THE UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS OF KATHERINE MANSFIELD

Turnbull Library Record, Volume 4, Issue 1, 1 May 1971, Page 4

THE UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS OF KATHERINE MANSFIELD

Margaret Scott

Part 111 Parts I and II of this series were drawn exclusively from Notebook I in the Library’s Mansfield manuscripts. In this, the third part, the remaining sections of Notebook I are given, together with Toots, an unfinished play, which is on loose sheets with some other unpublished loose pieces in MS Papers 119 (Mansfield unbound manuscripts). Reasons for giving Toots at this point are partly to avoid breaking into another Notebook half-way through this part of the series, and partly because it has already aroused a good deal of interest among those who have had access to the manuscripts and it seemed useful to publish it as soon as possible for the benefit of people who have difficulty in reading it in the original.

The portions of Notebook I given here are of minor interest but nevertheless should not be ignored. Of ‘Radiana and Guido’ little need be said except that each page of the manuscript has been scored through once with a heavy ink line, making it clear that Katherine Mansfield rejected this piece herself. Its interest for scholars is in being able to see the kind of turgid material which came to her in this period and which in critical mood she felt she must reject. ‘London Is Calling Me’ is simply a moment of longing for London expressed in verse form. The fact that Katherine Mansfield dated it (it was written nine months before she actually did manage to escape from New Zealand) suggests that it was a moment of some intensity, or at least significance for her. The last two fragments of the Notebook seem to be two different attempts at the same theme, both abandoned before they reached a point of clarity. As in the earlier parts of this series, the page numbers of the Notebook are given in brackets after each piece. A paragraph occurring immediately after the last of these pieces, and published by Middleton Murry on p 34 of the Journal (‘I shall never be able to change my handwriting . . .’) is dated April 1908, so it can safely be assumed that all the Notebook I material published here was written prior to that date.

Toots exists in two drafts. The first, rough draft (labelled by Katherine Mansfield ‘very rough’) is extremely difficult to read but varies in only minor respects from the more legible draft. The latter, where it varies, does so by expanding phrases and paragraphs, and it also extends beyond the limit of the first draft. The main problem is that of dating. The pages are loose, physically unrelated to anything else, so that dating must be conjectural, and I have conjectured in the following manner. The heroine is Laura - the Laura of ‘The Garden Party’ but

treated with less critical detachment. It is a self-indulgent picture, done with some clumsiness of expression, suggesting an early date - perhaps not long after Juliet. But other suggestions belie this. A prominent figure is Pip (based of course on Katherine Mansfield’s brother Leslie) who is portrayed not as the child whom she knew in New Zealand, but as a young man, boldly drawn and fully realised. This brings one at once to 1915 when Mansfield and Murry were living in Acacia Road and Leslie came to England for a few months before going to France and to his death. It was during this reunion with Leslie that Katherine Mansfield began her series of intense recollections of their childhood in New Zealand which were later honed into some of her finest stories. Many of these recollections she put on paper before Leslie’s death, and most of them were published in the Journal. It seems likely that Toots was part of the whole process of stirring up of childhood and adolescent memories which was triggered off by Leslie’s visit. Then, too, one is startled, in Toots, by Pip’s description to his mother of his feeling of bliss. His words closely echo those describing the feelings of Bertha in ‘Bliss’ which was conceived in 1915 in Acacia Road though not written until three years later. And finally, in a search of all the manuscripts for sheets of paper which physically matched those on which Toots is written, I found only two. They contain a fragment which can be read only with the greatest difficulty, but because they are probably significant in dating Toots, a transcription is worth giving:

‘She stepped down on to the platform, and quite suddenly, as though this were part of her programme and she had fully expected and prepared for it to happen she gave a strange little smile. She felt herself what a fearful mockery of a smile it was and she went up close to Max and stood in front of him. But before they reached the end of the platform she could bear it no longer - she turned her back on the people and staring up at a huge red and green poster which announced a sale of winter costumes at B mans [?] she paused for a moment. She said to herself as she stroked her muff “keep calm!” but it was too late. She had no more power over herself. She could not get calm. She was somehow quite out of her own control. She faced Max and lifting her arms she stammered I must you know I must have love, because I cannot live without love you know it’s no - At the words that block of ice which had become her bosom melted, melted, into warm tears and she felt these tears were great warm ripples flung over her whole body. Yes she wept, as it were, from head to foot. She lowered herself over the darling familiar muff and felt she and he would dissolve away in tears. It was all over. What was all over. Everything! The battle was lost.’ (MS Papers 119:12)

