engagement 93now, only a mild irritation when I think of her and Aunt Agatha, and it will
be a good thing to continue to feel so. And all this separation is well worth
while, for we should never have been really happy together without the
knowledge we had really done something serious for my Grandmother. . . . I
enclose Sanger’s two letters – I have answered saying I would probably do
two Dissertations – the second letter is much more encouraging than the
?rst. I said I would make the Geometry the chief one my ?rst shot and the
Economics my second shot...
I have been reading more Mill and beginning an Essay on Axioms for the
Moral Science Club at Cambridge, of which Trotter, the hard-working Scots-
man I beat and despise, is Secretary. It will be an immense pleasure to go to
Cambridge and read a paper and enjoy the Society again. The Society is a real
passion to me – after thee, I know no greater joy. I shall read them a paper on
controlling our passions, in which I shall point out that we can’t, and that the
greater they are the less we ought to though the more easily we can. – This
sounds paradoxical but isn’t. I take refuge in intellectual activity which has
always been rather of the nature of a dissipation and opiate to me.
Goodbye my Darling, my Joy. I will write again tomorrow.
Thine heart and soul
Bertie
British Embassy, Paris
October 22nd 1894, 9 p.m.
My darling Alys
...I don’t think thee’ll be tempted to grow too dependent on me, because
thee’ll ?nd I shall be bored if thee always agrees with me, and shall want an
argument now and then to give my brain a little exercise. I feel a real and
solid pleasure when anybody points out a fallacy in any of my views, because
I care much less about my opinions than about their being true. But thee Must
think for thyself instead of merely taking scraps from di?erent people –
that is what makes thy opinions so disjointed, because thee takes di?erent
opinions from di?erent people, thinking the two subjects independent – but
no two subjects are really independent, so that people with di?erent Popes
for di?erent things have an extraordinary hotch-potch of views. Logan, thee
and Mariechen all have that vice, Logan least, M. most.
Logan once told me thee had better taste in pictures than M., and yet
thee seldom opens thy mouth, but leaves all the talking on such subjects to
her dogmatising. This is an example how thee wastes thy mind, not from
modesty, but from a combination of laziness and pride, the same pride that
kept thee silent so long about thy real opinions. – What M. says about getting
ideas from somewhere is true of herself but by no means of everybody – e.g.
in my paper on space which I’m writing now, there is a whole section of
the autobiography of bertrand russell 94close reasoning which I have seen nowhere, and which, for ought I know,
may be quite original. It is like the rule of speak when you’re spoken to – if
everyone followed it, there could be no ideas in the world: they have to come
from someone originally. And even when one’s ideas are got from others,
they have quite a di?erent complexion when one has fought against them
and wrestled with them and struggled to understand the process by which
they are acquired than when one lazily accepts them because one thinks
the man a good man. I fought every inch of the way against Idealism in
Metaphysic and Ethics – and that is why I was forced to understand it
thoroughly before accepting it, and why when I came to write it out, Ward
used to be enchanted at my lucidity. But having lapsed into mere bragging,
perhaps this homily had better stop!...
British Embassy, Paris
Wednesday, October 31st
1894
9.30 p.m.
My darling Alys
...I shan’t mind being ‘run’ in the unimportant details of practical
things – where to dine, what to eat, etc. – in important practical matters,
when I’ve had a little practice in them, I maintain that I’m not incompetent
and I should sit on thee vigorously if thee tried to dictate to me! But Evelyn
Nordho? is right that thee wouldn’t be likely to do so. As long as I remain
a student or a theorist of any sort, I shall have no duties to the outside
world. I remember saying to thee on the Chelsea Embankment last
November what Logan is always repeating, that that sort of person ought to
lead a sel?sh life in small things, because it increases one’s e?ciency, and
the work is so vastly more important than any good one does by little
politenesses and so forth. Fortunately my needs are simple – tea and quiet are
all I require. I enjoyed my lunch with the Du?erins very much. I was
alone with Lord and Lady Du?erin and he was perfectly charming, though he
appeared to have forgotten all about my engagement, at least nothing was
said about it. He is really a delicious man – so perfect and well-rounded. He
was very gracious – said it had been the greatest pleasure to him to ?nd he
could please my Grandmother by giving me this place – asked if there had
been much work: so I said not so much lately, and he smiled and said there
was always less with an Ambassador than a Minister. I told them Phipps was
in raptures over Sarah’s new play, and they smiled again and said they had no
very high opinion of Phipps’s taste. They seem to share the general con-
tempt. He treated me so a?ectionately that my heart quite warmed to him,
in spite of its being due to my Grandparents, not to myself. I was not the
least shy, and did and said exactly what was proper. Thee will be glad to
