DANIELE MILVIO

TERZULTIMATUM

NOVEMBER 8 - DECEMBER 18, 2021

To Philip Morrell

52 Tavistock Square, W.C.1.

Feb 3rd [1938]

My dear Philip,
Of course I am touched, as well as flattered, that you should write to me 1 –and I would have written before, except that, like you and all the rest of the world, I’m in the grip of influenza. So excuse both handwriting and mind weakness. I cant conceive why you should be afraid of writing when you have such extremely nice things to say. However, I admit I often tear up letters myself: one cant, even at my age, believe that other people want affection or admiration; yet one knows that there’s nothing in the whole world so important. Why is it? Why are we all so tongue tied and spellbound? Why, as you say, do we live three streets off and yet never meet? I think human beings are fundamentally crushed by a sense of their insignificance. You and Ottoline seem to me to have everything: why should you care a bent farthing what I think or feel? Thats the line it takes with me: and to my surprise, apparently with you.
But merely as an author, that curious extension or excres- cence on the original V.W—I’m delighted with—first: your liking Jacobs Room [1922]: my own favourite, the only one I can sometimes read a page of without disgust: second, that you should actually have read, still more marvellously have liked, Night and Day [1919]: a book written in half hour laps in bed, and so tedious to remember, and, I have always been told, a complete failure to read. Nothing will make me read it: but owing to your letter, a faint sunset glow surrounds it on the shelf.
I’m so glad Ottoline is better. I always hope you both realise what a part—and an unthanked part—you both played in the old civilisation. But why dont we renew it? Perhaps when I’m up and about you’ll come to tea. Anyhow thank you for your letter, and excuse this feeble answer.

Yrs V.W.