The content of this fragment reminds one that in 1915 Katherine Mansfield made three trips to France to join her lover Francis Carco, and it is likely that this bit of scribble was a by-product of that situation. The name ‘Max’ is peripherally interesting in that she refers in a letter to her husband, in this period, to Max Jacob who was one of Beatrice Hastings’ lovers. None of these pointers is conclusive but together they add up to a strong probability that Toots was written in 1915. As with the earlier pieces the interest of Toots is mainly biographical, extending the picture of the family which we have already from the New Zealand short stories and other sources. The name ‘Toots’, on the surface so improbable, serves to emphasise the inconsequential nature of the mother’s personality. The whole thing is sufficiently developed to give one a real sense of frustration on finding that it breaks off just at the point when Pip is about to make an observation on Laura. But clearly it died of asphyxiation, strangled by its author’s failure to approach her material from the outside and treat it with sensitive restraint.

[Radiana and Guido] 1 scene : A little room with dull purple hangings. Four Roman candles set in heavy wrought-iron holders shed a pale light. Across the windows yellow curtains are hung, straight and fine. On a couch below the windows a woman is seated, holding up a little mirror to her face and shaking the petals of a yellow chrysanthemum over her hair.

Radiana: Ah! how beautiful. They are like little pieces of perfumed gold falling over my hair. They are like little drops of pure amber, falling falling into the darkness of my hair. They are like flakes of golden snow - summer snow. (She leans back against the dull purple cushions.) O I am wrapt in the perfume of the chrysanthemums. The air is full of the perfume. It is as though there had been a dead body in the room. It is the body of Summer who is lying dead in the room, and all her beautiful gold is spent. My fingers burn with the scent of her dead body. O, I thirst, I thirst. My soul is like a great stretch of sand on which the sun has shone all the long day - it is dried up, parched, hot. It is waiting for the fierce waves to beat upon it, to hold it in a green strong embrace.

(Enter Guido) Guido: Radiana, Radiana. No - stir not. Ah! how beautiful you are - golden and white like the heart of a water lily, and the petals in your hair are like the little stars in the dark night sweetness. Your face in the depths of your hair is like a pale flower in a deep forest. Never have I

seen you so beautiful! Your gown is the colour of a cloud of narcissus blossoms and your hands are like strange white moths . . . (He seats himself beside her.) Look at me, speak to me Radiana. In the opening of the morning sky I rode forth towards the mountains. All the day have I journeyed - in the emerald of the forests, and when the sky was like a great flaming opal I saw the white tower of your castle far ahead of me. Last night I woke from a dream, fearful and overpowering, that hovered round my room - vague, shadow-like. And as I lay still, staring into the purple darkness, your face came before me, the sweetness of your eyelids and the shadows that lie under your eyes. And in the intensity of my longing I cried aloud and beat upon the pillows of my couch and shook and shuddered with the strength of myself. At last I rose, and leaning far out of the window I plucked a bunch of grapes to quench my parched mouth - but they tasted of strong blood and I felt I was drowning, suffocating [in] the heart of a purple sea. And the light of your face was as the light of the moon above the waters ... So I -

Radiana: O-1 am afraid, lam afraid. Somewhere under these hangings, know you not, Summer lies dead. Ah - the perfume of her dead body stifles me. Loosen my girdle, Guido, I cannot breathe. Guido: Radiana you dream, you have been too much alone. See, see - I am weeping. The tears are falling down my face and on to your sweet throat - you are so beautiful you are tragic, weak. One cannot live and hold so much beauty.

Radiana: Take off your cloak and wrap me in its folds. I am cold and weary. lam tired of passion, weary with Love. In the hours of the night I have called and cried for you. I have wept in the long darknesses till my hair was heavy and damp with my tears. Through the days I have leaned against my balcony and pulled the petals one by one from the roses that grow there so passionately, so beautifully. I have watched the petals fluttering to my feet one by one till my feet were covered with the crimson of them and I was standing in a pool of blood. And at the fall of each petal I have whispered your name. I have been like a virgin crying her roses, but my beads were rose-petals, were drops of blood. In the evening hour I have stood by the fountain when the water that plunged into the air was red with the colour of the sky and I have wept for you - till I could fancy my tears were of blood, all red like the fountain water ... it is gone ... my strength, my desire ... is spent .. . Guido: Radiana, Radiana, your brow is so hot - it is almost burning under my hand. Speak to me again - her breath is like the perfume of incense. You are [ —] 2 . Your body is white and cool like a shell cast by the sea on to the dull shore. Look I will raise you to your feet. My arms are round you, I am very strong. Stand here in the darkness of this room, let me feel your body leaning against me. Can I not give you

