BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, [29 JUNE 1913]
BRACERS 18111. ALS. Morrell papers #965, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.

My dear dear Love1^, 2

I can’t say what your letter means to me. It fills me with deep thankfulness and joy. I can never feel as if I had given you anything but pain over and over again, but if really I have given anything in return for all that you have given, it makes everything easy. Nothing would ever put you out of my heart — with you I have known the utmost that human life has to give — whatever my life might become hereafter, I would not exchange my lot for any other — I do not believe it is possible in this world to come nearer thana we have done to the glory that is behind the veil. No, it would be mere weakness to feel remorseb for the pain — the gods envy what is great, and surround it always with a ring of fiery pain — I should never have minded that alone — it was the fever, that I felt was robbing us of what is best. Now the fever is gone, and the greatness of our love and of our inner union is with me again — I feel deeply happy, happy in the thought of you — the fever hides you from me when I have it, but now I am far more truly with you than often when we are together — I feel your spirit every moment, I hear the music of your soul, as I cannot when I am tearing my heart out with longing for the moment of your coming. The pain I have felt has been partly superficial, the pain of momentarily balked desire; partly the pain that belongs to all the deep things of life. The one does not really matter; the other is the price one must pay for vision. — O my Dearest Dearest I feel so humble when I think of you — your tenderness is so divine — sometimes I feel I can hardly bear that you should have to endure the roughness of my passion.

There need really be no break — we could not break inwardly — an outward parting from time to time may be necessary, but there need not be anything lasting. I shall not try to break passion during these two months. For a time, after the heart searching of these days, it will be gentler, and calmer because not so narrow. When I slip back into fever, I must go away again and remember what is real.

I have just seen Mrs W. and was going to write to you when I found your letter. I told her very little — hardly anything except that my possessiveness made difficulties and that we had parted for two months and that the future was uncertain — and then I described the state of nerves I get into waiting, and told her I made scenes — I said as little as I possibly could about you. Talking to her was soothing; the talk was kept very piano, and she urged with all her strength that it would be madness to part permanently or even to put away passion. She thought temporary partings would do — I feel sure that is so, with care to avoid the more nerve-racking things, like meeting daily for short times. She understood much more than I said.

I am taking North and Eric to Cornwall on Friday. They can’t go sooner, and I have the dentist and other business. I expect we shall be there about a week — Falmouth, Lizard, Land’s End, St Ives. I found such a hunger for the sea in me that tho’ it is expensive I could not resist it. The sea is eternal, with depth and storms and calm — older than man and stronger — it soothes me as nothing else does. Then North and Eric and I will go to Lockeridge — their parents won’t be there for some time. Sanger and I will go away on the 31st. — Dearest I should be glad if you would write from time to time — address here, and things will be forwarded. My nerves are already almost well. They get well as soon as desire is shut off. Desire is a mist that hides all good things.

My Dearest, I wish I could live more constantly in the great things. But they are more real to me than anything else — There is no lessening of my love — the moment the nervous strain is gone, it is as deep and great as it has ever been — it is only that too many efforts drive me wild. My soul blesses you every moment, my Dearest Dearest. In spite of all, I feel peace and joy, and more a sense of having found you than of having lost you. Dear Love, goodnight.

Your
B

• 1

  [document] Document 000965. Proofread against a colour scan of the original.

• 2

  [envelope] A circled “965”. The Lady Ottoline Morrell | 44 Bedford Square | W.C. Pmk: none.

Textual Notes

• athan emended from that
• b

  remorse after deleted regre