engagement 95know that Lady Du?erin was atrociously dressed, in a sort of grey serge. Lord
Du?erin had just come in from bicycling: he rides right up to the very
Embassy door and wheels his machine in himself. The French used to be
shocked but now, largely owing to him I believe, it has become far more
fashionable for swells than it is in England. When he was in Petersburg there
was quite a scandal because one night, by way of Duncrambo or some similar
game, he acted a pig and hopped and grunted, and everyone thought it very
shocking for an Ambassador. He treats his wife with a curious formal polite
a?ection, which I believe is perfectly genuine, only that the habit of formal
politeness has made that his only possible manner: but it sounds odd to hear
‘my Love’ and such terms in the tone in which he might say Your Majesty or
Your Excellency. It was a glorious day and I went all round the Bois with
Dodson, which I also enjoyed immensely – all the autumn tints were at their
very ?nest, and I can’t imagine more ideal weather. Coming back he was
vastly impressed by my nerve in the tra?c. I suppose it is mathematics or
something, but I know I’m singularly good at riding through crowded
streets! I quite won his respect, as he is of the type that worships ‘nerve’ in
any form. He came lumbering on behind. He is a nice simple innocent youth,
who thinks everybody else stupendously clever. Harford and I smile over him,
but we both like him and I think he likes both of us.
I didn’t mean to go on to a 2nd sheet but I’m not sleepy enough to go to
bed, though it’s 10.30, and I can’t settle down to any other occupation than
writing to thee – It’s nice riding with Dodson, because it makes him mad
with envy to see me go without using my hands on the handles!...
12
Cambridge13
November 3rd, 1.30
My dearest Alys
...I have been wildly happy all morning: ever since I left King’s Cross I’ve
felt as if we’d just parted and I were coming back as I did so often by that
train last winter. It’s perfectly delightful seeing my friends again – I never
knew before how fond I am of them and how in?nitely nicer (and cleverer!)
they are than the ordinary run of young men. I’ve just been seeing Ward who
says there’s nothing philosophical for me to do in Economics but I might
very well take some mathematical job of pure theory, only then I should have
to begin specialising almost at once. He advised me to take in time and
motion too in my other Dissertation, and discuss Newton’s 3 laws, which
would be interesting. It is lovely weather, and the yellow elms are heavenly,
and all the people are good and nice, and it is perfect paradise after the hell of
Paris. I had a glorious long talk with Sanger and revelled in his intellectual
passion. . . . I will write again by Lion14
tomorrow, a longer letter telling all
that happens. Ward is to be shewn my paper on Space and I shall be wildly
the autobiography of bertrand russell 96eager to hear what he says about it. Short of love, his praise is about the most
delightful thing in the world to me. I got none today, but enjoyed seeing him,
he’s such a delightful man. Now I must hunt up someone to lunch. Less than
a fortnight thank heaven! Fare thee well my Beloved.
Thine ever most devotedly
Bertie
In the train – Cambridge
Sunday, November 4th 1894
5.15 p.m.
My dearest Alys
It is a great pity all my letters come in a lump and I’m very sorry to have
addressed Friday’s Hill. I hope it won’t happen again. I’m so glad thee’s
happy and busy too – if I were imagining thee unhappy it would be
unendurable not to see thee tonight – as it is, it gives me pleasure to think
thee is near. It has been perfectly delightful to be at Cambridge again. Moore
and Sanger and Marsh were so nice to see again. I love them all far more
than I supposed before. We had a large meeting last night. McT. and
Dickinson and Wedd came, at which I could not help feeling ?attered. Thee
will be glad to hear that several of them thought my paper too theoretical,
though McT. and I between us persuaded them in time that there was
nothing de?nite to be said about practical conduct. I have left my paper
behind as Marsh and Sanger want to read it over again. McT. spoke ?rst and
was excessively good, as I had hoped. I said in my paper I would probably
accept anything he said, and so I did. For my sake he left out immortality,
and reconciled my dilemma at the end without it. I can’t put what he said
in a letter, but I dare say I shall bring it out in conversation some day. We
had a delightful dinner at Marsh’s before the meeting, and I was so glad just
to be with them again that I didn’t talk a bit too much. Moore though he
didn’t say much looked and was as glorious as ever – I almost worship him
as if he were a god. I have never felt such an extravagant admiration for
anybody. I always speak the truth to Marsh, so I told him we were separated
three months to please my grandmother; the rest asked no inconvenient
questions. Most of them were pleased with my paper, and were glad of my
making Good and less good my terms instead of right and wrong. The
beginning also amused them a good deal. I stayed up till 2 talking to Marsh
and then slept till 10.30, when I went to breakfast with Sanger. I lunched
with Marsh, and talked shop with Amos and saw my rooms. As he has
furnished them – they’re brighter but not near so nice. Sanger thought my
bold idea in my Space paper ‘colossal’ – I hope Ward will think so too!
