22 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #32

Edith to Stuart
22.11.17
My Dearest,
I feel that I must just write a few lines to you to-night, because I wrote such horrid things in that other note. When I was with you, I felt quite suddenly that it would seem to you, when you read the note, as if I doubted you. You know, don’t you, Belovéd? that I do not doubt you one little bit. Oh, I hope you believe this. I cannot think what made me write as I did. And that’s not true, for I do know all the time. There’s a short of demon gets inside a woman at times, and makes all things look black to her, and makes her wonder if life is worth while, if it is worth will the trouble and pain. You must not think that these fits last long, or that they are worth noticing. Only, while they do last, they make us do thing for which we are terribly sorry afterwards, and which we would give anything to undo. Your faint suggestion of a home without a Man in it was – terrible. But that will never be, will it, Dearest, while you can help it? I know it will not, so do not let those words of min hurt you any longer, for I am sure they must have hurt you. And I found in one of your notes to-night that one of my former ones hurt you very much. I wonder if I had better writing to you, for I write such terrible things, which I do not mean a bit.
Of course, Dearest, you may do what you want to do, only, if I am Queen, you are king, and the King is very far above the Queen. The true homage is from the Queen to the King, so, - I may do what I want to sometimes, mayn’t I?
Now, I must say Good-night. I have written all this in bed, so I am afraid it will be difficult to read.
Good night, Belovéd, and thank you for to-night. It was only a few minutes, but it was just what I wanted. Oh, I love you so much, and yet, I have hurt you again to-night. I feel it so strangely. I wish I could give you this now, at once. But it must wait until the morning.
So, Goodnight, My Belovéd, Goodnight.


Pray that you may reach
That purest heaven, be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,
Be the sweet, presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense.

So shall you join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.

(c) DearestBeloved 2009