strength? It is as though I had a great torch in my heart that leaps up and flames and burns, all over my body. I feel as though my hair were on fire. Radiana, Radiana let me give you my strength. Let me pour into you the fire that is consuming me ... Radiana: Ah! Ah! (A breath of cold air blows through the room. The light of the candles is quenched. The yellow curtains blow in and out from the windows, silently, heavily. Guido in the darkness lifts Radiana in his arms and lays her upon the couch.) Guido: See I showered all your hair around you. It is so dark I can see only your face and your hands and your little white feet. Your face is like a little moon, a wan moon in the fierceness of a stormnight. Radiana: O the perfume of the dead body. Guido: It is the smoke from the candles - the night air has blown their light out.

Radiana: O the dead body of the Summer. Guido: Why are you so pale? Why are you shuddering? Close your eyes, close your eyes. What do you see? Radiana: Ah! Guido: Hold me! Hold to me! I shall keep it away. I shall hold your hand against my face. See how hot I am and you so cold. Your fingers are damp and there is a strange scent . . . Radiana, Radiana. Horror, horror -1 am holding a dead body. It is the perfume of your dead body, and I am afraid. I shall wrap you round in your hair, shut out your face, hide your hands, cover your feet. (Suddenly he springs to his feet and wrenches down one of the yellow curtains from the window. He flings it over her body.) (pp6sa-69a)

[London Is Calling Me] 1 And London is calling me the live-long day Out here it is the Summertime. The days are hot and white. The gardens are ablaze with flowers, The sky with stars at night. And [ — past my [ ] 3 I watch the sparkling bay ... With London ever calling me The live long day. 4

The people all about the place They’re meaning to be kind. They drive around to visit me From miles and miles behind. But I had rather sit alone, Why can’t they stay away. It’s London ever calling me The live long day.

I know the bush is beautiful, The cities up to date. In life, they say, we’re on the top - It’s England, though, that’s late. But I, with all my longing heart, I care not what they say. It’s London ever calling me The live long day.

When I get back to London streets, When I am there again, I shall forget that Summer’s here While I am in the rain. But I shall only feel at last The wizard has his way, And London’s ever calling me The live long day. 5.X.07.

London, London I know what I shall do. I have been almost stifling here, And mad with love of you. And poverty I welcome, yes - (ppi2sa-i26a)

Macdowell She sat on the broad window-sill, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. Just below her in the garden a passion-flower twined round a little fence - in the half-light the blossoms were like pale hands among the leaves. In the distance a little belt of pine trees, dark and motionless against a saffron evening sky. Inside the room she could see, dimly, the piano, the two tall pewter candlesticks, and a shallow bowl full of tall crimson carnations. The Australian Student was playing, and turning round and round on the revolving music stool, and talking excitedly. They were both smoking beautiful cigarettes. It gave Rana such pleasure to sit there in the gloom smoking and listening that she felt languid with delight. ‘Well here’s a pretty kettle of fish’ said the Monkey. ‘He’s done for himself rather considerably.’

He jumped from his perch on to the floor and ran to the man, dragging his silver chain after him. He felt in the man’s pockets - to the 5 one waist-coat - a little silver pencil and a lump of sugar . . . nothing else. ‘Neither of these possessions can make much tangible difference to the gentleman’s future welfare’ said the monkey, nibbling the sugar and scratching his head with the little silver pencil. And through the uncurtained window the moon shone in, upon the Broken Things. High and white and sweet was the moon, and sky like black velvet. The monkey finished the sugar and carefully licked his paw, then, glancing up he saw the man. With one bound he fled into the shadow, and then, crouching, whimpering, shivering, he crept into his corner. ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Everybody spoke of the dark man as a crank. Some went even so far as to say he followed a cult, and that is sufficiently damning for an archangel in these days. His entire establishment consisted of the terracotta plastered room. (ppi27a-i2Ba)

The Man, the Monkey and the Mask He had lived there a very long time - ten years - twenty years - even more - he himself was astonishingly vague. And it was a small terracotta plastered wall on the fourth floor, but undoubtedly there was a balcony quite three feet long that was the great attraction. The man had few possessions - a bed, a chair, a wide cupboard, and a grand piano. He had no pictures, but directly opposite the piano a little black velvet curtain hid the Mask. And in one corner he kept the monkey tethered by a thin silver chain to a white perch.

