely in what looks like a persian pattern of yellow, red and blue by Mr Salzmann. Flowers, little birds, butterflies, and a spreading tree with animals on the branches, even a hippopotamus. But Bogey all done with the most real art - a little masterpiece. And all so gay, so simple, reminding me of summer grasses and the kind of flowers that smell like milk. There I go every day to lie and later I am going to sleep there. Its very warm. One has the most happy feelings listening to the beasts & looking. I know that one day I shall write a long long story about it. At about 5.30 the door opens and Mr Ivanov comes in, lights the lantern and begins milking. I had quite forgotten the singing wiry silvery sound of milk falling into an empty pail & then heavier plonk-plonk! ‘Mr' Ivanov is a very young man, he looks as though he had just finished his studies, rather shy, with a childlike beaming smile. [To J. M. Murry, 6 December 1922.]
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4 December 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
My darling Bogey
Your Sunday letter arrived today. Until I have your answer to mine suggesting that we do not meet until the spring I will not refer to the subject again. . .I think that's best.
Your little house and way of life sounds so nice. I am very very glad that you feel Dunning is your friend. Do you have something of your Lawrence feeling for him? I imagine it is a little bit the same. And Mrs Dunning - you like her? And do you play with the little boys? There are nine children here. They live in the childrens house and have a different mother every week to look after them. But I remember now I have told you all that before. Ill tell you instead about that couch Mr Gurdjieff has had built in the cowhouse. Its simply too lovely. [To J. M. Murry, 6 December 1922.]
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3 December 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Dear Ida
In case this letter reaches you in time & you have the money, please buy me the warmest skirt and jumper & knitted coat you can find in a darkish colour - the coat a large size. Its against the cold.
Yours ever,
K.M. [To Ida Baker, 2 December 1922.]
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2 December 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Then when I first came here I had a most sumptuous luxurious room and so on. Now I rough it in a little, simple, but very warm room. But its tiny. We couldn't sit in it. Deeper still is the most sincere feeling I am capable of that I do not want to see you until I am better physically. I cannot see you until the old Wig has disappeared. Associations, recollections would be too much for me just now. I must get better alone. This will mean that we do not meet until the spring. If this sounds selfish it must sound selfish. I know it is not and I know it is necessary. If you do not understand it please tell me, darling.
I don't feel the cold as much as I have in other winters. Its often sunny, too & I have just bought for 23 francs very good boots lined with felt with felt uppers. But Ill say no more just now. I hope you will understand & not be hurt by my letter, dearest heart.
Ever your
Wig. [To J. M. Murry, 1 December 1922.]
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1 December 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
No, let me be very careful. I have not asked Mr Gurdjieff if you could come. He might say ‘yes' but I can't [see] what on earth an outsider could do here just now. Its winter. One can't be out of doors. One can't just stay in one's room. Meals are at all hours. Sometimes lunch is at 4 p.m. & dinner at 10 p.m. And so on. But the chief reason that matters is this. Physically there is very little outward change in my condition so far. I am still breathless, I still cough, still walk upstairs slowly, still have to stop and so on. The difference is that here I make ‘efforts' of a certain kind all day & live an entirely different life. But I have absolutely no life to share at present. You can't sit in the cow house with me at present or in the kitchen with seven or eight people. We are not ready for that yet. It would simply be a false position. [To J. M. Murry, 1 December 1922.]
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30 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
My darling Bogey
I seem to have snapped at that £10 like a dog with a bone, and I never even said merci in my last letter. I am most awfully grateful for it. I accept it with joy, though I did mean - yes, truly - to send it back to you. Did you see L.M. I wonder? Wayside Cottage reminded me of Rose Tree Cottage. The name only. They are of the same type. I hope you are snug in it. I suppose you couldn't (or wouldnt care to) snare L.M. as working housekeeper & gardener. I dont see Sullivan as a great help in such matters. But perhaps I wrong him.
About Christmas. I want to be quite frank. For many reasons I would rather we did not meet till the spring. Hear my reasons before judging me for that, will you? For one the hotels at Fontainebleau are closed - the decent ones. You could not come to the Institute as a guest at present. Its not running smoothly enough. You would simply hate it. [To J. M. Murry, 1 December 1922.]
