CZM Book Club: A Cup of Tea, by Katherine Mansfield

0:01 Call Zone Media book Club book Club, book Club book Club. Hello, Welcome to Coole Zone Media book Club, The Only Podcast, the Only book Club. Really don't have to do the reading, because I do it for you. I'm your host, Margaret Kildroy, and every week I bring you stories, stories that I think you might enjoy or that tell us something about the world or the history of this stuff. I don't know the stories that I like. And this week I have this is going to be surprising to you. I have a story that I like. It is called A Cup of Tea by Catherine Mansfield. And if you're unfamiliar with Katherine Mansfield, some folks, although in this case the people who try and preserve her legacy, refer to her as basically transforming the way that short stories are written

1:00 the English language. And I think there's some truth to that. She was absolutely a prolific short story writer. She wrote kind of turn of the century. She died young at thirty four, tuberculosis. That'll surprise nobody. And she was bisexual, and she I don't know, she had a really interesting life, like at one point she married a guy and then left him that night, like they literally never consummated the marriage, but she was always sick and kind of getting shipped around Europe in order to try and be healthy or whatever.

1:35 And she's you know, had rich parents, although at one point they cut her out of the will for I think her rampant lesbianism and really proven the whole point that people have known about lesbians for a really long time, including lesbians. So I like the story a bunch. It's a nice, cozy winter story in a way. She wrote this in nineteen twenty two, where it came out in nineteen twenty two, which was the year before she died.

2:01 She lived from eighteen eighty eight to nineteen twenty three. She was born in New Zealand, but spent most of her adult life in London and various places around Western Europe. But also she fell in with like Russian mystics near the end of her life, which is neat but it was like partly because she traveled around basically trying to find a cure way to deal with tuberculosis. She's like kind of an interesting, almost archetypical writer for the time, and she's just a really good writer, just very like specific and clear. I was a big fan of Chekhov and also was a big fan of Oscar Wilde, which makes some sense anyway. A Cup of Tea by Catherine Mansfield, nineteen twenty two. Rosemary Fell was not exactly beautiful. No,

2:54 you couldn't have called her beautiful pretty well if you took her to peace, But why be so cruel as to take anyone to pieces? She was young, brilliant, extremely modern, exquisitely well dressed, amazingly well read in the newest of the new books, and her parties were the most delicious mixture of the really important people and artists, quaint creatures, discoveries of hers, some of them too terrifying for words, but others quite presentable and amusing. Rosemary had been married two years. She had a duck of a boy, no, not Peter Michael, and her husband absolutely adored her. They were rich, really rich, not just comfortably well off, which is odious and stuffy and sounds like one's grandparents. But

3:53 if Rosemary wanted to shop, she would go to Paris, as you and I would go to Bond Street if she wanted to buy flowers. The car pulled up, but that perfect shop in Regent Street, and Rosemary inside the shop just gazed in her dazzled rather exotic way, and said, I want those, and those and those. Give me four bunches of those, and that jar of roses. Yes, I'll have all the roses in the jar. No, not lilac.

4:21 I hate lilac. It's got no shape. The attendant bowed and put the lilac out of sight, as though this was only too true. Lilac was dreadfully shapeless.

4:32 Give me those stumpy little tulips, those red and white ones. And she was followed to the car by a thin shop girl, staggering under an immense white paper armful that looked like a baby in long clothes. One winter afternoon, she had been buying something in a little antique shop in Curzon Street.

4:52 It was a shop she liked. For one thing, one usually had it to one's self, and then the man who kept it was ridiculously fond of serving her. He beamed whenever she came in. He clasped his hands. He was so gratified he could scarcely speak flattery. Of course, all the same, there was something you see, madame, he would explain, in his low, respectful tones. I love my things.

5:21 I would rather not part with them than sell them to someone who does not appreciate them, who is not that fine feeling which is so rare. And breathing deeply, he unrolled a tiny square of blue velvet and pressed it on the glass counter with his pale finger tips. To day, it was a little box. He had been keeping it for her. He had shown it to nobody as yet, an exquisite little enamel box, with a glaze so fine it looked as though it had been baked in cream. On the lid, a minute creature stood under a flowery tree, and a more minute creature still had her arms around his neck, her hat really no bigger than a geranium petal, hung from a branch. It had green ribbons, and there was a pink cloud, like a

6:12 watchful cherub floating above their heads. Rosemary took her hands out of her long gloves. She always took off her gloves to examine such things. Yes, she liked it very much, She loved it. It was a great duck. She must have it. And turning the creamy box, opening and shutting it, she couldn't help noticing how charming her hands were against the blue velvet. The shopman, in some dim cavern of his mind, may have dared to think so, too, for he took a pencil leant over the counter, and his pale, bloodless fingers crept timidly towards those rosy, flashing ones, as he murmured gently, if I may venture to point out to Madame the flowers on the little lady's bodice charming.

