BRACERS Record Detail for 19263
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"Thursday My Dearest—You said once that you hated making people unhappy when you knew you were doing it."
BR TO CONSTANCE MALLESON, [6 DEC.? 1917]
BRACERS 19263. ALS. McMaster
Edited by S. Turcon. Reviewed by K. Blackwell
My Dearest
You said once that you hated making people unhappy when you knew you were doing it. I am very unhappy, and I grow more so. In spite of reassuring things you say, I feel how immeasurably less you give me than you did before Blackpool.3 I know this is partly my fault for having hurt you, but that doesn’t make it easier to bear. I am utterly cut off from your inner life — I know nothing of what makes your happiness or unhappiness. If you think there is hope that in time you may again admit me to intimacy, I will try to be patient. But it you have resolved to shut me out, I don’t care for a mere physical meeting — it hurts too much. I had hoped for some line from you last night or this morning — I thought you would perhaps have thought that I was disappointed about Tuesday.b
When I wanted to break with you, I felt that what you asked of me was so difficult that it would absorb a great deal of energy that could be put into public things, and that would be bad for my life and work. But your long letter4 made me feel I had no right to be so selfish, and that I must try to adapt myself. I am trying. But I don’t think you quite know how hard you make it.
You taught me what love can be, and what depths of wonder and joy it can bring. Now, all that seems over, and what is left seems to me second-rate. Out of loyalty to the past, I can’t bear that there should be anything less than there has been. I have still everything to give that I ever gave, but you make me feel you don’t want the best, which is the sense of nearness. I really dread spending a night with you, for fear of the horror of loneliness. In the day time I can fight it off, but at night it seizes me.
Do you think, my dear one, that you could be a little less reserved with me? I know you dread arousing my jealousy — I dare say you would — but things can’t go on like this.
I keep wondering — I imagine Maurice5 cares less for you than you for him — perhaps also he doesn’t like your acting.
As things are now, it wears me out to be with you. I must not let myself be worn out — I have very little energy to spare, and there is work I must do in the world. What wears me out is the impenetrable barrier you interpose. I know perfectly well that this is my fault — but I am throwing myself on your mercy.
Please, please, don’t be cruel. If you could force yourself to trust me a little, I do believe it would be all right.
When you came back from Manchester,6 we had a moment of perfect happiness. Can’t we recapture it? Tell me what you want of me. If you can hold out hope, I will try. But don’t imagine things can go on as they are — if there is to be no more than that, it would be better to part and not obscure the memory of what has been. But O my Love I do long for you so terribly.
B
- 1
[document] Document 200242A.
- 2
[date] Colette wrote on a scrap of paper taped to an envelope filed here: “2 letters, both same day. Probably Thursday 6 Dec 1917.”
- 3
Blackpool Colette had been in Blackpool in September 1917 to film Hindle Wakes.
- 4
your long letter It’s not clear which letter BR is referring to. Since most of Colette’s letters exist only in edited typescript, what was once a long letter may in its extant form be shorter. In his letter of 21 September he wrote that he was waiting for her “promised long letter” (BRACERS 19217). Her letter of 28 September deals with their relationship (BRACERS 113069).
- 5
Maurice Maurice Elvey (1887–1967), film director. For further information on him, see BRACERS 19056, n.5.
- 6
back from Manchester Colette returned from Manchester on 31 October 1917; their reconciliation took place on 1 November 1917 at the Attic (a flat she still shared with husband). Then they decided to get their own place.
