by Iris Murdoch
I am sorry to write in this vein and to counsel so urgently a severance from a life which I am sure is pleasant to you, but this is a matter of great seriousness. I cannot feel confident that you are entirely well-informed about extradition, which is a nightmare to us. If you do not put yourself right now, the consequences to you will be lifelong. A delayed or irregular return will mean imprisonment under the harshest conditions from which you might emerge mentally and physically damaged and with loss of civic rights. The alternative is permanent exile. Consider what, with your whole life before you, you would be choosing, My son, do you really want to become an outlaw and an exile from the country which has given to us refuge, freedom, an end of wandering and fear, and to you the full status and being of an American? You have gained without effort or desert a privilege which millions, including your parents, have had to achieve by years of painful striving, and for which millions of oppressed people have yearned in vain. Ludwig, you are an American. Do not lightly throw this precious title away, but realize rather that it involves responsibilities and ties of a deep and lasting nature.
I say nothing here of your scruples and reasonings about the war. I trust profoundly that the compromise which we have suggested will be acceptable to you. Above all, you must act immediately. Your mother sends her fondest love and joins me in begging you to do as we suggest.
Your affectionate father
J. P. H. Leferrier
My darling husband,
I have heard the terrible news of the accident. Mavis told me this afternoon. Do not be angry, I ran straight round to Miss Ricardo’s house immediately, but you were not there and Miss Ricardo said she didn’t know when you would be in. I would have left a note then, only I had no paper and I was so distressed. She said she would tell you I called. Do not be angry with me for going round, I felt I had to see you at once, I am so terribly upset, I have been crying ever since. Do not blame yourself, my darling, do not blame yourself at all. Mavis said the child ran straight in front of the car and no one, not the best driver in the world, could have avoided what happened. Oh do not be too grieved and unhappy and do not blame yourself for this awful thing. It was brought about by chance and not by you. I want to see you so much but will now wait for you to write to me. Oh let us meet soon, let us be together soon. This separation has been my fault and I weep for it and ask your forgiveness. Let us somehow be together again soon and keep all the world out as we used to do. Forgive me for going round to the house, it was all such a shock and I felt I had to see you. Write soon to your loving child, your wife
D.
Dear Mrs Monkley,
I write on behalf of my brother and myself to send our profoundest and most heartfelt sympathy to you and your husband on this irreparable loss. My brother, as the police agreed, very much thanks to your own generous and prompt evidence, was not to blame for the accident. However we cannot but feel a responsibility and a grief which will remain with us always at having been the instruments of this dreadful occurrence. We need your forgiveness for having unwittingly so altered your lives. I cannot find the words to express our sorrow at this thing, and our sense of having engendered, however innocently, a lifelong responsibility. Our lives can never be the same now, any more than yours can. I hope you will forgive and accept, from both of us, this clumsy expression of our grief. It was kind of you to let me know the time of the funeral. I will certainly attend. My brother, whose work precludes his attendance, sends his profound condolences. I will, as I said on the telephone, hope to call on you and your husband a day or two after the funeral. If there is any help which my brother and I can give you in your bereavement we would esteem it a privilege to give it. Please excuse this clumsy letter. We are more wretched than words can express at what has happened. I will be at the funeral.
Yours sincerely
Matthew Gibson Grey
My dearest little girl,
thank you so much for your sweet letter, which cheered me up a lot. Please don’t come to Mitzi Ricardo’s place. I’d rather you didn’t come there. It’s not a very nice place. I only wish I had a place that was worthy of you, Dorina. A palace with a great garden and I’d set you in the midst with fountains playing all round you. I will see you soon. I will write again when all this ghastly biz is over, I don’t want you mixed up in it. It’s such a mess, and I’ve got hundreds of things to do like going to the bloody funeral and seeing the parents and so on. The father is being rather awful about it all. Oh God I wish it hadn’t happened. It was all because Matthew would insist on my driving and made us go round that back way. I am still in a state of shock and I am thinking of seeing a doctor. But don’t let my darling girl worry about me. I am all right and I will survive and recover, I have had worse blows than this. Don’t go away anywhere, will you, and don’t come to Mitzi Ricardo’s place again. We’ll meet soon, I’ll write, and yes we’ll be together again before long and keep them all out. Look after yourself and keep yourself safe and secure for your loving husband
Austin
PS How did Mavis know about the accident? Did Matthew tell her?
Dearest Gracie,
so Austin has run over a little girl. Good for him. He has certainly maximized happiness in the Tisbourne family. Ma was incoherent with delight about it when she telephoned and I could just imagine her face, pulled into that false sadness with glee looking through. And don’t tell me you don’t feel exactly the same. I would be moderately bucked myself if I hadn’t got other troubles. As it is, I wake up in the morning and feel at once that at least something nice has happened.
I have told my love. Ralph rejected me, not nastily but with a much more awful high-mindedness. And now he refuses to see me and has written me a disgusting missive. I am sorry I wrote you a horrid letter by the way. Misery has made me benevolent, I can’t at the moment see the point of being unpleasant to anybody, I am even nice to my housemaster. A matter on which you can help me: Ralph alleges he is in love with a girl. Who is she? Could you try to find out? You might ask Karen Arbuthnot who knows everything.