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29 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
But so many people come forward as I write. They are all very different; but they are the people I have wanted to find - real people - not people I make up or invent. Tell me about your new plans when you can, my darling, will you? Was L.M. just the same? It is a horrible thing; I have almost forgotten her. And only 2 months ago it seemed I could not have lived without her care. Do Dunnings children have lessons? Why don't you offer to teach them something. Its good to be in touch with children, one learns very much. Goodbye for now, my darling Bogey. I do feel we are nearer than we were. But there is so much, so very much one cannot write. One can only feel.
Ever your own
Wig. [To J. M. Murry, c.27 November 1922.]
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28 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
But I wish I could tell you of the people I live with. There is not only my friend Olga Ivanovna. There are the Hartmanns, husband & wife. He was - is - a musician she is a singer. They live in one smallish room, awfully cramped I suppose. But to go & sit there with them in the evening before dinner is one of my greatest pleasures. Dear precious people! She is very quick, beautiful, warmhearted. No, its no good. I cant describe her. He is small & quite bald, with a little pointed beard & he generally wears a loose blouse spotted with whitewash, very full trousers, wooden boots. He is a ‘common workman' all day. But it is the life between them; the feeling one has in their nearness. [To J. M. Murry, c.27 November 1922.]
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27 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
You know I told you a Turkish Bath was being built. It is finished & working. It was made from a cave used for vegetables & of course all labour including the plumbing, the lighting & so on done by our people. Now one can have seven different kinds of baths in it & there is a little rest room hung with carpets which looks more like Bokhara than Avon. If you have seen this evolved it really is a miracle of ingenuity. Everything is designed by Mr Gurdjieff. Now all hands are busy building the theatre which is to be ready in 2 weeks. I have to start making costumes next week. All the things I have avoided in life seem to find me out here. I shall have to sew for hours on end just as I have to puzzle over these problems in mathematics that we get sometimes in the evening. [To J. M. Murry, c.27 November 1922.]
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26 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Are you having really perfect weather (except for the cold). It is absolutely brilliantly sunny, a deep blue sky, dry air. Really its better than Switzerland. But I must get some wool lined overboots. My footgear is ridiculous when I am where I was yesterday - round about the pig sty. It is noteworthy that the pigs have of themselves divided their sty into two. One, the clean part, they keep clean & sleep in. This makes me look at pigs with a different eye. One must be impartial even about them, it seems. We have 2 more cows, about to calve in 3 weeks time. Very thrilling. Also our white goat is about to have a little kid. I want to see it very much. They are so charming. [To J. M. Murry, c.27 November 1922.]
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25 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
My darling Bogey
I understand affairs much better from your last letter. I am v. glad you are going to be near Dunning. Of course I do not feel that my way is ‘the only way'. It is for me. But people have such hidden energy, such hidden strength that once they discover it in themselves why should they not do alone what we learn to do here? You were only joking, weren't you, when you said you might find Le Prieuré was your way, too. For one can only come here via Ouspensky, & it is a serious step. However, one can always go again if one finds it intolerable. That is true, too. But the strangeness of all that happens here has a meaning, and by strangeness I don't mean obvious strangeness - theres little of it - I mean spiritual. [To J. M. Murry, c.27 November 1922.]
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24 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Darling I must sit down to a Russian lesson. I wish you knew Russian. I have also been learning mental arithmetic beginning 2 X 2 = 1 3 X 3 = 12 4 X 4 = 13 5 X 5 = 28 and so on at great speed to the accompaniment of music. Its not as easy as it looks especially when you start from the wrong end backwards. In fact at 34 I am beginning my education.
I can't write to E. [Elizabeth von Arnim] about her book. I thought it so dreadfully tiresome and silly. It didn't seem to me like a fairy tale; I saw no fairies. In fact I saw nobody. And jokes about husbands, double beds, God and trousers don't amuse me, Im afraid. In fact it seemed to me a sad tinkle from an old musicbox.
