3 April 1921

3 April 1921

Villa Isola Bella, Menton, France

Dear Sydney
I was more sorry than I can say not to have been able to come on Thursday. Fate is against me in these matters. I wish I knew why. But we shall meet again? Yes, I am sure we shall. My plans, however seem more & more vague. The Swiss doctor maintains his silence, & I continue to receive letters for & against his treatment. Jones is going to Switzerland this week. To a little place called Baugy — above Montreux & on to Chateau d’eux to ‘spy out the land’.
I am simply staggered there’s no other word for it, by your analysis — heaven knows its infinitely more — of Sullivan. Perfect! From the first word (oh, how subtle that is!) to the last. And that “he has less imagination than  he thinks”, that “his future lies in the development of his powers of application.” My dear Sydney. That is divination indeed.
I am fond of Sullivan — and I am his friend - but with reservations . . . His lack of what we mean by sensitiveness is hard to bear, so too is his lack of self discipline. I mean that in every sense. I think it is still a toss-up whether he finds his true approach or whether he fritters his Life away. He wants to live somewhere near me for the next few years &,  privately, I shrink from the idea. But hes a vague creature. Perhaps Ill never see him again. At the moment this thought is pleasing. How hateful I am! My excuse is he has been staying here - here all day long until 10 o’clock at night - and Sydney — one is so infernally watchful. His habit of going into the dining room, taking an orange, bringing it to the salon, tossing the peel into the fireplace. Oh! Oh! But thats only one ‘obvious’ small horror . . .

[To Sydney Schiff in Collected Letters, c. 18 April 1921.]