7:01 Rosemary admired the flowers, but what was the price for a moment the shopman did not seem to hear. Then a murmur reached her. Twenty eight guineas, Madame, twenty eight guineas. Rosemary gave no sign. She laid the little box down. She buttoned her gloves again, twenty eight guineas, even if one is rich, She looked vague. She stared at a plump tea kettle like a plump hen above the shopman's head, and her voice was dreamy as she answered, well keep it for me, will you? I'll The shopman had already bowed, as though keeping it for her was all any human could ask. He would be willing, of course, to keep it for her forever. The discreet door shut with a click.

7:48 She was outside on the step, gazing at the winter afternoon rain was falling, and with the rain, it seemed like the dark came too, spinning down like ashes. There was a cold, bitter taste in the air, and the new lighted lamps looked sad. Sad were the lights in the houses opposite Dimly they burned, as if regretting something, and people hurried by hidden under their hateful umbrellas. Rosemary felt a strange pang. She pressed her muff to her breast.

8:21 She wished she had the little box too to cling to. Of course, the car was there, she'd only to cross the pavement, but still she waited. There are moments, horrible moments in life, when one emerges from shelter and looks out and it's awful. One oughtn't to give way to them. One ought to go home and have an extra special tea.

8:44 But at the very instant of thinking that, a young girl, thin, dark, shadowy, where had she come from? Was standing at Rosemary's elbow, and a voice like a sigh, almost like a sob breathed madame, may I speak to you a moment? Speak to me? Rosemary turned. She saw a little battered creature with enormous eyes, someone quite young, no older than herself, who clutched at her coat collar with redened hands, and shivered as though she had just come out of the water.

9:19 Madame stammered the voice, would you let me have the price of a cup of tea? A cup of tea? There was something simple sincere in that voice. It wasn't in the least the voice of a beggar. Then you have no money at all, asked Rosemary, None, madame, came the answer. But fortunately for her and for you, some of the products and services that we advertise on this show don't cost you anything because some of them are like podcasts and stuff like that. So if only this beggar had had access to the advertisements available, she might have had more podcasts to listen to. Anyway, Peer's ads and we're back. How extraordinary? Rosemary peered through the dusk, and the girl gazed back at her. How more than extraordinary?

10:26 And suddenly it seemed to Rosemary such an adventure. It was like something out of a novel by Dociesky, This meeting in the dusk. Supposing she took the girl home, Supposing she did do one of those things she was always reading about or seeing on the stage, what would happen? It would be thrilling, and she heard herself saying afterwards, to the amazement of her friends, I simply took her home with me. As she stepped forward and said to that dim person beside her, come home to tea with me, the girl drew back, startled. She even stopped shivering for a moment. Rosemary put out a hand and touched her arm.

11:07 I mean it, she said, smiling, and she felt how simple and kind her smile was. Why won't you do come home with me now in my car and have tea. You you don't mean it, madame, said the girl, and there was pain in her voice. But I do, cried Rosemary. I want you to to please me. Come along. The girl put her fingers to her lips and her eyes devoured Rosemary. You're you're not taking me to the police station, she stammered. The police station, Rosemary laughed out, Why should I be so cool? No, I only want to make you warm and to hear anything you care to tell me.

11:51 Hungry people are easily led. The footman held the door of the car open, and a moment later they were skimming through the dusk. There, said Rosemary. She had a feeling of triumph as she slipped her hand through the velvet strap. She could have said, now I've got you as she gazed at the little captive she had nedded, But of course she meant it kindly, oh more than kindly.

12:16 She was going to prove to this girl that wonderful things did happen in life, that fairy godmothers were real, that rich people had hearts, and that women were sisters. She turned impulsively, saying, don't be frightened. After all, why shouldn't you come back with me? Were both women? If I'm the more fortunate, you ought to expect, But happily at that moment, for she didn't know how that sentence was going to end. The car stopped, the bell was rung, the door opened, and with a charming, protecting, almost embracing movement, Rosemary drew the other into the hall. Warmth, softness, light, a sweet scent, all those things so familiar to her that she never even thought about them. She watched that