Goodbye for now, my dearest Bogey
Ever your own
Wig. [To J. M. Murry, c.24 November 1922.]
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23 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
I shall be interested to hear of your meeting with Ida. That reminds me again of the stockings which arrived in perfect order. What an extraordinary brainwave to hide them in the Times. They are very lovely stockings, too, just the shade I like in the evening. Ones legs are like legs by moonlight.
It is intensely cold here - colder and colder. I have just been brought some small fat pine logs to mix with my boulets. Boulets are unsatisfactory; they are too passive. I simply live in my fur coat. I gird it on like my heavenly armour and wear it ever night and day. After this winter the Arctic even will have no terrors for me. Happily the sun does shine as well and we are thoroughly well nourished. But I shall be glad when the year has turned. [To J. M. Murry, c.24 November 1922.]
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22 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
My darling Bogey
I have received your letter saying you will leave Selsfield & that L.E. [Vivian Locke-Ellis] and Sylvia are to join forces. It sounds a very bad arrangement to me - I mean for L.E. and Sylvia. They are nothing to each other as types - in fact they are so far apart as to be almost different kinds of beings. However - I don't suppose it matters.
I hope you & Sullivan do find a place together in the country somewhere near Dunning. I am glad you feel Selsfield is too luxurious. It is very very lovely but it is not living. There is too much ‘dinner is served, Sir' about it. Do you ever feel inclined to get into touch with Lawrence again? I wonder. I should like very much to know what he intends to do - how he intends to live, now his Wanderjahre are over. He and E.M. Forster are two men who could understand this place if they would. But I think Lawrence's pride would keep him back. No one person here is more important than another. That may not sound much of a statement, but practically it is very much. [To J. M. Murry, c.24 November 1922.]
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21 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Dear Ida
I hasten to answer your letter. Please buy me NO dress of any kind and NO shoes. This is final! I cant risk the wrong things again & I prefer to go without. Please understand I am absolutely fixed in my mind about this. No dress, no shoes, no material for dress!
As from this week I have no more money so I can't buy any more clothes. I don't want them, either. The coats were in the Paris box, I am sure. Please pack that small silky blanket of mine as well, if possible, with the eiderdown.
Excuse a hasty note. I am busy and my pen is not good. I hope you like seeing Jack & that all goes well with you. Thank you for your letter with the snapshots of the cat.
When I say I have no money I do not mean I have not always money for you when you need it. I have. You have only to ask - so ask please.
Yours ever
K.M.
What a pity you and Jack could not start a small farm together. Why don't you suggest it if you like him enough. [To Ida Baker, 23 November 1922.]
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20 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Ouspensky came over last week. I had a short talk with him. He is a very fine man. I wish you would just see him - out of - lets call it curiosity.
I must get dressed for dinner. I badly need a good washing. Remarkable how clothes fall into their proper place here. We dress in the evening but during the day. . .the men look like brigands. Nobody cares, nobody dreams of criticising.
Oh, Bogey how I love this place! It is like a dream - or a miracle. What do the ‘silly' people matter & there are silly people who come from London, see nothing & go away again. There is something marvellous here - if one can only attain it.
Goodbye for now, my dearest.
Ever your own
Wig.
I will write Elizabeth. [To J. M. Murry, 19 November 1922.]
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19 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Your idea of buying some land & building a little house does seem to me a bit premature, darling. You know so little. You have never tried your hand at such things. Its not quite easy to change from an intellectual life like yours to a life of hard physical work. But your remark made me wish you did care for my ‘ideas'. I mean by my ‘ideas' my desire to learn to work in the right way and to live as a conscious human being. They are not more than that. There is certainly no other spot on this whole planet where one can be taught as one is taught here. But Life is not easy. We have great ‘diff1culties' - painful moments, and Mr Gurdjieff is there to do to us what we wish to do to ourselves and are afraid to do. Well, theoretically that is very wonderful, but practically it must mean suffering, because one cannot always understand. [To J. M. Murry, 19 November 1922.]
