Letter sent from Mrs. Colette Lomax to Mr. A. Davenport Lomax, September 3rd, 1902. My only darling, You cannot possibly comprehend the level of incompetence to which I was subjected today. You know full well I never demand a private dressing room when stationary, as the very notion implies a callous disrespect for the sensitivities of other artists. However, it cannot pass my notice when I am engaged in a second class chamber en route from Reims to Strasbourg. The porter assured me that private cars were simply not available on so small a railway line as our company was forced to book—and yet, I feel justified in suspecting the managers have hoaxed their “rising star” once again. The reek of soup from the dining car’s proximity alone would depress my spirits, even were my ankles not confined one atop the other in a padlock-like fashion. I do so loathe krautsuppe. Hell, I assure you, my love, simmers with the aroma of softening cabbage.