13:03 other receive. It was fascinating. She was like the little rich girl in her nursery, with all the cupboards to open, all the boxes to unpack. Come come upstairs, said Rosemary, longing to begin to be generous, come up to my room. And besides, she wanted to spare this poor little thing from being stared at by the servants. She decided as they mounted the stairs she would not even ring for Jeanie, but instead take off her things by herself. The great thing was to be natural. And there cried Rosemary again as they reached her beautiful, big bedroom, with a curtains drawn, the fire leaping on her wonderful lack of furniture, her gold cushions and the primrose and blue rugs. The girl stood just inside the door. She seemed dazed, but Rosemary

13:53 didn't mind that. Come and sit down, she cried, dragging her big chair up to the fire in this comfy Come and get warm. You look so dreadfully cold. I daren't, madam, said the girl as she edged backwards. Oh please, Rosemary ran forward. You mustn't be frightened. You mustn't really sit down. And when I've taken off my things, we shall go into the next room and have tea and be cozy.

14:20 Why are you afraid? And gently she half pushed the thin figure into its deep cradle, but there was no answer. The girl stayed just as she had been put with her hands by her sides and her mouth slightly open to be quite sincere. She looked rather stupid, but Rosemary wouldn't acknowledge it. She leant over her, saying, won't you take off your hat? Your pretty hair is all wet, and one is so much more comfortable without a hat, isn't one? There was a whisper that sounded like very good, madam, and the crushed hat was taken off. Let me help you with your coat, too, said Rosemary. The girl stood up, but she held on to the chair with one hand and let Rosemary pull It was quite an effort. The other scarcely helped her at all. She seemed to stagger

15:12 like a child. And the thought came and went through Rosemary's mind that if people wanted helping, they must respond a little, just a little, otherwise it became very difficult. Indeed, and what was she to do with the coat now? She left it on the floor and the hat to She was just going to take a cigarette off the mantelpiece when the girl said, quickly, but so lightly and strangely, I'm very sorry, madame, but I'm going to faint. I shall go off, Madame, if I don't have something good. Heavens, how thoughtless I am. Rosemary rushed to the bell tea tea at once and some brandy. Immediately the maid was gone again. But the girl almost cried out, No, I don't want no brandy. I never drink brand it's a

16:00 cup of tea. I want madame, And she burst into tears. But do you know what I think she really wanted. I think she really wanted to live in the modern world, A magical, cornycopia of products and services that could await even the most humble. Fucking God, damn it, whatever your's it, and we're back. It was a terrible and fascinating moment.

16:39 Rosemary knelt beside her chair. Don't cry, poor little things, she said, don't cry, and she gave the other her lace handkerchief. She really was touched beyond words. She put her arm around those thin bird like shoulders. Now at last, the other forgot to be shy, forgot everything except that they were both women, and gasped out, I can't go no longer like this. I can't bear it. I shall do away with myself. I can't bear no more. You shan't have to. I'll look after you. Don't cry anymore.

17:17 Don't you see what a good thing it was that you met me. We'll have tea and you'll tell me everything and I shall arrange something. I promise. Do stop crying. It's exhausting. Please. The other did stop just in time for Rosemary to get up. Before the tea came, she had the table placed between them. She plied the poor little creature with everything, all the sandwiches, all the bread and butter, and every time her cup was empty she filled it with tea, cream and sugar. People always said sugar was so nourishing. As for herself, she didn't eat.

17:53 She smoked and looked away tactfully, so the other should not be shy. And really the effect of that slight meal was marvelous. When the tea table was carried away, a new bean, A light, frail creature with tangled hair, dark lips, deep lighted eyes, lay back in the big chair and a kind of sweet languor. Looking at the blaze.

18:15 Rosemary lit a fresh cigarette. It was time to begin, And when did you have your last meal? She asked softly. But at that moment the door handle turned, Rosemary, may I come in? It was Philip okay, just a note here from me. I was really confused by this at the beginning, because at the beginning says like her husband was not a Peter but a Michael, and her husband is named Philip, and the Peter and Michael thing is just some Bible shit that I don't get that maybe you do. So anyway, it was Philip. It's the husband, of course. He came in. Oh, I'm so sorry, he said, and stopped and stared. It's quite all right, said Rosemary, smiling.

19:00 This is my friend, miss Smith, madam, said the languid figure, who is strangely still and unafraid. Smith said Rosemary. We are going to have a little talk. Oh, yes, said Philip quite and his eye caught sight of the coat and hat on the floor. He came over to the fire and turned his back to it. It's a beastly afternoon, he said, curiously, still looking at the listless figure, looking at its hands and boots, and then at Rosemary again. Yes, isn't it, said Rosemary, enthusiastically Vile. Philip smiled his charming smile.

