BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, [13 APR. 1911]
BRACERS 17093. ALS. Morrell papers #31, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell and A.G. Bone

Fernhurst1^, 2
Thursday night.

My Dearest

Just as I was thinking of bed, I found that Karin’s friend Katharine Cox (who is here) had brought a little book of poems by my friend Hugh Meredith, and as soon as I began reading them I found I had to go on to the end. They are strange things — very good, I think, but quite remote from most people’s poetry. The thing most like them is Blake’s “I wandered through each chartered street”. They have equal power, an intense love of humanity, and a capacity for treating ugly and common things in a way that makes them fit for poetry. It is the writing of a pessimist who feels his responsibility for all the evils of the world. He is a curious man — at one time I saw a great deal of him, and I have always liked him, in spite of the fact that he broke off two engagements in quick succession and seemed in danger of going to pieces. He is very rough, rather coarse, quite ruthless where he scents humbug; at the same time extraordinarily lethargic physically, and mentally (formerly) not at all well-balanced. At the time when he broke off his first engagement, I was a great deal with him — he worked quite unceasingly, to forget, and at last had a bad break-down. The second time, most people got disgusted with him and rather dropped him. But there were really many extenuating circumstances, and at last he married the woman he ought to have got engaged to at first — only he was too sleepy to know it. Since then he has steadily improved. But he is uncouth to the last degree, and liable to be frightfully rude, especially to the great and grand. I heard him once solemnly and at length insult Sir W. Harcourt, merely because Sir W. had been sentimental. But I think his poems explain his faults, and justify one’s having liked him in spite of them.

I don’t know why I should write about him at such length, except that his poems have moved me very much, so that I am full of him.

I can’t think how I came to be depressed the other night — I am absolutely happy now, and I am sure anybody would say so who saw me. The whole trouble with Alys oppressed me, and seeing her unhappiness was dreadful. But now she is not apparently very unhappy. Dearest, I must stop and go to bed. I will add another letter tomorrow morning. You needn’t imagine your religion would ever “irritate” me — in all that matters I feel there is no real difference. Dearest, I feel the most absolute sympathy between us — it is almost unbelievable. It is so easy to say everything to you, and all that you say appeals to me so directly and fully. In some ways it is good to have had to content ourselves so much with letters — we have got to know each other better than we should have done otherwise. And everything I know of you only adds to my love, which grows and grows and grows.

My Darling, I send you my kiss with my soul and all my thoughts.

B.

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  [document] Document 000031. Proofread against a colour scan of the original.

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  [envelope] A circled “31”. The Lady Ottoline Morrell | Cliff End | Studland | Dorset. Pmk: FERNHURST | AP 14 | 11. On the verso: WAREHAM | 2 30 AM | AP 15 | 11