BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, 13 MAY 1911
BRACERS 17137. ALS. Morrell papers #66, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.

Trinity College1^, 2
May 13. ’11

My Dearest

Your letter from Folkestone was a great joy to get. I remember so well writing to you in the train — it seemed incredibly bold, and I rather wondered whether everything had really happened. — The fruit-trees must be lovely now all along there. — Roger’s character seems to me as sweet and good as possible; it is only his intellect that is not so clear-cut as it might be. I don’t find that jarring myself, but I can imagine finding it so. I think really what one minds is that his feelings seem blurred as well as his thoughts — but I don’t know. — About religion: there is not the slightest importance in the difference of actual beliefs, but nevertheless there is something important, which must be approached some day, and which I rather shrink from approaching. I think the point is that I should consider it more necessary than you would to put away all feeling before considering a religious question. For instance, take a question which does not arouse emotion, such as “Is there a luminiferous aether?” You would not imagine that you could have an opinion on this question, but you would believe what scientific people said if they were in agreement. Now the question whether there is a God is more difficult, but of the same kind — that is to say, it is just as much a purely intellectual question only there is no agreement. It is true one has feelings about it more than about the aether, but they don’t bear on the question whether there is a God. I do not for a moment suppose that you would tolerate believing what you felt might be untrue; but I do believe that a stronger passion for truth would have carried you to a more or less different notion as to what is evidence for a belief. It is because I believe this that there is an element which is important in our differences. I do not want you to think that I don’t believe anybody with a strong passion for truth could believe. I think Thomas Aquinas, who founded Catholic orthodoxy, had probably as great a love of truth as I have. And if you continue to believe everything you believe now, I shall not mind in the least; but as things stand, I do not feel your vision quite clear or quite unclouded by desire, tho’ I see you are not conscious that this is so, so that I think I may be wrong. You needn’t worry about it, because it doesn’t worry me, but it would some day if I didn’t speak about it. The only thing that does give me some anxiety is lest association with me should more or less spoil your most wonderful quality — a sort of large-heartedness, and universal love, and power of reconciling opposites in practice. I doubt if this quality is compatible with a very sharp clear-cut view of things; but I should never forgive myself if I took it away from you. But apart from the harm I should do you, I should do myself harm too, because this quality in you is infinitely valuable to me — it is what made Roger find me gentle, and what has been taking all the ruthlessness and harshness out of me. And I don’t the least know that it is incompatible with clear-cut views: I shall find out gradually. — All this is tiresome to say, but it has been gradually forming itself in my mind, and today it had to come out.

I shall love going to the Russian dancers with you. I shall be with the Whiteheads Tuesday night unless I write to the contrary, and then I will see about the Chelsea cottage. It might be already available Wednesday but I hardly suppose so. I have my lecture Tuesday, and shall reach London about 3 — I shan’t go to the Whiteheads till about 6. I shouldn’t have thought you need have felt bad at leaving P and Julian for so short <a> time, even though their loss is not compensated by your gain.

Yes it is very wonderful how often we think of the same things — and in letters, how we independently write in the same mood. Darling, I know that my love would bear any imaginable strain, and would not be in the slightest degree lessened by it. You hold me completely, not only by my instincts, but by all that is most serious in me. There are days when I feel dumb, and cannot express much — but there are no days when you do not hold me completely. I have such a sense of instinctive understanding on both sides — everything I have got to know about you has merely shown me that you were more what I can understand than I had supposed. Some days — especially when other people’s troubles are on my mind — I feel very serious, and I think it is then that I feel the most complete and absolute confidence in our real union — because I know you would feel the same things in the same way. But if they are things I can’t speak of, it rather shuts up expression for the moment. I have a wish to have lived through many things with you — to have shared sorrows as well as joys — to have the comradeship of long years — and all this I feel will grow and come with time. I have the most absolute restful confidence in the permanence of our love — you are what I have sought through the world, and I do believe I am what you need. And both of us are better people than we should be without each other — and for us that is essential to a permanent bond.

You won’t get another letter for 24 hours at least after this, I expect. As they told me once in Paris, “C’est que le courier de London n’existe pas le dimanche” — odd man, who ceases to exist one day in every seven. You will let me know when and where to meet Wed. and whether I should gain anything by staying in London Wed. night. I can’t tell you how I am longing for you, and it will grow more and more till Wed. I long to rest in you my loved one. Goodbye my heart and my life.

Your
B.

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  [document] Document 000066. Proofread against a colour scan of the original.

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  [envelope] A circled “66”. The Lady Ottoline Morrell | chez von Anrep | 65 Boulevard Arago | Paris | France. Pmk: ??.