Everybody spoke of the Man as a crank - some even whispered that he followed a cult, and that is sufficient to damn the reputation of an archangel. Small wonder that he had few friends. He was tall and thin - emaciated even - but in his face shone that divine, never-to-be-mistaken light of Youth. 6

The long day pulsed slowly through. Late in the afternoon the Man crept out of bed and over to the window. He pulled it wide open and leaned out. From the street came a muttering confused nightly sound, but he looked over the shining silver roofs of the houses. There was a jagged scarlet wound in the pale sky. The wind blew towards him - he stood motionless, hardly thinking - yet some dark ghost seemed to be confronting his inner self, shrieking why, why and wherefore? Then the night came - the sky was filled with the gold of stars. Lights woke in the houses opposite. He felt curiously remote from it all - the sole spectator at some colossal stupendous drama. He looked down into the street. A girl, slight and very shabbily dressed, was walking up the area steps of the house opposite. She had a blue gingham apron over her dress. In one hand she held a letter. She looked so astonishingly young that he felt glad she was forced to cross the broad. The pillar box stood in the shadow, a few yards away. Then he noticed a man, standing on the pavement waiting. The girl noticed him too. She put her hand up to her hair, anxiously pulled her apron straight, and almost ran forward. She lifted her hand to drop the letter, and the main waiting on the pavement suddenly caught hold of her and kissed her - twice. The girl slipped her arms round his neck - kissed him on the mouth.

The watcher left the window. He staggered across the room, wrenched the black velvet curtain from the mask - ‘damn you damn you damn you’ she [i.e., he] screamed, and struck her [ —] 2 on her smiling mouth. (In the corner the monkey was very much occupied searching for fleas.) But the mask crashed down upon the floor in a thousand pieces, and the man fell too, silently. He looked like a bundle of worn out rags. (PPI29-132)

[Toots] 1 Toots: (puts down her tea cup and begins to rock gently) But really, as time goes on I seem to become more and more selfish. I feel I want nothing and nobody except my own home and my own children within hail. Nice for the poor children! The extraordinary thing is that when they were children I never realised they’d grow up and marry and

leave the nest. No. I always imagined us as one large family party, living here or travelling about - of course, each of them living their own individual lives - but all of them coming down to breakfast in the morning and pulling their pa-man’s beard . . . Don’t you know? .. . (She smiles at Bee absently and hands her a plate of biscuits, saying in an absent voice:) Have an almond finger, dear - won’t you? They’re awfully good - so short and nutty! (But before Bee has time to take one she puts the plate down and gets up and begins to walk slowly about the room.) Of course no outsider could know - not even you, Bee dear - how united we were, how happy! What jokes we had - what rare old giggles! How we used to kick each other under the table and make faces when the Pa-man would persist in reading out long lists of figures about frozen meat or wool or something . . . And how they used to come and sit in my room at night after I had gone to bed and while their Pa-man was massaging his last remaining hairs and would not go - until they were simply chased out with a hair brush .. .

Long after they were grown up, I mean ... Yes ... I can see them now ... Margot undoing those two lovely rich silky plaits, Irene manicuring her beautiful little nails, Pip smelling all the pots on my dressing table and Laura mooning over at the window. (She sits down again and blows her nose.) Then came that fatal trip to England when Margot married Duncan Henderson. Of course he is a delightful person and desirable in every way and would have been a charming friend for her to correspond with and keep in touch with . . . don’t you know? But why - why go to the lengths of marrying him and starting the break up of it all . . . No, I shall never forget my feelings at having to leave that darling child so many thousands of miles away. Of course I had to keep up for Stanley’s sake but I had barely got over it when my precious Irene was snatched from me- before my very eyes - whirled off the very deck of the ship, so to speak, by Jimmy Curwen. (Stretches out her arms.) There again - what was there to be said? A delightful

person, desirable in every way, rich, handsome, a Southern American - and they are always so perfect to their women . . . Before I could look round another child was gone. I fully expected to arrive home here and find that Laura was engaged at least and Pip an old married man .. . Bee: (puts down her cup. Takes a needle out of her bodice and threads it, screwing up her eyes) I took good care that nothing of that sort should happen! Toots: Oh, I don’t suppose it needed such frightfully good care. They are so wrapped up in each other, those two. Pip understands Laura far better than I do and a million times better than her father ever could. Bee: (dryly) She is difficult, very! Toots: Oh, I - don’t - know - Of course at times I think she is simply intolerable, but then one can’t expect all one’s children to be alike.

