BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, [19 SEPT. 1911]
BRACERS 17263. ALS. Morrell papers #182, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.

Ipsden.1^, 2
Sp. 15

My Darling

Your letter reached me at one today instead of 8. The posts are mysterious. I posted a letter to you in London Friday morning, any one would have thought it would reach you Sunday. But these things are too deep for human understanding. I am sorry you are so frozen. Here it is getting warmer — I don’t have a fire till evening. Marienbad must look sad with everyone gone and all the places shut up. Thank you very much for 2 writing pads which came this morning. I shall take to writing all my letters on them — they are much more convenient than writing paper. — Miss Lindsay is very kind to me, and my sponge and hair lotion and soap are quite “satisfying” — a thoroughly adequate substitute for the giver!

The enclosed letter3 may amuse you. Cantor is the author of “Cantorism” which my German so much prefers to “Russellism”. It would seem Cantor himself takes a different view. He is usually insane, but I suppose is sane just now. When insane he divides his time between proving that Bacon wrote Shakespeare and arguing that Jesus Christ was the natural son of Joseph of Arimathea. When sane he is quite one of the greatest men now living. I hope I shall manage to see him. I have sent telegrams but hitherto without result.

There are no details to tell. I work in the morning and between tea and dinner. Sometimes a bit after dinner too. In the afternoon I write to you and go out on my bicycle to post my letter somewhere not here. The rest of the days I read Karamazov or go little walks for meditation. Karamazov interests me more than the idiot did, in fact it holds me very much. But I feel the madness of his people, and they make more impression than I quite like. I find Rogojin in the other book dwells in my mind. They always act from some idée fixe and not from volition.

I am duly impressed by your having been moved into grand rooms. Let me know about bugs in Prague. In Sicily, Charles Trevy was always troubled when no one else was, but he had no bites to show so I was sceptical.

It seems to me quite untrue that your reading is self-indulgent. Even if you don’t give it out directly, it fills your mind with things it is good to have there, and gives breadth to your outlook. Besides, your inability to give out what you have in you is partly due to shyness, partly to health; for both reasons, it ought to diminish as time goes on. Your stern Maestro will certainly do his best: but sternness, though congenial to his nature, is perhaps not the best way to achieve the end in view. It is difficult to me to imagine reading being a self-indulgence, as I have never read as much as I ought for many years. What do you think you ought to be doing instead? You must have occupations that don’t tire your nerves, and surely reading is the best.

Your box was no bother at all. I never saw it after registering it. I hope it arrived. I am glad about your embroidery.

Goodbye my Dearest Love, It is 6 months today since our birthday. It seems immeasurably longer. The 6 months from Venice to that day seem hardly to exist. Goodbye my Beloved. All my heart goes out to you and my thoughts are with you always.

Your
B.

• 1

  [document] Document 000182. Proofread against a colour scan of the original.

• 2

  [envelope] A circled “182”.

• 3

  enclosed letter From Georg Cantor, who wrote three letters to BR on this date (BRACERS 504, 75516 and 130695.