BRACERS Record Detail for 17058
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"Tuesday My Dearest—my heart is so full that I hardly know where to begin."
BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, [21 MAR. 1911]
BRACERS 17058. ALS. Morrell papers #3, Texas. SLBR 1: #158
Edited by N. Griffin. Proofread by K. Blackwell and A.G. Bone
In the train <to Paris>1, 2
Tuesday
My Dearest
My heart is so full that I hardly know where to begin. The world is so changed in these last 48 hours that I am still bewildered. My thoughts won’t come away from you — I don’t hear what people say. All yesterday evening Bob Trevy babbled on; every now and then I woke up and wondered who he was talking about just then. Fortunately yes and quite so and ah indeed were enough for him. I see your face always, tho’ as a rule I can’t imagine anybody’s face. I love you very dearly now and I know that every time I see you I shall love you more. I long to be with you in beautiful places, where your own beauty and the beauty you create everywhere will be in harmony with other things.
Before I really knew you, I began to wish to because of what I saw you were making of Philip; then I remember a day when you came to Bagley Wood and we had a talk on the way to the river; that was for me the beginning — since then I have never consciously lost an opportunity. But only dim instinct knew what was happening — my conscious knowledge was fugitive. I wish it had not been. But now I know I have what I longed for. Only it is altogether extraordinary to me that you should love me — I feel myself so rugged and ruthless, and so removed from the whole aesthetic side of life — a sort of logic machine warranted to destroy any ideal that is not very robust. My own ideals can endure my own criticism and thrive on it; yours, I believe, can also. But most people’s can’t. People think me cynical, but that is superficial. The bottom feeling is one of affection for almost everybody. I could often wish to be more ruthless in feeling — it would simplify life.
I don’t really know you yet. You must help me to. I want to know every bit, absolutely.
In Paris I shall have to try to collect my wits — it won’t do to be thinking of you while the philosophers are making objections to my views. But I fear the whole thing will seem less important than it did before.
Friday night I dine and sleep with my brother, 57 Gordon Square. He is likable in some ways, but in others not. I will come Saturday about 10.30. I have to catch a 2.40 to Haslemere. We stay at Fernhurst for the Vacation, and I have undertaken to coach Karin for her Tripos.
Goodbye my Dearest. I grudge the hours till I am with you again. With all my love.
B.