Amos tells me Ward said I was so safe for a Fellowship that it didn’t matter
a bit what I wrote on – but this must be taken cum grano salis – it is slightly
engagement 97coloured by Amos’s respect for me. They all urged me to do what I’m good
at, rather than ?y o? to Economics, tho’ all of them greatly respect
Economics and would be delighted to have me do them ultimately. I have
great respect for their judgments because they are honest and know me. So I
shall do 2 Dissertations next year and only Space this – or Space and Motion,
as Ward suggests. But of course I shall work at Economics at once. Sanger is
working at Statistics, and explained several hideous di?culties in the theory,
important for practice too, since the whole question of Bimetallism and
many others turn on them. I had never suspected such di?culties before,
and they inspired me with keen intellectual delight from the thought of
obstacles to be overcome. My intellectual pleasures during the last years
have been growing very rapidly keener, and I feel as if I might make a great
deal out of them when we’re married and all our di?culties are settled. I
am convinced since reading Bradley that all knowledge is good, and there-
fore shouldn’t need to bother about immediate practical utility – though of
course, when I come to Economics, that will exist too. I’m very glad to ?nd
that passion developing itself, for without it no one can accomplish good
thinking on abstract subjects – one can’t think hard from a mere sense
of duty. Only I need little successes from time to time to keep it a source of
energy. My visit to Cambridge has put me in very good conceit with myself
and I feel very happy to think we are within our fortnight and that Mariechen
will make it ?y. I laughed more than in all the time since I left Friday’s Hill
and I talked well and made others laugh a great deal too....
Trinity College, Cambridge
December 9th 1894, 2 a.m.
My dearest Alys
I will write a little letter tonight though it is late. Sanger met me at the
station and took me to tea with Marsh, where I found Crompton who is
as charming as ever and in better spirits than I ever saw him before,
delighted with the law and very glad to feel settled for life. Moore read
about lust and set forth exactly thy former ideal which he got from me
when we met the normal man on the walking-tour. His paper did not
give any good arguments, but was beautifully written in parts, and made me
very fond of him. A year ago I should have agreed with every word – as it
was, I spoke perfectly frankly and said there need be nothing lustful in
copulation where a spiritual love was the predominant thing, but the
spiritual love might seek it as the highest expression of union. Everybody
else agreed with me, except McT. who came in after the discussion was
over. Crompton was very good indeed and quite worsted Moore, though
Moore would not admit it. I am going to see all the dons tomorrow. I
have been arguing with Amos, who is much incensed at my advocacy of
the autobiography of bertrand russell 98hyperspace, and is not coming to the wedding (not as a consequence of
our di?erences!)...
Thine ever devotedly
Bertie
I was at this time very intimate with Eddie Marsh (afterwards Sir Edward Marsh), so I told him
about Alys and got him to go and see her. She was engaged in a crusade to induce daughters to rebel
against their parents. This is alluded to in Marsh’s letter.
Cold Ash, Newbury
March 25, ’94
My dear Russell
I want to thank you for two very pleasant occasions last week. I went on
Sunday and found the room full of two American girls, one of whom went
away to write home and the other to do political economy. Then we had a
delightful talk for an hour or two, about you and other matters. I think we shall
be great friends. I’m very happy about you, still more so than I was before.
She wanted to make my sister revolt, and accordingly asked me to bring
her to lunch last Wednesday wh. was exceedingly kind. My sister also seemed
to make great friends, and was most enthusiastic when we went away. I don’t
know if she’ll revolt or not. Mr Pearsall Smith is a dear old boy. I think he was
very sarcastic to me but I’m not really sure if he was or not. Among other
things he said I talked exactly like old Jowett, wh. I don’t believe. What funny
grammar they talk to one another.
