BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, [14 DEC. 1911]
BRACERS 17375. ALS. Morrell papers #287, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.

Thursday morning1^, 2

My own Darling

What a joy it is to think I shall see you tonight! It seems an eternity since Sunday. When I am not busy the time goes more slowly. Your letter of yesterday was such a joy to me — Dearest Dearest you are so good and dear to me. — I long to hear all about your “ambitious” speech. Please let me see the accounts of you in the paper. How awfully boring your luncheon sounds. Even the nicest people are rather trying if one has to sit solemnly for an hour expecting one’s lunch — no, I should not have succeeded in finding something to say, and I should have gone quite flat. — I too am sceptical about Roger, and I told Mrs W. I was. I think he says different things to different people. — No, you will never see the moustache again. It passed away peacefully last night and will be cremated the next time my bedroom fire is lighted. I hope you will like the result. My mouth turns out to be thin-lipped and rather cynical; I think I look older. I get funny sensations of things touching my upper lip — especially when I blow my nose. But I didn’t find it sore. — I am not seeing Mrs W. this afternoon — she has written to say she is too tired, and must reserve her strength for the journey to Marlborough on Saturday.

Last night we had the annual meeting of the P.S.F. — a very mild business. I saw Miss Cox and had a little talk. She still means to go to stay with Virginia when her sister is married. She spoke of asking me to come and see her, but nothing definite. Old Wicksteed was there and I had some talk with him. I am very fond of him. He and Janet Trevelyan went off together. — I then went to see Arnold Bennett’s play (from the Pit) — it is a poor affair. The Vienna Restaurant would not be safe for dinner — yesterday I met Mathieson there at dinner, the step-father of my Russian.3 He strikes one as nice the first instant, but is really quite awful. He says “You know I’m so like Christ. Christ was a very handsome man”. He complained that we all laughed at Crompton’s jokes but not at his. His are very mild and meant to be just a little naughty, to show what a dog he is. He is a Fabian. His wife, a high-spirited clever revolutionary aristocrat, married him in a moment of disillusion under the impression that he stood for solid British middle-class respectability. But as he had a previous wife from whom he is divorced (not on account of his present wife), he hardly comes up to the type. She now has lost charm and brains and ideals and everything, and sunk to his level. Her son has no energy and no ideals, an amazing memory, but no power of work; his only desire is to be British and commonplace. They are among the spiritual wrecks of unsuccessful revolution.

Yes, the Indian news is really good. I don’t know enough to judge about the change of capital, but the reversal of the partition of Bengal is wise and brave, and ought to do much good. Also I hope the promise of more self-government is seriously meant. But I think so long as the police system continues unchanged, with spying and suppression and torture, more sensational reforms are likely to be frustrated. Poor Curzon is pathetic, longing to denounce but restrained by respect for the King.

It is curious looking back over my marriage. The first five years were very happy indeed, peacefully happy — the more peaceful because everything infinite, all the reaching out after unattainable things, ceased to exist in me. I did a great deal of work, and succeeded in it beyond my hopes; but it was entirely technical and dry. Somehow or other the awakening was bound to come. As I look back on the happiness of those years, I feel it to have been not of the best kind. It was associated with hardness and conceit and limitation. It was useful as a rest to nerves; I acquired a background of sanity, which has been needed since. Also it would have been much harder to acquire knowledge if I had been less satisfied. But it ought not to have been permanent. Drifting apart took about 3 years; and then came the definite breach.

Tonight at 9 unless you write otherwise. I am glad you approve about Prisons.a Darling I am longing for you — I love you most deeply and infinitely — you speak to my whole soul so intimately and profoundly.

Your
B.

• 1

  [document] Document 000287. Proofread against a colour scan of the original.

• 2

  [envelope] A circled “287”. The Lady Ottoline Morrell | 44 Bedford Sq. | W.C. Pmk: LONDON.W.C. | 12.30 PM | DEC 14 11

• 3

  my Russian Chrouschoff. See letter #50 (BRACERS 17118), n.7. The father's surname may be spelt "Matheson". Around 1930 a translator from the Russian was known as H. Chrouschoff Matheson. However, the "H." was often expanded to "Helen".

Textual Notes

• a

  Prisons editorially altered from prisons