Margot and Irene never passed through these phases but I suppose there are hundreds of other brainy brilliant girls just like Laura. She’s too clever, really, and far too intense. Intense isn’t the word, my dear! She never can take a decent respectable interest in anything; she’s always head over ears before one can say fruit knife . . . When she is good - what I call good - I’m not saying this because I’m her mother - I’m speaking quite impersonally - she’s fascinating, irresistible! But then she so very seldom is what I call good. Bee: I think she has got very handsome lately - don’t you? Toots: Yes, hasn’t she! In the evenings, my dear, sometimes I can’t take my eyes off her. She looks like some wonderful little foreign princess. And then perhaps next morning she’ll come down in an old black blouse, a bit of black ribbon round her neck - obviously no stays, bags under her eyes, and ask in a hollow voice for coffee without any milk . . . On those occasions when I go up to her room I always find either Tolstoi under her pillow or that other man, the man with the impossible name - Dosty-something - Dosty-osti I always call him. 7 Poor child! How it maddens her!

Bee: I think it is a very good thing for Laura that Margot is coming out here to live. It ought to steady her very much, having Margot here and the interest of Margot’s life. Toots: Yes, I expect you’re right. I hadn’t really thought what it would mean to anybody except to me. Think of it! I haven’t seen the dear child for six months - and she always was - such a mother’s baby. Bee: I shouldn’t be surprised if she were feeling more of a mother’s baby than ever just now. Toots: Why? What do you mean by just now ? Bee: Isn’t there any talk of a family?

Toots: (energetically) Good Heavens! I hope not! She’s never breathed a word to me. I think it’s the greatest mistake for young married people to rush into having children. When you’re young and with the whole of your life before you surely it’s the height of folly to sit down calmly and have baby after baby. Besides it’s so easily prevented now-a-days. Certainly if I had my time over again I’d never lead off with a baby. A baby is one of the last cards I should play ... Besides there can’t be anything of that sort in the wind. If there had been I don’t think Duncan would have left her to travel by herself. He’d have waited for her. He never would have come on a month ahead like this. Bee: Quite frankly -of course it’s no affair of mine -1 still can’t understand why he has rushed on ahead like this and left her to settle up all their affairs. Of course he had his appointment but his appointment could surely have waited a month. It seems to me odd. No doubt I’m old fashioned and behind these independent times. Toots: No, I agree. I think it is odd, very odd, but I’m afraid - typical. I

had a feeling from the first moment that I saw them together that he didn’t appreciate the treasure he had got and that he was bound to take advantage of her angelic unselfishness. I only hope I’m wrong. I only hope he is all that she imagines he is. That’s why I shall be very glad to have him under my eye for a month and really get to know him without her. I’ve put him in the Bachelor’s Quarters, beside Pip’s rooms. He ought to be very snug there all to himself. (The clock strikes five.) By Jove! it’s five already. They ought to be here in half an hour. Stanley is going down to the wharf but he has to go straight back to the office for a board meeting so Pip will drive up with Duncan. I’d better tell the faithful lunatic to put a kettle on. They are sure to be dying for a cup of tea. (She rings and crosses to the window.) Heavens! the wind! What a vile day! Just the kind of day one would not choose to arrive anywhere. The garden will be blown to ribbons by tomorrow morning. (Enter Jennie with her cap on crooked.) Jennie: Did you ring, Mrs Brandon?

Toots: (vaguely) Er - yes - Jennie - I did take that liberty for once. Would you put on a kettle and have some tea ready for when Mr Henderson arrives. And - Jennie, where is the gardener; I can’t see a hint of him in the garden. He’s not blown away by any chance - is he? Jennie: Oh, no, Mrs Brandon. He’s having a nice ’ot cup of tea in the kitching with me. Toots: But Jennie he can’t still be drinking that nice hot cup of tea; he was at it two hours ago! Jennie: Oh, Lor, no, Mrs Brandon! That was ’is cup with ’is dinner. Toots: Well, you might just ask him from me not to forget all about the garden - will you? He might just occasionally look at it out of the kitchen window at any rate . . . And Jennie, put a can of really hot water covered with a towel in Mr Henderson’s room. (Jennie nods and goes.) I don’t want the poor soul to feel that he has fallen amongst absolute Maoris.

