BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, 20 SEPT. [1911]
BRACERS 17267. ALS. Morrell papers #186, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.

Ipsden1^, 2
Wed. night Sp. 20.

My Dearest Dearest

This is not my time for writing to you, but I have been reading over all the letters from you that I have here, and I feel I must talk with you before going to bed. I am so longing to hold you in my arms and kiss your lips and your eyes my Darling, and hear your voice and feel the touch of your hand. I used to come back here late, so full of you and of life and vision — like one inspired. It is quite extraordinary what you make me become. But now my work has no connection with you except that I must do it to live worthily. The country is autumnal — grey skies and a south-west wind, then black with gleams of sun — very beautiful, but melancholy, full of the feeling that everything passes. I have been very full these days of the sense that I must not grow soft and self-indulgent. What this means is that I must keep up my interest in abstract and remote things that can’t directly interest you — I long so much to share every thought with you that I find it hard to absorb myself in matters in which you can’t join — it was so heavenly doing writing that really concerned you. If I were always with you it would be easy because then there are so many ways of showing love. But away from you it is harder to absorb myself in other things.

But when I do succeed in absorbing myself, my brain works very well. I have already some quite new ideas for my Aristn. paper. I am extraordinarily well — sleeping 8 or 9 hours every night. I am not working long hours, but I get through a great deal very quickly, because my mind is fresh and vigorous. But oh I shall be glad when you are back. But if you were absent ever so long, if you were not ill or in danger of illness I should keep the inward peace which you have given me. As soon as our love began I had a sense of purification, which has gone on increasing. Before then I had a discord — the old love dominated the depths, but not any of the rest of me, so most of my thoughts and feelings became frivolous, unsatisfactory and making me more and more restless. It is a terrible thing to have what is most serious in one’s life detached from action — it makes action into dust and ashes. And then the old love itself, tho’ I didn’t realize, it, was losing sincerity — that is to say, it was more a memory and a genuine feeling about the past (which remains) than a still existing feeling in the present. If circumstances had changed, I could not have found happiness in it these last years. I didn’t admit this to myself, and that made another inward strain. And altogether I got the feeling that, apart from work, the rest of my life must be vapid and empty.

Now it is all so different. I have no doubt whatever that as long as we both live you will give me happiness, and the kind of moral encouragement that is necessary for permanent happiness. My soul is an odd instrument, always giving some sort of sound, but sometimes horrible discords — you make it give music and it is grateful. And the music it gives is an echo of your own. — I don’t idealize you — if I did, you would find it difficult to be natural with me for fear of shocking my ideal, and I am sure you don’t. You only think I idealize you because I care a great deal about the things in which you excel. And I think love brings out one’s best, so I dare say I see more of your best than most people would. But I never have to twist anything you do or say to fit with any preconception; it always seems natural. If I had an untrue ideal I should be always having to invent explanations. You have what I care for and what gives me peace and life and strength and all good — that is not idealizing but plain fact. Now I must go to bed. Goodnight my Beloved. It has been a great comfort writing tho’ I expect I have written nonsense, as it is late. Next time you say I idealize you I will send a list of your shortcomings by return of post — it shall be terrible, accablant. Goodnight, my Dearest. I do long for you, my Ottoline.

Your
B.

Thursday Your delightful letter of Monday and Tuesday arrived by 1st post this morning. Yes it is as well my steam-roller didn’t go over two such important personages. I love to think of the Manager in his moustache-cage. I never actually knew of anyone before who used one. Shall I get one? Would that secure a reprieve for my poor friend? — I have finished Karamazov which I think very fine, and began Trelawney which I love. I think his style to Claire very effective, and am thinking of imitating it. To have watched the varied and mingled emotions portrayed on my dark brow and sunken eye — the changing colour of my cheek and lips from white to black — and the contrast — when my hopes and fears ended in the agonizing certainty etc. etc. — surely you would find this irresistible? Especially the dark brow and sunken eye. If I had lived in that period, I feel I should have written just like that. People hadn’t yet begun to be afraid of being absurd. — I will send you Santayana when I send the typed Prisons. It is the last of 3 articles — I haven’t got the others here — one is at Trinity, the others I have never had but read in a Library.

It is very hard to guess when my letters will reach you. I thought you would get none Monday, and instead you got 3. I went to Goring with the one written by the river, in the hope that it would reach you Monday, but I thought I should not have succeeded. — I still don’t know why you are staying on at M. in spite of imminent starvation. I hope nothing is wrong. I am glad the Glocke young ladies are friendly still. “Bosshe” is spelta like “Bysshe” — see if your dictionary doesn’t say so.

I have more ideas for my Aristotelian Paper than I know what to do with. They are puzzling and inconvenient ideas. Now I must go back to them. Goodbye my Darling. My thoughts are with you always.

Your
B.

• 1

  [document] Document 000186. Proofread against a colour scan of the original.

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  [envelope] A circled “186”.

Textual Notes

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  spelt corrected editorially from spealt