BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, 22 JUNE 1911
BRACERS 17203. ALS. Morrell papers #124, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.

<letterhead>
Trinity College,
Cambridge.1^, 2
22. June. 1911

My Dearest

I hope your eyes recovered — your letter which I got this morning was pathetic. I did manage to read it, except a word or two, but like a serial story it broke off at the most exciting point. I shouldn’t have supposed it was necessary to blind you so completely. But if you are unable to see the coronation3 I shall think it a judgment of heaven. — I am getting anxious to be away from here, but I can’t go while the Whiteheads stay.

I want the freedom of the country and the simplicity — life here is complicated — and all the people I had better not see are a nuisance. It surprises me that you should think women more unselfish than men. 99 women out of 100 would rather drive their dearest friend to suicide than hold their tongues; and almost all have the conceit that consists in thinking they can judge of other people’s affairs better than other people can. These reflections are induced by dear Jane, who has profited by others’ silence but seems unable to practise silence. (I don’t know of any one she has spoken to except Mrs Whitehead, but I resent her asking direct questions and then not believing the answer.)

Today I have been doing proofs and my book — I am going a walk with Waterlow who is coming to luncheon — then Whitehead comes to tea to talk shop. I am fearing that I may not get a letter from you till the day after tomorrow, owing to His Gracious Majesty. I do hope your eyes have not interfered with you today. I don’t believe they have to do with your headaches. I fancy you have been doing too much ever since you used to get up at five at Welbeck. I expect the Dr. doesn’t know how bad your nerves are. Your manner is so much the reverse that it takes time to find out. It took me some time to know with your laugh whether it came from pleasure or from rasped nerves; the one that comes from rasped nerves is an astonishingly good imitation. Yes, I hope I shall get to know every cranny of you — I love them all. I am not quick and I make bad mistakes, but by being interested and keeping on at it, I succeed in time — and I begin to think I know you fairly well. But I didn’t know for instance what you would think of Eckhard as a secretary for P. — Now I must stop. Goodbye my Dearest. This is a long stretch of days, during which I must keep myself quiet. Already the day before yesterday seems a long time ago. All my heart goes to you.

Your
B.

Later. Waterlow came and tells me he is in matrimonial troubles and is parting from his wife. He told me no more, but will do so probably. He is an essentially unsuccessful man — rather lazy, not capable of much steadiness of purpose, too stupid for philosophy which is what interests him, but very sincere, caring for things that are really good, capable of passionate admiration for people who deserve it (chiefly Moore). He is heavy and might be thought a bore, but I have always liked him on the whole. I hope he will let me befriend him — he is staying in Cambridge some time and evidently needs sympathy.

Then Whitehead came, and we settled our proofs. Also I consulted him about my friend Philip Jourdain, who has written me a very painful letter asking help which there seems no way of giving. He is a mathematician who lives in a remote Dorsetshire village with his mother and sister. He and his sister are more or less paralysed, and getting gradually worse — I knew him when he was an undergraduate, and he has always had a passion for my sort of work, which he does quite continuously, fairly well, but not brilliantly. I will send you his letter when I can. I have been to Dorset several times to see him, and have always immensely admired his courage.

Whitehead stayed a long time and we had a most agreeable talk about our work in general, and plans for future work. I enclose an old letter of his,4 written when I was young and doubtful of my capacity for philosophy — before we had begun to collaborate. It is about an article I had written in a controversy with Poincaré the French mathematician. You will see how much I owe to him.

Darling I do long for you, every moment of the day. As soon as I leave you the world grows full of complications and troubles — but I feel better able to deal with people in trouble now that I have such unshakeable happiness within. Goodbye my heart, my joy, my life. Ottoline my Dearest, all my soul is yours.

Your
B.

• 1

  [document] Document 000123. Proofread against a colour scan of the original.

• 2

  [envelope] A circled “124”.

• 3

  coronation Of George VI, on Thursday, 22 June 1911.

• 4

  an old letter of his Whitehead’s letter of 21 December 1899 (BRACERS 81427).