21 Dec 1921

21 December 1921

Chalet des Sapins, Montana-sur-Sierre, Switzerland

   It has turned me to Proust however at last. I have been pretending to have read Proust for years but this autumn M. and I both took the plunge. I certainly think he is by far the most interesting living writer. He is fascinating! Its a comfort to have someone whom one can so tremendously admire. It is horrible to feel so out of touch with one's time as I do nowadays - almost frightening.
   Have you read Aldous' nove1? I have seen it reviewed but that is all. Is it very good? And did you see "Vera" by my cousin Elizabeth. I thought it far and away her best book (though I never said so to Sidney Waterlow. What he meant by saying he had seen me I cant imagine. It is years since I set eyes on him.)
   Oh, how nice it would be to talk - really at one's ease - have a long talk with you in your little room. There are so many things I should love to hear. One begins to feel too much of an exile.
   I am so glad you liked M's poems. They were very heavily sat on. But he is bursting into new books, all the same. His novel is to be published in the spring and two other tomes as well. My infant is to lie in Constable's bosom until after the New Year. I have been longing all this last week to snatch it away and bury it. Its not half good enough! I can't bear to think about it.
   But this letter must end. Dearest Ottoline, if you would write to us, your letter would be read so ardently. Please don't punish me for not having written for so long. There are other reasons, too, for my silence but they are the ancient eternal reasons - fatigue beyond words - ill health. One hardly dares mention it again. [To Ottoline Morell, c. 20 December 1921.]