2 March 1921
2 March 1921
2 March 1921
Villa Isola Bella, Menton, France
This is just a note to let you know that tout va bien a la maison. It is the late afternoon of an exquisite day. That heavy evening rain that made water spouts of Jack’s trousers fell like a blessing upon the garden. When I went out today the air smelt like moss, and there was a bee to every wallflower. The peach leaves are like linnet wings, the branches of the fig are touched with green, the bush of may is just not in flower. I had to lift up the daffodils & set them on their legs again and to give a finger to the reclining freezias. But nothing had come to harm. As to that white rose bush over the gate & the gas meter it is sprinkled with thousands of tiny satin fine clusters. This is a darling little garden when one can get out of ones shell & look at it. But what does it profit a man to look at anything if he is not free? Unless one is free to offer oneself up wholly and solely to the pansy - one receives nothing. Its promiscuous love instead of a living relationship - a dead thing. But there it is – And my gland is a great deal more swollen for some reason. The blood goes on tapping squeezing through like a continual small hammering and all that side of my head is numb. Its a vile thing.
[To Ida Baker, in Collected Letters, 8 March 1921.]