BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, [6–7 DEC. 1911]
BRACERS 17273. ALS. Morrell papers #192, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.

<Cambridge>
Wed. night. (or rather Thursday mg.)1^, 2

My Darling

It is very late and the 1.40 post goes in a few minutes, so I can’t write much. I went out into the country on my bicycle — it was rather beautiful — then I prepared and gave my lecture, then my German came back and argued all the time I was dressing. To my surprise I enjoyed the feast — they sang some delicious things, especially a glee by Dowland (an Elizabethan man). An old judge (Buckley) made a stupid sentimental speech about old times and the joys of undergraduate life and the pleasure of living in a backwater away from labour unrest and the troubles of the real world — I watched Sheppard’s face during it, which was as good as a play. Afterwards Sheppard came and fetched Johnson and me up into his rooms, and acted the part of the butler showing off the family mansion — he was incredibly funny, and I enjoyed it the more because Johnson (who comes of generations of dissenters and regards this world as a vale of tears) thought it all frightfully silly. Then I dragged poor Johnson to the junior combination room where they were all very hilarious and noisy. The judge had held out hopes (vain alas) of coming to sing a song there, which I felt was not to be missed. Instead Jackson made a speech. Do you remember my describing Jackson at Marienbad? He is the Professor of Greek — his passion is Plato. He is old and has been for years almost a cripple from sciatica; his wife is a complete invalid and can’t live in Cambridge. He always comes where undergraduates are merry, and speaks with greater or less seriousness about anything, with such obvious and intense love of them that he is worshipped. Tonight he came into the middle of them and began to speak of his friend the Vice Provost lately dead; he managed it so that it seemed perfectly appropriate, no thought occurred to anybody that it was out of keeping with the occasion, yet what he said was full of deep feeling. Then he went on to lighter subjects, and wound up by saying he resisted with difficulty the temptation to talk of old times, tho’ he had been there every year for 49 years; but instead he would tell them what they would say if they came back in 1960, which he did with the most exquisite sad humour. It was quite wonderful — like the way Socrates is serious in the Symposium. — As soon as I got back North came in and has only just gone. Darling I must stop to catch the post. All my love goes to you. I think of you every moment and wonder how you are getting on.

Your
B.

• 1

  [document] Document 000192. Proofread against a colour scan of the original. A circled “192” is on the verso of the sheet.

• 2

  [envelope] None.