I don’t know what to do about Ralph, I am more in love than ever and feel utterly sick with it. I sweat and my hands tremble and I can’t eat. Do you feel like this about your Ludwig? (Have you — by the way? ?) What restrains me from instant suicide is a tiny hope. Ralph’s grand disgusting letter felt at first like a kick in the guts. But later on I thought that a longish letter, indeed a letter at all, was a sign of interest. What do you think? I may be deceiving myself. But there’s just enough left of the sense of a game to be played to keep me out of the madhouse. I am not sure what I shall do. I am tempted to write twenty pages in reply. But possibly the wisest thing might be to answer laconically saying OK, and then wait for him to make a move! But will he? Supposing he just doesn’t? Oh God. Anything rather than the end.
Your demented brother,
Patrice de la Tour de Tisbourne.
PS Send me some cash, would you? God, to think how I buttered up that old lady, artlessly sending her gems from my stamp collection, all in vain!
Sebastian,
thanks for seeing me again and congrats on passing your exam. If you imagine that your casual politeness will eventually quench my flame you have miscalculated. In fact you would be sorry if I stopped loving you. How much does your heart really ache for Gracie? I felt that your remarks last time were designed to annoy me (good sign) rather than to express your irreparably wounded feelings. You made a hearty luncheon, my darling. (And you let me pay again. You really are super!) I think, by the way, that Gracie and Ludwig have taken the plunge. This is just inference from Gracie’s appearance. She doesn’t confide in me any more. What a fool you were not to pull her into bed. She was dying to be forced.
I’m coming up again on Friday for the opening of mama’s ghastly boutique, and I’ll be chez Ann Colindale as usual. Ann is lovesick too, we sigh by numbers. I am going to take a secretarial job in town. I am sick of living in a vicious circle of pig grub and pig shit down her
e. I haven’t broken it to pa yet. I’ll ring you Wednes. Dins Fri? Much love, dear sweet beautiful Sebastian, from your, very much in love with you but putting a brave face on it,
Karen
PS. Did you hear that Austin Gibson Grey ran over a child? I am so sorry for that man. I think he is in love with Gracie incidentally. What a planet.
Dear Mr and Mrs Leferrier,
you will know about me from Ludwig and how we are to be married. I am so happy and I love him very much and I am so much looking forward to meeting you both. I hope you will come to the wedding. He has shown me your pictures, the coloured ones with the maple trees and the black and white ones of the house with the verandah and your little dog, I am very sorry that he died lately. It is not very easy to write to people when you don’t know them but I felt I so much wanted to say a word to you. I love your son so much, he is a marvellous man and I am sure we shall be very happy. I am certain that I shall do all that I can to be a good wife to him and to make him happy throught his life as you would wish him to be. We are to have a College house in North Oxford. I am not sure if that is in the country or not, we are going to see it shortly, it is most exciting. I wish you could be here to come with us. But I hope you will be over soon, I so very much want to meet you. I enclose another photograph of myself, a rather better one, and photos of my parents and my brother, and a new photo of Ludwig which I persuaded him to have taken specially. It was quite difficult to persuade him, he is so modest! My parents both send their very warmest wishes and look forward to having you here as their guests. My mother will be writing to you again. Thank you for having such a wonderful son. I love him very much! See you soon I hope.
With my very best wishes,
Yours
Grace
My dear Austin,
I have written to the parents and I will attend the funeral. I have made your excuses for not attending, since you say you don’t want to. My own ailments are better. I hope you are not filled with grief and I hope you are not blaming yourself. As far as I can see the accident was genuinely not your fault. You were not used to the car and I ought not to have let you drive it. It is fortunate indeed that the police did not test you for alcohol, as I fear that evidence would have gone against you. You have Mrs Monkley’s immediate self-accusations to thank for that escape, I think. I will go to see them after the funeral to see if there is any help I can give. It is indeed a terrible affair. But as I say, do not blame yourself. It was my suggestion that you should drive.
Concerning your extraordinary remarks about Betty perhaps it is better to say nothing. Except this: I know, and you must know, that what you said was so cannot have been so. If I knew you less well I would be more disturbed. Enough. I am glad that you came to see me. It is a great relief to feel that communication between us has been resumed. When this shadow has lifted a little I trust and believe that you will come again. And I hope that you will reconsider your decision about financial help. I can render it easily. I care about you very much.
Ever your loving brother,
Matthew
My dear Matthew,
how awful about the child. I am desperately sorry. I told Dorina at once of course and she rushed round to that place where Austin is staying. I am rather relieved that she didn’t find him. She has written to him. I feel if they were to meet just now they would upset each other so much it might do some new kind of permanent damage. This seems almost like superstition. But I never knew two people so framed to do each other harm within the very context of their love. That they do greatly love each other is part of the paradox. Or is this all idiotic? I often tell myself I ought not to protect Dorina. Perhaps there is an old possessive instinct involved here. There is no doubt that she is afraid of Austin and her fear touches me and makes me afraid too.