Bee: (very pink, folding up her work) I must say I do disapprove, my dear, of the way you treat your servants. I had Jennie in the most perfect order while you were away. She was like a little machine about the house. And now she answers back. She’s got all her wretched Colonial habits again. Toots: I know - it’s my fault. It’s my weakness for human beings. If ever I feel that a servant is turning into a machine I always have to give her something to turn her back again - a petticoat that I haven’t finished with or a pair of shoes that I love my own feet in or a ticket for the theatre. Hark! Do you hear? That’s the cab isn’t it? Bee: (flustered) My dear, I must go. Toots: No, why should you? Stay and meet Duncan. Of course I meant you to stay. (There is the sound of a big door opening and

laughing voices - the door gives a terrific slam - someone calls excitedly - ‘Toots!’) Toots: (calling) In the morning room! (She runs to the door but it is opened. Duncan and Philip enter in big coats and caps, pulling off their gloves. Their noses are red with the cold wind. Duncan stuffs his gloves and cap into his pocket, comes forward and takes Toots by the elbows. Bends and kisses her. Pip looks on with merry eyes. Duncan: My dear little Mater! Toots: My dear Duncan - welcome to our hearth! How splendid you are looking and how cold - you poor huge creature. Such a day to arrive! (She leads him forward.) Bee dear, here he is. Duncan, this is my old friend Miss Wing. Duncan: (very cordial) How do you do, Miss Wing. I’m delighted! Pip: (runs forward. He is bursting with laughter and keeps shaking his head as though he had just come out of the sea.) Here, let me give you a hand with your coat - may I? (To Toots) You haven’t got an idea of what the weather is like on the wharf my dear! It’s simply too awful - isn’t it?

Duncan: It certainly is one of the roughest days I’ve ever struck. Pip: (laughing all the while) And if you’d only seen the poor old Pa-man staggering along the railway lines with me holding on his hat with the crook of his umbrella. I told him to tie his handkerchief over his hat and fasten it in a neat knot under his chin - but he wouldn’t hear of it. And when we got to the place where the lighter should have been - the wind simply playing the fiddle with his sciatic nerves - and when the lighter did come and we watched it going up and down - but going up and down - my dear . . . and I thought that in two T’s we’d be going up and down with it I never felt so sorry for anyone in all my life. But of course he stuck to it like a Trojan and all the way out to the ship he pretended he liked it and said he used to go fishing down the Sounds in just that kind of weather. Toots: Poor old darling. I hope he has a good nip of brandy when he gets back to the office. I’ve a great mind to phone and tell him to. Pip: No, of course don’t do anything of the kind, silly. He’d be furious with me. (Duncan and Bee have been talking together. They raise their voices.)

Bee: But what on earth can she have done it for? Duncan: That’s what puzzled me. It really did seem too dangerous a thing to do for the mere fun of it. I thought there must be some Prince Charming on board but I had a good look round and nobody appeared to be signalling. (Turns to Toots) As I was telling Miss Wing, Mater - While we were waiting for the lighter I was looking through my glasses at the shore and I saw a girl walking along a stone embankment by the edge of the sea. A frightfully dangerous place it looked! She was

simply blown about in the wind like a little woollen ball. More than once she was blown right over - right on to the rocks. But she got up again each time and came on until she reached a kind of platform or something. Pip: Yes, where the people fish from. Duncan: And there she stood, waving at the ship. Just not being blown into the sea! Toots: (who hasn’t heard a word but has been warming Pip’s hands in hers - holding one hand against her breast and rubbing it and then holding the other, says in her absent voice) Fan-cy! (Waking up.) Tell me, how did you leave Margot! Duncan: Splendid - simply splendid! Of course she sent all kinds of loving messages to you all - I wish, for many reasons that she could have come with me- but it wasn’t possible. For one thing she had so much that she wanted to settle and for another I had a very special piece of writing on hand and I felt a quiet voyage would be just the place to do it in.

