In the box at the San Carlo, two to the right from the Royal Box, at 2o/c, awaiting the start of Madame Butterfly. Yesterday we saw La Bohème & I was enchanted. Scollops of cold, icy cold, appreciation swept down my back especially in the lovely lovely Act 1, Mimi & Rodolfo in their love song. And Act 4 was terrific, sweet music as a background to fine singing & superb production. The curtain was striking as a tableau by itself, grey & blue, the tragic grey was the bed & the doctor, apart, in a splash of yellow light, wearing a yellow coat. You’d have cried too. You’ll see it all I promise. The more I see that is good the more I determine to bring you. I’ve even resolutely refused to visit the three famous churches, the Museum, Herculaneum, & the aquarium because I want to go for the first time with you. And I only half a look at the Bay of Naples & the sweep of sea to Ischia & Capri, like seeing the end of a picture. I’ll see it all properly when you’re here. All else is a prelude.

                        We go to Gragnano this evening to say how d’ye do & if they ask us will go with our traps tomorrow & stay, until Saturday.

                        Pardon reversion to pencil. This is Thursday morning. I just couldn’t write in the intervals, I was too het up with the show, & afterwards, why life with Cliff leaves no moments of leisure. We drove over to Gragnano where the family were charmingly pleased to see us & spent a poly lingual evening there. This morning I’m in the club, having packed, waiting for Cliff to return from getting the car filled with petrol. I engineered this to obtain this pause. When he returns, any minute, we’re off to Gragnano for two days returning here on Friday night, to sleep at the club, pick up the females from the Y.W.C.A. – the nice Gwennish sisters, – & then back to the other coast. This will be a brief letter, to be sure of getting it off. I’ll write in full from Gragnano, – but better a little letter than no letter.
If one were blind one would be enchanted with Butterfly ; if one were deaf, the staging, the dressing, production & the grouping would be enough. Being neither deaf nor blind it was almost too much. I kept on glorying in the thought of seeing it, & la Boehme, with you. A grand show.

                        La Boehme has perhaps better, or more brilliant songs, but the chorus & the decor & the story in Butterfly is better. The audience, largely or 90% soldiers, was hushed & quivering. It speaks well for the future that our troops are so music & beauty minded. We’ll have, & Richard shall play with some Italian friends while we go to the opera.

                        Pardon the pencil, no pens available here.

                        Agatha was comfortingly pleased to see her English Uncle & bounded about in the nicest way. They all crooned & exclaimed over the Dickie Pictures & the old boy knows Lanave. They’ve a Meisonnier drawing in the house. It’s all a bit Vesuvioed, brown dust everywhere. But they are so fresh & gay & pleased. You’ll like them.

                        Oh dear, this is a scrappy letter. I’ve one eye cocked on the door for Cliffs return. He’s a fine malleable lad, but lacks repose !

                        Maybe at Gragnano he’ll go out with the women & leave me to write & read & think. But it’s a lovely leave, or a parody of a leave, as you, the meaning of leave, are absent. Our time will come.