What about a cauliflower?’ I said. ‘A cauliflower with white sauce.
‘But they are so dear, Madame, ‘ wailed Marie. ‘So dear. One little cauliflower for 2 fr.50. It’s robbery, it’s…’
Suddenly through the kitchen window I saw the moon. It was so marvelously beautiful that I walked out of the kitchen door, through the garden and leaned over the gate before I knew what I was doing. The cold bars of the gate stopped me. The moon was full, transparent. glittering. It hung over the sighing sea, I looked at it for a long time. Then I turned round. and the little house faced me – a little white house quivering with light. a house like a candle shining behind a feather of mimosa tree. I had utterly forgotten these things when I was ordering the dinner, I went back to the kitchen,
‘Let us have a cauliflower at any price, ‘ I said firmly.
And Marie muttered, bending over a pot – could she have understood? – ‘En effet _ the times are dangerous!’
Katherine Mansfield was born in Wellington New Zealand on October 14th 1
888. This journal entry was made in October of 1920 while Mansfield, aged 31, was living with Ida Baker, in Menton France, close to the Italian border.
This was a period during which Mansfield was able to do much of her of creative and critical writing. She left Menton in May of 1921 to go to Switzerland, and from there to the terrible unheated lodgings at the Gurdjieff institute in Fontainbleu, where she went in the final desperate search of a mystical cure. She was to die in that inhospitable climate on January 9th 1923, at the age of 34.