BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, 11 OCT. 1911
BRACERS 17300. ALS. Morrell papers #215, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.

<letterhead>
Trinity College,
Cambridge.1^, 2
Wed. mg. Oct. 11. 1911

My Darling Love

Your dear letter of Saturday night was a great joy — it only reached me this morning — all day yesterday I got nothing, so I was doubly glad of your letter when it came. If you really get home on the 20th it is only 9 more days — how wonderful it will be. I have to be here on the 19th — there is a meeting, and my evening (which however I could ignore) and probably a lecture. Friday 20th I am free all day, unless I have to put a lecture on Friday — even then I should be free most of the day. The 21st I am free till about 5 o’clock. I have to go to Camberley — it is unfortunate. I tried to go in September but they were away. I couldn’t go last week-end because of fellowships, or next because of Amos. But it is really only Sunday it absorbs. Tomorrow I shall know the times of my lectures. As soon as possible I should be glad to know when you think you will be home and free to see me — I don’t want to waste any moments when you are free. I should think I might stay at the new hotel in Tottenham Ct. Rd. — I think it is called the Grafton.

I enclose two letters which please return. I get a queer collection at my lectures. The people I know of so far who are coming are an Anglican Sister, a Roman Catholic (presumably a theologian), a South African farmer, and Waterlow. I hope there will be some ordinary mortals. I hope you are impressed by the odour of orthodoxy which invests me. Catholics regard Peano and me as having revived scholasticism and justified Thomas Aquinas as against the moderns. There is an element of truth in this, but not much.

Broad is lost, and never turned up yesterday. He has a teaching post at St. Andrews and it is supposed he missed his train. The Master made a little speech, not visibly half-witted. Then most of us adjourned to Jackson’s. One of the Fellows we elected last year, a very trying person named Watson (mathematician, I regret to say), spent about a quarter of an hour telling me the whole plot of a novel of Besant’s, and wound up by telling me to read it, with a patronizing air. By this time I could bear no more, so I said “I shall do no such thing” “Why not?” said he, just slightly taken aback. “Because I have had all the plums already” I said, and he was quite satisfied. We all knew he was trying when we elected him, and he was only just up to the mark. I think he was really helped by the knowledge we all had that he would be a nuisance. Afterwards Lamb and Waterlow (who are inseparable) came round to my rooms and stayed till nearly one. Lamb is tactless — I had occasion to say a private word to Waterlow about his affairs, so I started out with him — Lamb came too, and I had the greatest difficulty shaking him off. Waterlow can’t be got to see that he must be careful of Mrs Meredith’s reputation — she teaches in a girl’s college, and needs the money.

I have just had an answer to prayer. A perfectly normal man, a young mathematician, has turned up and says he is going to my lectures. His name is Grieve, of Clare.

The row between my bedmaker and help is developing. I hear their angry voices. I dislike the help. It is she who broke into my room. (I have had a lock put on since.)

Yesterday I went to see Verrall — he seemed ill, but was very cordial. I enjoyed seeing him.

A thousand thanks for the books you tell me of. I shall immensely enjoy having them. Do tell me of some books you would like.

Today I have to prepare my lectures — I haven’t begun to think about them yet — and to see one or two people about P.S.F. business. But I thought I would begin with the really important business of the day, so I have written this letter immediately after breakfast. I will finish later.

Later. My Darling Darling, your dear letter of Sunday has just come — I can’t tell you what a joy it is to me. Your love is the world to me, and gives me every divine gift — of faith and hope and joy and energy — I don’t really feel any worries from outside people. I really feel we are quite safe from Alys going for a divorce. And I do really think she can’t make people say horrid things of Philip. It would be intolerable if they did, seeing how wonderfully generous he has been. But really they won’t, and I think you may dismiss the thought. I have no reason to believe Dickinson has been set against you. He certainly wouldn’t be on my account; if he were, it would be on Roger’s. I rather gather — tho’ I don’t know — that Roger says untrue things about you. But I think you won’t find Dickinson less friendly. I gathered from Mrs W. that he would prefer that I should not speak to him about you, so I didn’t. I don’t know quite how much he knows. Roger has behaved very badly. But it was worse telling Vanessa than telling Goldie. All Quakers are liars, by the way. I don’t believe Dora knows anything.

Your reading sounds nice; yes, Plutarch is quite delightful. And Gibbon on Constantine is wonderful. I am so glad you will see your Doctor in Lausanne — I do hope he will be useful.

Since you left Vienna your letters have not seemed unhappy. I am very much relieved — you seemed to get troubled there. And I am thankful you are no longer so tired.

If you want to see me elsewhere than at Bedford Square (!),a my view is that the safest plan will be for you to come to the station and wait in the first class waiting room on the departure platform, and then go with me in a taxi to some hotel and walk in with me. That involves less risk than any other plan, and doesn’t look odd to the hotel authorities. Since Marienbad I feel that important. We could meet at Euston rather than King’s X to avoid Cambridge people. — At Chelsea I used to have a study high up like yours at Grosvenor Rd. — it was delightful. It must be intolerable not having a sitting-room to yourself.

Darling, Darling, your love is so infinitely precious to me, and so wonderful — you have such strength in it. It is what you are that makes the value of what you give. Oh how divine it will be to be with you again. I shall just drink in the joy of it and the inspiration and life you give me. The scent of your letters makes me feel as if you were there. But I long for your voice and your arms and your face with its infinite compassion for all mankind — It is the sense of infinity you give that is the most wonderful thing about you. Do you think it comes from love of God and would be impossible without belief in him? I wonder. I have never known anybody else with so much — and that is why you give me peace. I always long to stretch out and grow, and there is room in you. Goodbye my beloved Ottoline. I love you with all my soul —

Your
B

• 1

  [document] Document 000215. Proofread against a colour scan of the original.

• 2

  [envelope] A circled “215”. The Lady Ottoline Morrell | Hotel de la Paix | Lausanne | Switzerland. Pmk: CAMBRIDGE | 11. PM | OC 11 | 11 | 2

Textual Notes

• a

  Bedford Square (!) replaced Grosvenor Rd.