Toots: (dryly) Oh I am sure it was much the wisest plan. I thought it most sensible and modern of you both. Personally I think it’s a great mistake at the best of times to travel with one’s husband - or any man for the matter of that. Pip: Pooh! I like that - what about me! You’d give your eyes if I’d fly off with you. Toots: Even if I would - that’s got nothing to do with it. You’re not a man; you’re nothing but a child. Pip: (warmly) And what are you I should like to know. You’re nothing but an infant in arms. I could put you in a basket and tuck you under my arm and only lift the lid and let you sit on my knee when it came out sunny. (Puts his arm round Toots’ shoulder and chuckles) We know what Bee is thinking, don’t we Toots, (mimics) I may be old fashioned and behind the times but it does seem to me odd that a child should speak so to its parent. (He shades his eyes with his hand and pretends to stagger back a step.) Good Heavens! Do I see aright? A new black velvet blouse trimmed with a neat red and white glace check?? I’m surprised at you Bee! I wouldn’t have believed it! Or (goes over to Miss Bee, takes her hand and kissing it says to her ardently and warmly) was it for me? Am I the happy man?

Bee: Let me go this instant, Philip! (Pip tries to put his arm round her waist.) Toots: Philip, behave yourself this instant, sir! I don’t know what you will be thinking of us Duncan. Duncan: (cordial to a fault) Ah, Mater, don’t apologise. I like it, it makes me feel like one of the family. Toots: (strangely) That’s splendid! (Quickly) Wouldn’t you boys like

some tea? Pip, show Duncan his rooms while the tea is coming. You don’t have to go back to the office today - do you? Pip: No, darling. Toots: Well, put your slippers on, my son. Pip: Oui, ma mere. (He puts his hand on Duncan’s shoulder.) This way, old boy. (at the door) Mother, where is Laura? Toots: At the Library 8 reading the Chinese Classics. Pip: Clever Dick! Avanti - signor. Observe with what ease the young Colonial rolls the foreign tongue. (They go out.) Toots: (at the door) If there is no hot water in Duncan’s room - just curse down the kitchen stairs - will you? (She comes back into the room and very deliberately shuts the door.) Bee: (who has been rearranging herself.) Now I really must go, Toots dear.

Toots: (pays no attention) Well, what do you think of him? Bee: He’s far better looking than his photograph made him out to be. Toots: (reluctantly) Yes, I suppose he is what you’d call good looking. Bee: And his voice is charming - a charming english voice. Toots: (naively) Isn’t it strange that I can’t take to him? Somehow he doesn’t seem to be in the least one of us - not to belong in the very faintest degree to our tribe if you know what I mean. But I really haven’t got any right to say that about him just now - the moment he has arrived and I dare say feels his nose is red and is dying to wash his hands and part his hair. In fact I think it’s beastly of me to shut the door on him and begin criticising like that. I take back what I said Bee. I really am unscrupulous - just as bad as the children.

Bee: (kissing her) My dear Toots, you may always be certain that anything you ever tell me never goes the length of my little finger further. Toots: Oh, that’s not what I care about at all. Goodbye, dear. I’ll come with you to the door. And while I remember I’ll get you the pot of my new cape gooseberry jam before I forget. (The stage is empty. It gets dusky. The wind is heard rushing and hooting. Some one wrenches open the french windows and comes through, shutting them after her as though she were being pursued by the furious wind. It is Laura. She wears a big black coat. A scarf round her neck and a white woollen cap pulled over her ears. When she has shut the windows, she staggers forward, her hands clasped at the back of her head, panting and laughing silently, and saying in a breathless whisper ‘How marvellous it was. How marvellous . . .’ She crosses her arms over her breast hugging her shoulders. ‘And how terrified I was! How absolutely terrified!’ She stands quite still for a moment and then blurts out angrily ‘And the joke was that some arrogant fool actually thought I was waving to him and started waving back!’ It is quite dusky. Only the shapes of things are seen and Laura’s white wool cap. The door

opens letting in a bright light from the hall. Duncan enters - hesitates. Laura goes up to him and says in a shy soft voice: ‘Good evening. I am Laura. And you’re my new brother-in-law Duncan, aren’t you.’ She puts out her hand and as he clasps hers and is about to speak she says with a strong American accent: ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Henderson.’ And walks out.) Quick curtain. End of Act I.

