BR TO CONSTANCE MALLESON, [28 MAR. 1918]
BRACERS 19301. ALS. McMaster. SLBR 2: #307
Edited by S. Turcon and N. Griffin. Reviewed by K. Blackwell

<London>
Thursday night1^, 2^, 3

My dearest Darling

I miss you already so terribly that I don’t know how to last till Monday night — and how to get through the months without you in prison4 I can’t imagine — I used not to miss you half so much in short times — I really care for you more than I have ever done before — you have been more wonderful to me than ever before — so gentle and tender — I feel sure you are still rough sometimes with other people, but with me no one on earth could be more loving. My dear dear one, I bless you. It is wonderful to be so loved — you have made me cease to hate myself — Hating oneself is very painful — I used to spend my time running away from my own spectre, from something grim and jabbering and horrible, grinning at me out of corners — The last time I felt that was that awful night in the Studio5 — you have driven away the spectre — he daren’t come within the circle of your arms — Deep, deep down in me is the sense of failure — of somehow not having reached something I ought to have reached — but when I feel your love that sense leaves me:  I feel that at least in our love I have touched something of what I seek through the world — I have lived through sacred moments with you. Loneliness is the worst thing: you used to make me feel less lonely last summer, and then after Blackpool6 that came to an end, but now it has come back more fully than ever, especially since I have been going to prison. Passionate love by itself does nothing for loneliness; it has to be combined with immense affection and tenderness. I want to give you henceforth always the kind of love that relieves loneliness. I hope I can — but there will be difficult times — they will be the times when you don’t need me.

I feel that we have come much nearer together lately than we ever were before — I must remember that in future troubles. I want most of all to have the sense of comradeship and intimacy grow more and more between us. I want you to feel that in the real vital impulses of your life I shall be with you, feeling as you feel. One thing which has brought us nearer is that I now realize you must have acting as your work — until Blackpool I hoped gradually to turn you aside from it; after that, seeing you couldn’t be turned aside, I felt there was no hope of your ever making any serious attempt to live a decent life — because a decent life requires work that isn’t wholly selfish. But now I believe your impulse to live in a way that is some use to others is too strong to die, and will insist on finding scope sooner or later in your work — it is easy to see how it could find scope, if you achieve success without selling your soul. I do respect you now, because I don’t think you will sell your soul, and I think when you get success you will use it for good things. That makes me really care about your career.  And that brings us much closer together than when I was all against your work.

All this sounds horribly priggy, but I can’t help it. I do feel in all my instincts that one’s work must not be just for oneself, and when I think you don't feel that, it troubles me. But your despair lately, and all our talks, made me feel happy about all that — particularly Clee Hill.7

The real reason for all this moralizing is that I am dreading prison — ever since I saw Morel8 — one never moralizes except as the result of some evil passion, and the evil passion that is driving me is fear. Some of the effort one has to make spills over and becomes morality. Fear is a beastly thing — one feels so ashamed of it. There is talk of raising the military age to 50, which might mean five years in gaol: fear at once fastens on it and thinks of it as if it had happened. What worries me is the thought of having my brain spoilt, just when I am ready to do a lot of really good work. One wouldn’t mind the mere disagreeableness, if one could be sure there would be no permanent damage. At least so I tell myself, but it isn’t true, because I shouldn’t mind death as much as 5 years in prison, tho’ it would be more damaging to my power of work.

Your letter-card9 has just come — such a joyful surprise. Bless you, my Sweetheart — my Heart’s Comrade, I love you, love you, love you. Goodnight Beloved.

B.

This is your writing block which I packed by mistake.10

• 1

  [document] Document 200289.

• 2

  [envelope] The Lady Constance Malleson | Nimmy Not Cottage | Bellingdon | near Chesham. Pmk: LONDON W.C | 6.15 PM | 29 MAR 18. Colette wrote “special letter” and the wrong date (29 March 1918) on the envelope.

• 3

  [date] Thursday was 28 March.

• 4

  in prison BR had been sentenced on 9 February 1918 to six months in prison for publishing “The German Peace Offer” (B&R C18.01; 92 in Papers 14).

• 5

  the Studio The place BR and Colette rented on the ground floor at 5 Fitzroy Street, Soho. For information on it, see BRACERS 19240, n.8.

• 6

  Blackpool Part of the movie Hindle Wakes was shot in and near Blackpool in September 1917. BR became very jealous of Colette’s relationship with her director, Maurice Elvey, and this jealousy caused a serious rift with her.

• 7

  Clee Hill Clee Hill is near Ashford Carbonel where BR and Colette had spent an idyllic summer holiday in August 1917. They returned in March 1918. BR would mention the Clee Hill day in several letters, the last on 8 September 1918 (BRACERS 19360). What exactly happened on that day is not clear in any of his letters. However, in a message sent to BR by Colette while he was in prison, she remembered that a red fox came and listened to them there (Rinder to BR, BRACERS 116585, message from C.O’N., 15 June 1918).

• 8

  I saw Morel E.D. Morel (1873–1924), journalist and internationalist; a founder of the Union of Democratic Control. He had spent six months in the Second Division for sending pacifist literature to Switzerland and was released in January 1918. BR saw him on 26 March (see BR’s letter to Gilbert Murray, BRACERS 79028) and was shaken by the change in Morel, who had broken down mentally and physically. He never recovered.

• 9

  letter-card Not extant.

• 10

  This is your writing block which I packed by mistake. A pad of writing paper.