BRACERS Record Detail for 17185
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Wed. evg.
"We had tea at Grantchester, and walked in the fields in places where I hadn't been for nine years. I remembered so well all the emotions I had had then—horribly painful, almost all of them. The country is vast and level, with wide skies and quiet fields stretching away to the horizon—very satisfying when one is happy, but rather a mockery when one is not, because it is so peaceful. It is strange how one lives through things—it makes life seem so long, and as if it was not one life but many. I feel I have lived three complete lives and am now in a fourth— which I hope and believe will last till I die. But so far my work has been the only thing that gave unity to my life—in that, there has been very complete unity since I was quite a child. And in that I have wasted no time and made no serious mistakes—I have nothing to regret or excuse—when I have done other things, it has been no more than was good for work. This has often made me put my love of perfection into work chiefly, because I had come to despair of perfection in human relations. I am no good at making great effort to keep things second-rate instead of third-rate. But if a thing can be first-rate I can do anything for it. That is why I only do well where something really good is involved. For our love I could do anything, I believe, however hard. To make the good better is so much more inspiring than to make the bad a little less bad. Our love is full of religion to me—but if it lost that, I should feel everything was lost—however much might be left it would seem nothing. That was why I wanted to part when I was afraid of jealousy—parting, I could have kept the religious feeling; but not parting and being jealous, nothing worth having would have remained."
BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, [14 JUNE 1911]
BRACERS 17185. ALS. Morrell papers #114, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.
<letterhead>
Trinity College,
Cambridge.1, 2
Wed. evg.
My Darling
You must be overwhelmed by your party — I shall feel a relief when it is over. I hope it will be useful to the rising artists — but if Gill’s crucifixion and lady have to be shown, I should think people will be put off. Yet I think you were right that they ought to be shown. — You may have seen in the papers that Karin got a First with Distinction, which is the best one can get — so did my Scotchman, Laird. I am very glad — I think she quite deserved it.
I had to escape the Garden Party, as they had a band just under my windows, so I went up the river with North. We had tea at Grantchester, and walked in the fields in places where I hadn’t been for nine years. I remembered so well all the emotions I had had there — horribly painful, almost all of them. The country is vast and level, with wide skies and quiet fields stretching away to the horizon — very satisfying when one is happy, but rather a mockery when one is not, because it is so peaceful. It is strange how one lives through things — it makes life seem so long, and as if it was not one life but many. I feel I have lived three complete lives and am now in a fourth — which I hope and believe will last till I die. But so far my work has been the only thing that gave unity to my life — in that, there has been very complete unity since I was quite a child. And in that I have wasted no time and made no serious mistakes — I have nothing to regret or excuse — when I have done other things, it has been no more than was good for work. This has often made me put my love of perfection into work chiefly, because I had come to despair of perfection in human relations. I am no good at making great efforts to keep things second-rate instead of third-rate. But if a thing can be first-rate, I can do anything for it. That is why I only do well where something really good is involved. For our love I could do anything, I believe, however hard. To make the good better is so much more inspiring than to make the bad a little less bad. Our love is full of religion to me — but if it lost that, I should feel everything was lost — however much might be left it would seem nothing. That was why I wanted to part when I was afraid of jealousy — parting, I could have kept the religious feeling; but not parting and being jealous, nothing worth having would have long remained. If ever now circumstances gave me a slight jealousy, it would be nothing serious, and I could easily keep it quite unimportant. At present I have not the slightest trace of it.
I have a great longing for permanence and stability — when we have loved each other for years and years I shall feel that life is not too long — I want all the ties with you that only the years can give — joys and sorrows, failures and successes, shared through long times. I hate having so much of my life in the past — I want a past that belongs to us both jointly. — All these thoughts came up in me through going back to old scenes. They revived old sorrows and old lonelinesses, and made me long for you, to know you are real and not a dream. Sometimes it is so hard to live in the future — the past seems to stretch out cold arms that draw one back into a deathly embrace — and present and future are blotted out, like a landscape by a mist.
I have been interrupted by Hill, whom I like more and more — I sat next him in Hall and spent the whole time arguing whether ladies in hobbled skirts should be shot — I maintaining that even they were God’s creatures. The subject turned out to have infinite ramifications.
Now I must go to McTaggart’s evening, as several people asked me if I was going and said they would if I did. I am the only person who can keep him awake.
Goodnight my Darling. I do hope you will manage some little time Friday. I love you Dearest more and more absolutely
Yours utterly
B