It isn’t much worth while telling you what you know already, I don’t
mean about the grammar, so perhaps this letter ought to come to an end
here but it would be rather short so I’ll go on with my own a?airs. The most
interesting thing is that I’ve been seeing a certain amount of Robert Bridges;
he’s a charming man, with thick dark hair which grows like thatch and a
very attractive imped. in his sp. He reminded me curiously of Verrall, though
he’s much bigger all over and his face has funny bumps like Furness. I went
for a walk with him on Friday; he talked in a very interesting way, tho’ not
quite as Coleridge talked to Hazlitt; after lunch he got a headache or some-
thing and seemed to get somehow much older (he’s 49) and talked about
his own plays a good deal. He had a perfect right to, as of course I was
interested, but it was very funny how openly he praised them. He said ‘I
think I’ve given blank verse all the pliability it’s capable of in the Humours of
the Court, don’t you?’ – ‘The Feast of Bacchus is amusing from beginning
to end: it’s sure to ?nd its way to the stage and when it gets there it’ll
keep there.’
This isn’t vanity in the least, he’s quite free from that. I’m just going over
there to church, I hear he’s trained the choir with remarkable success.
engagement 99I suppose you’re having an awfully good time in Rome. Don’t bother to
write till you come back. I thought you’d like to hear about Sunday. I should
go on writing, except that I’m not sure how much goes for 2?d. Please
remember me to Miss Stanley.
Yr. a?ectionate friend
Edward Marsh
Heidelberg
Neuenheimer Landstr. 52
Sept. 15
My dear Russell
I was just going comfortably to sleep over my Grammatik when I unluckily
fell to wondering whether the opposite to an icicle was called an isinglass or
bicicle; and the shock of remembering that I was thinking about stalactite and
stalagmite woke me up completely; but I’m not going to do any more
Grammatik; so here is the answer to your letter, though it was so far from
proper as to be quite shocking.
I should have thought Paris was a very good exchange for Dresden, as the
separation would have taken place in either case wouldn’t it? I’m very sorry
not to see you, though in some ways it’s a good thing, as I’m not in the least
either solemn or suitable, and it’s quite enough to have been seen by Sanger.
I’m not going to give you an account of all my wickednesses, as I’m tired of
doing that; I resolved to write to all my friends and see who’d be shocked
?rst, beginning at the most likely end with Barran, G. Trevy, Conybeare; to
my utter astonishment they contented themselves one after the other with
telling me not to get fat, and the ?rst person who thought of being
horror-struck was Moore.
I’m getting on pretty well with German, though I haven’t arrived at the
stage of ?nding it a reasonable medium for the expression of thought. I think
the original couple who spoke it must have died rather soon after the Tower
of Babel, leaving a rather pedantically-minded baby, who had learnt all the
words of one syllable, and had to make up the long ones with them – at least
how else can you account for such words as Handschule and be-ab-sicht-
igen? I never knew a language so little allusive – compare the coarseness of
‘sich kleiden’ with the elegance of ‘se mettre’ – English gains by having so
many Latin words – their literalness is concealed – for instance independence
is exactly the same as Unabh?ngigkeit, yet the one seems quite respectable,
while the other is unspeakably crude. I can read pretty well by now, and can
mostly ?nd some way or other of expressing what I mean, but I can’t
understand when people talk at their natural pace. Unluckily all the plays
they’ve done yet at Mannheim are too unattractive to go to; but I’ve seen
more operas since I’ve been here than in my whole previous life, though that
the autobiography of bertrand russell 100isn’t saying much. The performances aren’t quite satisfactory, as the actors
are so dreadful to look at. I went to Fidelio yesterday. The heroine was played
by a lady whom I mistook at ?rst for Corney Grain – you know she is
disguised as a page. Fat women are in a sad dilemma – either they must have
their bodices all of the same stu?, in which case they look as if they were just
going to burst, or they must have an interval of some other stu?, in which
case they look as if they had. For instance Fidelio had a brown – jerkin? it
was my idea of a jerkin – open in front, with something white showing
underneath; and pu?s of white in the sleeves, which had just that e?ect. I’ve
seen innumerable sights since I’ve been here (anything does for a sight in
Germany). I scandalised everybody the other day by going to sleep in the
middle of being driven slowly round Frankfort in a ?y. I don’t think even the
Frenchmen ?nd the sight quite so funny as I do – but they’re mostly rather
young (I ought to explain it’s a big pension full of Frenchmen learning
German and Germans teaching them. I’m the only Englishman). They’re
mostly also very delightful – I’ve made great friends with one German, who
is a very charming, but not Apostolic, and one Frenchman who is, very; I’ve
hardly ever seen a Frenchman who hadn’t a charm of his own, quite apart
from his merits....