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18 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
It is intensely cold here. Quite as cold as Switzerland. But it does not matter in the same way. One has not the time to think about it. There is always something happening and people are a support. I spent the winter afternoon yesterday scraping carrots - masses of carrots - & half way through I suddenly thought of my bed in the corner of that room at the Chalet des Sapins. . . Oh how is it possible there is such a difference between that loneliness and isolation (just waiting for you to come in & you knowing I was waiting) and this. People were running in and out of the kitchen. Portions of the first pig we have killed were on the table and greatly admired. Coffee was roasting in the oven. Barker cluttered through with his milk pail. I must tell you, darling, my love of cows persists. We now have three. They are real beauties - immense - with short curly hair? fur? wool? between their horns. Geese, too, have been added to the establishment. They seem full of intelligence. I am becoming absorbed in animals, not to watch only but to know how to care for them & to know about them. Why does one live so far away from all these things? Bees we shall have later. I am determined to know about bees. [To J. M. Murry, 19 November 1922.]
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17 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Darling Bogey
The affaire at Selsfield does so puzzle me. L-E [Vivian Locke-Ellis] is not at all the man we thought he was if he has made it or allowed it to be difficult for you to be there any longer. Why is it? Is Sylvia to be a permanency? What are the arrangements. I would like to know; they seem so strange.
I am thankful you have your little flat, darling. Rob mine to make yours snug. Take all you can or care to away. But do you keep warm enough? And what about food, I wonder? I have asked Ida to buy me a number of things while she is in England & to bring them over to Paris with her. Bogey, I have not got a cheque book for the moment. Would you send her a cheque for £10.0.0 on my behalf? Ill let you have it back in a week or two. But would you send it at once? As Ida is going to stay such a short while in England. Thank you, dearest. [To J. M. Murry, 19 November 1922.]
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16 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Dear Ida
I have forgotten your Lewes address. Please send it me. And tell me how long you will be in England, will you? I have asked Jack to give you some stockings to bring me. Id like another wrap, too, like my red one, but cream & another pair of slippers from Lewis just like the ones I have. But Ill let you know, later. Jack seems v. well & v. happy. Do see him! I am so grateful for my toilet accessories. They are a comfort. The blue dress is about 2 miles too long. It trails. I shall have to take it up about ½ a yard for dancing.
DONT make me woollen tops please or woollen knickers. I don't need them. Id rather have a few thin crepe tops - I need them urgently, & some ribbons for head bands. Why did I ever throw away what I have thrown away!
Bon Voyage.
Yours ever
K.M.[To Ida Baker, 13 November 1922.]
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15 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
About my stockings, darling. I heard from Ida today saying she goes to England tomorrow & would like to see you. She intends to return to France where she goes to work on some farm. Would you give the stockings to her? Ill ask her to write to you. I never think of Ida except when I get letters from her. Poor Ida! When I do I am sorry for her. I must finish this letter, darling. It is written on the arm of a chair, on a cushion on my bed, as I try to escape from the heat of my fire. Oh - I have so much to do this afternoon! Its terrible how the days pass. I had a bath this morning for the first time since leaving England! There's a nice confession. But its wonderful what can be done with a basin and a rough towel.
Have you read Elizabeths new novel? What do you think of it? Please tell me! How is your gardening getting on? Have you learnt to drive the car?
Goodbye my dear darling.
Ever your
Wig. [To J. M. Murry, 12 November 1922.]
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14 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Dear Bogey I am not ‘hypnotised'. But it does seem to me there are certain people here who are far beyond any I have met - of a quite different order. Some - most - of the English here don't even catch a glimpse of it. But I am sure. I remember I used to think - if there was one thing I could not bear in a community it would be the women. But now the women are nearer & far dearer than the men - of course I don't speak of Mr Gurdjieff I couldn't say he was near or dear to me! He is the embodiment of the life here, but at a remote distance.
