Colombo, Ceylon
December 1910
To my incomparable sister
Of the velvet eyes,
The mother-of-pearl skin,
The ebony hair,
The pomegranate lips,
The clove like breath,
By the inspiration of Dawn,
Greetings and Prosperity.
I write to you beneath a bewildering swaying of gigantic bamboo trees, at the far end of a garden which ought to belong to the Thousand and One Nights, or, if you prefer, this resembles El Dorado.
Do you like orchids? I adore them.
You would have the same feelings if you could see them as I do at this moment: meaning, in clusters, purpled, narcotic, with here and there some shameful misalliance as is suitable for plebian orchids.
Haven’t I a talent for descriptions, darling? But I think you will not expect anything better when I tell you that it is 90 degrees in the shade and my poor aching body is in a complete state of collapse, both moral and physical.
Would that I were the daughter of a sea-wolf, to go roving with only sleepers on my feet, a necklace, and that’s all!!!
I am becoming incoherent; I’d better stop.
Beneath a blazing tropical midday sky, the road to Maradane is reduced to powder: … on each side arises the unexpected; foliage in turn somber, sparkling, or brilliant. The heat is such that the slightest movement is exhausting. At a distance in a cloud of dust, one perceives the great weary oxen with their bloodshot eyes and backs slashed by blows. Alongside, gleaming black, the ox drivers.
Everywhere reflections, everywhere light, and then, from time to time, a coconut falls, slowly, with a dull sound, on the brown earth.
A land of absolute repose, of an absolute beauty, a rich land, an unbelievable land, bursting forth with all fruits and spices- the purity of a vermilion hand, enamoured of light, drunk by sunshine.
POSTSCRIPT: What do you say about my oriental style? As for me, I am stunned by it! I flatter myself I am the possessor of one of the most adaptable natures in existence.
Dambatenne at 5000 feet,
200 feet from the sun.
4 December 1910.
I am giddy, the dizziness of heights.
I feel tiny, so tiny … you have no idea … from one moment to the next it seems that I should be swallowed up. All the surrounding mountains conspire to cruch me with their weight. Immense shaggy rocks are heaped up pell-mell around the house. The view is superb. 2000 feet below us smiling hills with delicate sylvan slopes can be perceived.
You see it, the stump of Adam’s Peak in the distant haze. Nearby it’s the jungle, then, the sea. Here and there the lagoons-girded by banana trees, pomegranate cactus, camphor trees, eucalyptus, and nutmeg trees- smoke in the sun like enormous tubs.
Unnecessary to tell you that I am of a sovereign laziness and that nothing less than a monsoon would make me abandon my divan. All of this is understood.
How far away is England! Vita mia!
How is it possible that you are not here?
It occurred to me several times during my sojourn, to ask myself, in effect, why you don’t make any effort to come here, in spite of everything, in spite of everything??? I shouldn’t wish to be in your place for an empire! This is not so bad, it seems to me, for a person who is double-faced.
Now for the little matter-of-fact information you love: we will be going perhaps to spend several days towards the end of this month at Nuwara Eliya, but you can write to me here and it will be forwarded.
I had all sorts of adventures on the steamer that I should like to be able to tell you about in person. Among others, one very amusing with a Spanish lady and other with – ma non importa. It will keep. Enough to tell you that the lady Violetta amused herself madly at the expense of others. Which is perhaps not altogether a good thing, but one pardons youth for many things, especially at 16 ½. These are what you call puerilities. I call them simply imprudences- which amounts to about the same thing.
Do try not to get married before I return.
Dambatenne
12 December 1910
In vain one looks for some coherence, some telltale blade of grass in the inextricable labyrinth which is your last letter- a labyrinth, alas, which lacks an Ariadne to provide the conducting thread.
But after a brief attempt, I give up guessing! It’s too hot to persist. Unless you have become suddenly enamoured of some happy mortal, I confess myself incapable of reading between your lines. Oh well, this will arrange itself.
In attentively rereading suddenly a sort of heavy anguish which I can only qualify as apprehension has just made my heart beat rapidly and makes my hand tremble as I write to you …
It’s trembling and it’s sad.
For the first time your extra two years seem to me very real, arrogant, sinister.
But don’t believe that I haven’t foreseen this moment: often I have imagined myself at this turning.
Oh, for pity sake, tell me that I am wrong, that it is my devilish imagination which overpowers me.
After all, I’m only a girl. I ought to have foreseen that perhaps at your age a masculine liaison would come about. I would be wise to accept this. I feel that I’m about to say improper things. You won’t laugh, promise that you won’t laugh. For a long time I’ve asked nothing of you, so grant me this. It would hurt so.
Tomorrow we’re going to Nuwara Eliya. We plan to spend most of this week in the jungle where these gentlemen-hunters are going to hunt alligators.
I hope terribly that they won’t force me to participate. These enormous beasts all bleeding- pouah! It makes one shudder. Then we will go to see the buried cities, beginning with Anuradhapura. The jungle makes me tremble. I pray to return intact.
Violetta
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