Page 136 - Life of Gertrude Bell

122 GERTRUDE BELL
friends — I’ve gained so much and I want to hold it. The lone­
liness—why we arc all born alone die alone really live
alone —and it hurts at times —Is this nonsense or preach­
ments? I don’t care —I must write something, something to
show you how very proud I am to be your friend. Something
to have meaning, even if it cannot be set down, affection, my
dear, and gratitude and admiration and confidence, and an
urgent desire to see you as much as possible ... All the good
luck in the world, Yours ever, R.
On August 16th he wrote to her from his club, telling her that he
had accepted a post with the International Boundary Commission
in Albania. Then on August 20th, when he returned to London
from a visit to his Suffolk home: ‘... your letters waiting for me
... wonderful letters my dear, which delight me. Bless you. But
there can be no words to answer you with. Well — let’s talk about
other tilings — do you know this?
Men say they know many things
But lo, they have taken wings
The Arts and the sciences
And a thousand appliances —
The wind that blows
Is all that anybody knows.
He went on: ‘My wife is in Wales. She’ll come up when I wire to
her and go with me — till we see the hows and whys and wheres ...
I have turned into my old bachelor quarters in Half Moon Street,
no 29. Write to me there ... while I am alone, let’s be alone. Ah
yes, my dear, it’s true enough what I said about solitude, on
every hill, in every forest, I have invoked and welcomed her ...
And you, too, know the goddess well, for no one but a worshipper
could have written what you did about the hush of dawn in the
garden.’ Then there was a strange recall of Rounton, a reference
to a lone woman that was to have a strange, almost macabre
significance in the future. ‘... Did I say all this to you before? Or
dream I did? By the way, talking of dreams—Rounton ghosts
visited me the next night also. Is there any history of them ... ?
some shadowy figure of a woman, who really quite bothered me,
so that I turned on the light. It wasn’t your ghost, or anything
like you; but something hostile and alarming ... * For the first
time he signed a letter by his familiar name, Dick.