19:37 As a matter of fact, said he I wanted you to come into the library for a moment. Would you will, miss Smith, excuse us. The big eyes were raised to him, but Rosemary answered for her, of course she will, and they went out of the room together. I say, said Philip. When they were alone, Explain who is she? What does it all mean? Rosemary, laughing, leaned against the door and said, I picked her up in Curzon Street. Really, she's a real pickup. She asked me for the price of a cup of tea, and I brought her home with me.

20:12 But what on earth are you going to do with her? Cried Philip. Be nice to her, Rosemary said quickly, Be frightfully nice to her, look after her. I don't know how. We haven't talked yet, but show her, treat her, make her feel my darling girl, said Philip. You're quite mad. You know. It simply can't be done. I knew you'd say that, retorted Rosemary, why not? I want to? Isn't that a reason? And besides, one's always reading about these things, I decided, but said Philip slowly, as he cut the end of a cigar. She's so astonishingly pretty pretty. Rosemary was so surprised that she blushed. Do you think so?

20:54 I hadn't thought about it, Good Lord, Philip struck a match. He's absolutely lovely. Look again, my child, I was bold over when I came into your room just now. However, I think you're making a ghastly mistake. Sorry, darling if I'm crude in all of that, but let me know if miss Smith is going to dine with us in time for me to look up the Milliner's gazette. You absurd creature, said Rosemary, and she went out of the library, but not back to her bedroom. She went to her writing room and sat down at her desk, pretty absolutely lovely, bowled over her heart beat like a heavy bell. Pretty lovely.

21:35 She drew her check book towards her, but no checks would be no use, of course. She opened a drawer and took out five pound notes, looked at them, put two back, and holding the three squeezed in her hand, she went back to her bedroom. Half an hour later, Philip was still in the library when Rosemary came in.

21:55 I only wanted to tell you, said she as she leaned against the door again and looked at him with her dazzled exotic gaze. Miss Smith won't dine with us tonight. Philip put down the paper. Oh, what's happened previous engagement. Rosemary came over and sat down on his knee. She insisted on going, said she, So I gave the poor little thing a present of money. I couldn't keep her against her will, could I? She added softly. Rosemary had just done her hair, darkened her eyes a little, and put on her pearls. She put up her hands and touched Philip's cheeks. Do you like me? Said she, and her tone sweet husky, troubled him. I like you awfully, he said, and he held her tighter, kiss me. There was a pause. Then Rosemary said dreamily, I saw a

22:46 fascinating little box today. It cost twenty eight guineas. May I have it? Philip jumped her on his knee. You may, little wasteful one, said he. But that was not really what Rosemary wanted to say. She whispered, and she pressed his head against her bosom. Am I pretty the end? Okay? I like that story? And yeah, her prose is immaculate, just from a craft point of view. She picks these very specific images with which to describe everything, and it's just very very clear, and I really appreciate that. But also like, yeah, I fucking got her ass about like rich people. But then it's like, okay, so it's obviously a critique of like rich women, right, and it was written by someone who's you know, raised up her class.

23:38 I suspect not quite at this level, but like sort of moved within this level. I also read that this whole thing was like a thinly veiled piece about her own cousin, who's a woman novelist whose name I don't remember was Elizabeth Something who I hadn't heard of, and I apologized for that. But more than anything, I think about how like she's talking about at the beginning, She's like, well, aren't we both sisters despite the fact that we were born in these different places. Aren't we all women? Don't we have this like bond of sisterhood. Aren't we essentially oppressed together? Right? Don't we have something in common? And how patriarchy plays women against each other to defeat rich women from actually having solidarity of poor women from actually

24:25 identifying with them, and uses femininity and not the feminity is inherently bad, but obviously, like you know, is using appeals to femininity and appeals to like you know, basically, the husband's like, oh, I know, how to get rid of this person. I'm just gonna call her pretty, and that's going to basically like, you know, my wife will throw her out at that point, and you know, and he's like so completely condescending, like you know, like sit on my knee and I'm going to bounce you on my knee. He literally bounces her on his knee. It's so good. When I asked Hazel what they wanted to say about this piece, they said, quote, yum yum, yum, yum yum, absolutely delicious. So there's your little winter story

25:08 for you. About nice little shopping story. That's what this story is about. The story is really about how great that box was, and really she just would have been happier if she'd bought that box in the first place. Anyway, take care of each other and we'll see you next week for another cool Zone Media book club. It Could Happen here as a production of cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from cool Zone Media, visit our website Coolzonemedia dot com, or check us out on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can find sources where It Could Happen here. Updated monthly at coolzonemedia, dot com, slash sources, Thanks for listening.