Here came Mittagessen, after which I’m as learned to say I ?nd myself
almost incapable of further exertion (by the way the Frau Professor says I’m
viel angenehmer in that respect than most Englishmen – I mean in respect of
my general habit of ‘eating what’s set before me’, according to the nursery
rule). So I’ve read through what I’ve written already. I’m afraid it reads rather
leichtsinnig – but consider that it’s an exquisite day and I’d spent the rest of
the morning in the garden saying to myself ‘behold how good and how
pleasant a thing it is for persons of di?erent nationalities to sit together in
chairs’ – with an interval for my German lesson, which was as usual very
funny, the Professor who talks English very badly, makes up examples out
of the rules; and I had to translate such sentences as ‘Rid yourself of your
whimps’, ‘Do you remember my?’ and ‘He posted o? all his wretches’ –
which, when I heard the German, I recognised as ‘He boasted of all his
riches’.
Write me a postcard now and then when your brain is for the moment o?
the boil – I’m here till the end of the month – I should like very much to come
back by Paris, but I’m debarred by 2 considerations, both insurmountable –
I) I shan’t have any money left – II) I haven’t any clothes in which I could
come within a mile of an Embassy, or be seen about with anyone connected
with one – I hope you’re getting on all right.
Yrs. fraternally
E. H. M.
engagement 101Heidelberg
(1894)
My dear Russell
I’ve got just ? an hour before Abendessen, and I can think of 7 people on
the spur of the moment whom I ought to write to rather than you – however
you seem to ‘feel it more’, as Mrs Gummidge says. I’m awfully sorry you
aren’t enjoying yourself more in Paris. I should have thought the mere feel of
the place would be enough – but your account of your people’s letters is
most depressing – the idea of consoling oneself with a bad hymn when one
might console oneself with the Walrus and the Carpenter, say – however the
10th of December isn’t very far o?.
I don’t quite understand your not liking Frenchmen – is it simply because
they’re unchaste? It is very disgusting – all the ones here for instance forni-
cate pretty regularly from 16 years old, and talk about it in a way that would
sicken me in England – but it’s merely a matter of education, and one can’t
object to individual people because they behave in the way they’ve been
brought up to....
Yours fraternally
Edward Marsh
Heidelberg
Oct. 1 (1894)
Dear Russell
Barran sent me the enclosed letter for you today, and I accompany it with
the greatest of all the treasures I found in ‘Zion’s Herald’ – When one follows
out the similitude in its details, it becomes too delightful especially the
tact with which God has got over the little awkwardness caused by the ‘Great
superiority of his Social Station’. ‘As is usual with lovers’ is a good touch –
and so is the coyness with which mankind is represented as ‘wondering what
God can see in us’. The whole thing is an ‘Editorial’.
I got your letter this morning, and I’m very glad you’re a little happier.
I wondered for a long time if I could get in a day at Paris on my way back, but
time, money and clothes were all inexorably against it.
The Frenchmen I’ve known here were nearly all too young to be
repulsively bestial; some of them will become so no doubt, others, I think,
will not. My chief friend for instance went to a brothel once to see what it
was like and was so much sickened he could hardly ‘baiser’, as they call it.
I shall write you a very serious letter some day, for the sake of my
character, but till then, I’ll go on being frivolous if you like.
My last great adventure was meeting O. B.
15
accidentally at the station – he
was on his way to El?el to buy German champagne (!) and had come here for
German cigars. I brought him for a night to the Pension – he made a great
the autobiography of bertrand russell 102impression on every one, and was very jolly. Almost the ?rst thing he told me
was that the Duchesses of York and Teck are going to pay him a visit at
Cambridge next term – which, as he remarked, would give people a great deal
to talk about, but it wasn’t his fault, as they’d practically invited themselves.
What news of your brother?
Yours fraternally
E. H. Marsh
40 Dover Street, W
May 11 1894
Dearest Bertrand
I have been back16
3 weeks but have been overwhelmed with arrears of
work and now I write because I have heard that a report is going about that
you are probably going to be engaged to Miss Pearsall Smith. I hope this is
not so, for if you thought you wd. be too young to enter Parliament before
you were 29 I must think it would be a great pity for you to engage yr. self
and take such an important step at 21 or 22. I forget which you are – It would
stop you in so many things and you have seen so very little of the world ‘of
Young Women’ as Lady Russell puts it, that I shall be very sorry if you have
bound yr. self thus early. But all this may be idle gossip and you may be sure
I shall not spread it, but could not help writing to say what a pity I think it
wd. be at the very outset of life to enter on such an engagement and with a
girl a good bit older than yourself. Do not answer my letter unless you wish
it, but I shall hope that what I have is merely gossip founded perhaps on yr.
having been at the Wild Duck with the young lady.
Yrs. a?t.
Maude Stanley
Clandeboye
