BRACERS Record Detail for 17106
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On his Irish-Scotch-Welsh-French background.
On spending money: ... "I have always been willing to spend any sum on keeping efficient."
Given away large sums of capital.
"I save money on clothes and cabs and books, and I try to travel cheaply and only when it is important."
Only gives to strong people who will soon not need help. Moustache—doesn't care about it.
"I say the very least I can to Mrs. [Whitehead]."
BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, [25 APR. 1911]
BRACERS 17106. ALS. Morrell papers #41, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.
<letterhead>
Trinity College,
Cambridge.1, 2
Tuesday mg.
My Darling
It is very good news that I may come Friday 5th till Sunday night or Monday morning. I don’t quite know what else would be possible except my coming to London, and to Bedford Square if possible. Of course it would be heavenly to get away together into the country somewhere, but that seems not feasible? It would be very nice to go to Richmond Park, where I belong. Certainly I must have rooms of my own; it will make a great difference. — I don’t think it would matter your going about with me a little — it would seem quite natural.
Yes — I dream of being abroad with you. I feel as if it must happen some day. It is always Italy I think of.
I understand quite how you help Philip. I know what you do for him is important; it is obvious from the result.
No, I’m not all English. One grandmother was Irish, one Scotch (tho’ that’s not much help — but it is where the Puritan in me comes from); I have some Welsh blood, and a long way back some French blood — but that’s 17th century and can’t count much. However I dare say I have more, because my Irish grandmother’s people were Jacobites and lived in France for some generations.
It is most interesting all you tell me about your giving up reading and everything. It doesn’t sound at all petty and silly — quite the contrary. The whole question of spending money is very difficult. Don’t think I am indifferent about clothes — you know I’m not. I should be in despair if you gave up making yourself beautiful completely — generally I might feel doubts, but with you the result is too good, and it would be a sin against beauty to spoil it. And I don’t know whether you have become too luxurious or not; but don’t destroy beauty.
I have grown more and more careful about spending money as time went on. It is one of the things I have a vigorous conscience about. I save money on clothes and cabs and books, and I try to travel cheaply and only when it is important. I have given away large sums of my capital, because definite things seemed so important that I couldn’t keep it, and also because I am afraid of growing stingy as I grow older. But if I had spent money on myself, I should not have produced any admirable result. I have always been willing to spend any sum on keeping efficient. — I quite agree that politics is the important thing. But just when I am thinking of getting a new great coat, I get a letter from some young man, educated but penniless, who will be all right in a few years if he can just get enough food to keep alive till he gets work — and so on. I don’t as a rule help weak people — I help strong people who will soon need no more help. And I have found that very successful — it produces successful useful self-reliant people, whereas weak people never grow independent of one’s help if they have once grown used to it.
I am sorry your Onoto is refractory. All my letters since I got here have been written with your pen, which I love.
I don’t care about my moustache, in fact I have often thought of taking it off. But I must go to work gradually and cunningly.
I have absolutely no old photographs of myself — Alys has them all, and I must not ask her to give them up.
Dearest, I see nothing that I “despise” when I look at you coldly and critically. I don’t for a moment suppose you are perfect — tho’ I am not yet clear as to your imperfections, except in spelling. But I don’t expect perfection, and I have no intention of forgetting imperfections when I find them. That would be against my whole creed. But really, really, you may be quite easy in your mind about it — my love for you is not at the mercy of this or that — it is absolutely fixed, and would not be altered by anything that might happen. I don’t wish to be idealized, and I don’t wish to idealize. But I should think it a feeble namby-pamby sort of love which could not love a real human being, but had to make up a sort of moral barber’s block.
I feel as you do about talking to people. I shall say the very least I can to Mrs Whitehead.
Dearest I haven’t another moment. I have a thousand things to say, and I have not had time to say anything of my love. Darling, goodbye. I am filled full, full of happiness and our love.
Your
B.
