A great desert lies ahead of me
A touching letter from Edith Wharton
The following letter was written on this day in 1927. It can be found in the book, Letters of Note: Grief, personalised/gift-wrapped copies of which can be bought here. I’m also embedding audio of this letter being read beautifully by Crystal Clarke, taken from the audiobook of the same name.
Edith Wharton’s lifelong relationship with Walter Van Rensselaer Berry began in 1883, as both holidayed in Bar Harbor, Maine. Their connection was instant and natural. Two years later, she wed another man, Edward, thus beginning an unfulfilling marriage that lasted eighteen years, most of which were unhappy, and ended in divorce. She would later write her most celebrated novel, The Age of Innocence (1920), for which she was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Literature: she was, in fact, the first woman to receive the accolade. Six years later, Walter Berry died following a long illness, the final stretch of which saw Wharton take care of him. Shortly after Berry passed away, Wharton wrote this letter to her friend, John Hugh Smith. She would later call Berry ‘the great love of all my life’.
October 15, 1927
My dearest John,
All my friends have sent me words of sympathy, but only you have said just what I wanted, what I needed. Thank you, dear.
Yes, I am glad indeed that it is over, but I perceive now that I, who thought I loved solitude, was never for one moment alone—& a great desert lies ahead of me.
The sense of desolation (though of thankfulness too, of course) is unspeakably increased by those last days together, when he wanted me so close, & held me so fast, that all the old flame & glory came back, in the cold shadow of death & parting. Oh, my dear, I sometimes feel I am too old to live through such hours, & take up the daily round again.
But I remember what you say, & I am proud of having kept such a perfect friendship after the great days were over, & always to have felt that, through all the coming & going of things in his eager ambitious life, I was there, in the place he put me in so many years ago, the place of perfect understanding.
I don’t think I ever bothered him but once—& when he felt that the busy brilliant days were over, he liked to have me with him, because he knew I wouldn’t fuss & sentimentalize, or try to divert his eyes from the end we both knew they were fixed on. He hated humbug—so do I. And now I’m so grateful to all my friends for understanding what I feel—& you most, dear John.
Edith
Robert is staying with me, & won’t leave till after the funeral. He has been kindness itself.
Edith Wharton also features in my new book, Diaries of Note, published last week in the UK. She’s one of 366 diarists whose private worlds fill its pages. More info at the link below.
Thank you!
Finally, a heartfelt thank you to everyone who came to the Diaries of Note launch at Cadogan Hall on Monday. It was a joy to spend the evening talking about the value and power of diaries, about cryptic masturbation tallies, about Orwell’s wartime egg counts, about the amusing juxtaposition of the mundane and the momentous, and everything else. I’m so grateful to our brilliant readers—Louise Brealey, Matt Berry, Helen Fielding, Sir Tony Robinson, and Ferdinand Kingsley—for bringing various diarists’ voices to life with such warmth and wit. It really was a fantastic night.
I am grateful for your postng this Warton letter. I passed it along to a grieving loved one and instantly received back a lovely note. She has always loved Wharton. This correspondence suits all occasions, I believe, when the heart feels so bruised. Constance
Will your book be published in the US?