Since last I wrote to you I have changed my room. Now I am in another wing - another kind of existence altogether. Where all was so quiet outside the door all is noise & bustle. My other room was very rich & sumptuous. This is small & plain & very simple. When Olga Ivanovna & I had arranged it & she had hung her yellow dancing stockings to dry before the fire we sat together on the bed & felt like two quite poor young girls .... different beings, altogether. I like being here very much. I hope Mr Gurdjieff does not move us again too soon. But it is a favourite habit of his to set the whole house walking. Easy to see why when one saw the emotions it aroused. [To J. M. Murry, 12 November 1922.]
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13 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
I must say the dancing here has given me quite a different approach to writing. I mean some of the very ancient Oriental dance. There is one which takes about 7 minutes & it contains the whole life of woman - but everything! Nothing is left out. It taught me, it gave me more of woman's life than any book or poem. There was even room for Flaubert's Coeur Simple in it & for Princess Marya . . . mysterious. By the way I have had a great talk about Shakespeare here with a man called Salzmann, who is by ‘profession' a painter. He knows & understands the plays far better than anyone I have met except you. He happens, too (this is by the way) to be a great friend of Olga Knippers. His wife is the chief dancer here - a very beautiful woman with a marvellous intelligence. [To J. M. Murry, 12 November 1922.]
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12 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Dear Ida
Here is 500 francs. How long will the Gay-Lussac address be yours? Let me know in time. Sometimes letters get delayed here for a day or two - very rarely, but just in case, I give you warning. I am so glad to have the green skirt. The black coat is like most of the other things much too small - two sizes too small, arms too short. And I have one black velvet jacket - why a black plush? I wish I could send it back to you. I so hate hard things that stand out, like plush. Will you tell me just what money you have?
How much more than 1000 francs have you spent is what I want to know. The mouth pastilles you sent me are also useless. They do not dissolve in either hot or cold water. I TERRIBLY need a good mouth antiseptic, a good toothbrush, and some toothpicks. Also water softener, an antiseptic like Condy. I think & hope that will be the end of my needs.
Of course I take back my words about the tops & knickers.
Yours ever
K.M. [To Ida Baker, 6 November 1922.]
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12 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Darling Bogey,
I have 2 letters of yours to answer. What a queer situation with regard to Sylvia Sullivan. Poor L.E.! That is what comes of trying to help people without knowing how to. It only aggravates their disorders. Don't you find Sylvia S. attractive at all? I feel there is a certain personality in you which would be greatly drawn to her. I am surprised that her relations with Sullivan are not good. He gave me to understand that Dunning had convinced him completely of - not only her need of him but of his of her. I am so sorry for you when you speak of your life as emerging from your study & disappearing into it again. Don't you sicken of shutting that door & sitting down to that table? One feels like a spider in an empty house. For whom this web. Why do I strain to spin and spin? Here, I confess, after only five weeks, there are things I long to write! Oh, how I long to! But I shall not for a long time. Nothing is ready. I must wait until la maison est pleine. [To J. M. Murry, 12 November 1922.]
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11 November 1922
La Prieuré, Fontainebleau, Avon
Dear Ida
I do not think Lisieux is a good idea. It is too isolated. You need people & interchange of relationships to take you out of yourself. You will only get depressed and dull at the farm, I should think. That is my opinion. Would not the Palace at Montana be better? Or that V.A.D. place at Menton? Or why not write to Jinnie F? [Fullerton] She might have an idea. I think it would be worse than folly to live a lonely life. Surely you know your need of people! Any kind of isolation is only possible for very great strong people.
Why are you so tragic? It does not help. It only hinders you. If you suffer, learn to understand your suffering but don't give way to it. The part of you that lived through me has to die - then you will be born. Get the dying over! But remember you will teach yourself nothing alone on a farm. You are not the type. [
No, it makes no difference to me if you are in Paris or not. . . How I am? I am learning to live. But I have not ‘disappeared'. Later I may go to Paris or London or Berlin or anywhere & we could meet and have a talk. I am far less disappeared than ever I was.
I meant the cheque to be 500. Please cash it and use it.
As for the clothes, later, I shall alter them myself.
But do you see that our relationship was absolutely wrong now? You were identified with me. I prevented you from living at all. Now you have to learn & its terribly hard. [To Ida Baker, 10 November 1922.]
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