I am sorry to talk about her when it is your terrible experience and Austin’s which should be the main concern. Yes, one will be haunted always by this, it cannot be otherwise. Thank you very much for telephoning me about it. May I come with you to see the parents? It may seem presumptuous to say so, but in a way I am used to this sort of thing. (Though every case is special of course.) May I come? I very much want, after that stupid luncheon, to see you again and talk properly. Matthew, thank you for telephoning, it was the right thing to do. Do not grieve too much. Ever, with love
Mavis
My dear father,
your letter has caused me much distress. I fear we are moving farther apart and it is becoming difficult even to argue. I cannot plead total conscientious objection since I do not, in my conscience, totally object to war. I think some wars are justified. I just happen to think that this one is not. I cannot, at a crucial moment in my life, and even to encompass a purpose which in itself is right (i.e. my not fighting) solemnly allege something which is not true. Nor do I conceive that you would wish me to do so. In fact the purpose is not separable (I think) as a worthy end if the means to it are false. My total attitude of rejection of this policy of the United States government is what must here be considered. And I am only (in my own eyes and I am sure in yours) likely to be thought just if I am honest all the way through. I think that to wage this sort of unbridled aggressive war upon a backward country in defence of some nebulous idea of containing communism (which cannot in any case be contained by these methods) and in defiance of international agreements and the territorial integrity of the country concerned is a wicked action. To make millions of innocent people suffer terribly over years and years in this sort of way is wickedness. If ever one can see and identify and have the duty to denounce wickedness in a government it is here, and the fact that it is one’s own government only makes the duty more urgent and indeed precious. I know I have said all this to you before, but please see this passionate sense of our government’s wrongdoing behind my decision about my own life. For these reasons, and not because I totally object to warfare, I have decided not to fight this war, and I have decided, which is in many respects a harder decision, to give effect to my rejection of United States policy by staying in England. (There is no question of extradition. I have gone into this matter with the college lawyer.) That England is ‘pleasant’ to me is, in relation to my choice, accidental. I am at an age where I have to choose my task in life. And I believe that my task is to be a scholar and not a politician. To return to the States in order to become a rather reluctant and inefficient ‘protester’ would be a pointless sacrifice of my talents and of my true duty which I cannot feel called upon to make. And that, believe me, is the only alternative to the course which I have chosen. Please reflect on this and see what is good in this course, even if you disagree with some of my reasoning and some of my values. Also please see the decision as now firmly taken and finished. There is no going back. I take up my Oxford appointment in September. The college knows all about my position, I have explained it in detail to the Master and the governing body, they understand and they approve.
I am getting married on August 18. This too is a step upon which I have reflected deeply and about which I have no doubts. Gracie is young and she has not had an ‘academic’ education, but she is very intelligent and shrewd. She is not a flibberty gibbet or a ‘deb’. No, her parents are not ‘high society’. I just meant, I think, that they are middle-class people with a decent income and a nice home. I am not sure quite what I meant. You will like her and them very much. I hope by now you will have had her letter. Please please understand and forgive and consent to these new things in my life. I am twenty-two and I must make my decisions for myself, however painful it is to be at odds with you and with my mother. I hope, and indeed know, that you have always found me in the past an affectionate and dutiful son, and such you will find me in all essentials always. Please consent to my proceedings and give me your blessing. I very much hope that you will come to the wedding. Gracie (or as I suppose I must get used to saying, Gracie and I) will most gladly pay your fare. With deepest respect and love to you both,
Your son
Ludwig
My dear Matthew,
I learnt of the accident and of your indisposition with the greatest sympathy. Please convey my sympathy to Austin too. It must be dreadful to be, however innocently, the instrument of bringing such awful unhappiness into the lives of others. It gives one a terrible sense of mortality and makes one feel how we are all, in respect of the inevitability of sorrow and death, ‘members one of another’.
I saw you, and was sorry not to talk to you, at Clara’s party. I expect you know (well, now I come to think of it there is no reason why you should) that I am renting Austin’s flat for the moment. I would be very glad to see you there (or indeed anywhere) at any time. You will know of recent sad changes in my life. I feel that I am growing old, I feel lonely and in need of the support of old friends, in which (in my case) rather small battalion I certainly count you.
With affectionate regards and best wishes,
Charlotte
Dear Mr Secombe-Hughes,
I am sorry not to have been to the office for the last few days, you will understand why this is. Also, a friend of mine had an awful accident and I have had to help. I feel bad about last time, and I must have seemed unsympathetic and ungrateful, especially about the poem. I would like to read it if you translate it into English ever. And I was touched about your mother’s shawl. The fact is I have been worried about personal things and you did take me by surprise and that made me want to run away because I didn’t know how I ought to talk to you about it. I very much hope you will see your way to paying me what you owe me if the business is sold. I enclose the IOUs and you will see there is quite a bit owing. My friend who had the accident still needs me for some days but after that I will come to the studio. I hope very much that you will settle up with me as requested in the time between, sending some of the money anyway. I hope you will excuse me for writing so openly to you, and understand about the other time. Respectfully, with good wishes