Act II 9 The Morning Room as before. Mr Brandon lies on the leather sofa against the back wall to the right of the door. Pip sprawls over the table cutting open and tearing the wrappers from a big packet of new English and American magazines. He wears white flannel trousers white boots and a white flannel shirt open at the throat, and sleeves rolled up above the elbows. Mrs Brandon walks about the room - now giving herself a glance in the mirror over the mantelpiece, now pulling the blinds half an inch lower, now bending over the back of Pip’s chair and looking at the pictures with him. She is dressed in black muslin with a grey ostrich feather scarf dropping from her shoulders. Mr Brandon’s hands are folded over his belly - he has spread his handkerchief over his face and very occasionally he gives a loud beatific sounding snore. Although the blinds are more than half way down one realises it is an exquisite, hot Sunday afternoon. Pip: I can’t think why it is but I always feel the need of a sweet toothful on Sunday afternoons - do you? Have you got a chocolate button tucked away in the drawer of the sewing machine or do you think there is by any chance an odd, rather gritty jujube at the bottom of your work bag, darling?

Toots: No, I know there isn’t. There’s nothing except a chip of that awful liquorice the Pa-man bought for his cold mixed up with the sealing wax in the pen tray. Any good? Pip: (shudders and says in a hollow voice) No good! Come here, Toots. Don’t you think that girl is awfully pretty. Toots: Lovely! What a tragedy it is that actresses so often look like Princesses and Princesses so seldom look like actresses. (She bends over him smelling his hair.) How delicious your hair smells, child - like fresh pineapple. Pip: (leans against her smiling with half shut eyes.) Oh, Mother .. . Do you ever get a feeling for no reason at all, just out of the blue - a feeling of such terrific happiness that it’s almost unbearable. You feel that it’s all bottled up here (puts his hand on his breast) and that if you

don’t give it to somebody or get rid of it somehow, tear it out of yourself you’ll simply die - of - bliss . . . And at the same time - you feel as though you can do anything you want to - anything. Fly - knock down a mountain or any darned thing —Just the moment you said my hair smelled of pineapples - I got one of those waves - you see for no reason - and if I hugged you now I’d break all your little bones - I couldn’t help it. I’m a giant . . . Do you know what I mean? (Mr Brandon gives a long snore.) Pip: (Sotto voce: very sentimental, sings) Sleep darling sleep the day-light Di-i-ies down in the gold-holden west! Toots: Sh-sh! Don’t wake him. He’ll make me rush off for a walk and I’m so much happier here. Pip: Shall I take him out instead of you. Toots: My dear! the skies would fall - Pip: O well I don’t want to particularly. I’m booked to play tennis at the Graces. How awfully quiet the house is. Where’s everybody. Toots: Duncan is writing letters and Laura hasn’t come down yet. I can’t think what has come over the child - she has simply stayed in bed today - I took her up some fruit after lunch and she said she was getting up then. She didn’t look a scrap tired - on the contrary she looked marvellously well. How did she get on last night? Was she a success? Pip: (MS Papers 119:8)

NOTES 1 Title supplied. 2 Illegible word. 3 This line looks legible on the surface but I have not been able to make anything of it. 4 These two lines have been marked with two vertical ink strokes at the side. 5 An uncertain reading. 6 The narrative is interrupted here with a variety of jottings and notes, some of which were published in the Journal. 7 This passage is important, suggesting as it does that Katherine Mansfield was already reading the Russians in New Zealand in 1907-8. An investigation of the holdings of the General Assembly Library (which she called the Parliamentary Library) in Wellington, where she is known to have spent much time, reveals that a copy of Tchekov’s Black Monk and Other Stories in English translation had been in the Library since August 1904. In view of the fact that Charles Wilson, the General Assembly Librarian at that time, was, according to Miss Ida Baker, helpful to Katherine Mansfield with guidance and suggestions about her reading, and if she were already reading Tolstoi and ‘Dosty-osti’ it is likely that she was also introduced to Tchekov. The point has considerable significance for students of Tchekov’s influence on Katherine Mansfield, particularly in the light of a long correspondence on the subject in the Times Literary Supplement in 1951. I am indebted to Mr J. Traue of the General Assembly Library for helping me to find the copy in question of Black Monk and Other Stories. (Can one wring any generalisations about Tchekov and New Zealand literature from the fact

that the issue card currently in the back of the book dates from 1929 and bears, second on the list, the name E. H. McCormick in his own hand?) 8 The first draft has ‘At the Parliamentary Library’. 9 The manuscript carries a small pencil sketch of the stage set, with the props lettered and listed at the side, thus: A. - door. B. - french windows. C. - leather sofa. D. - piano (upright). E. - deep corner couch covered in chinz [sic]. F. - fireplace and leather seat in front of it. G. - revolving book case. H. - bookshelves above writing table. I. - two armchairs covered in same chinz [sic] as couch and a low table between them for tea or work. J. - writing table.