Category: LETTERS Page 179 of 274

To Charles Augustus Strong
Cambridge, Massachusetts. November 16, 1911

The Columbia people have formally invited me to become a professor there; I told them it was too late; that I was not quite divorced from Harvard, and that the divorce, such as it was, was not for the sake of a second marriage, great as the new lady’s charms might be, but for the sake of quiet and freedom. I am full of plans, like a young man. I feel as if I were going to begin a new career, that which I was really fitted for, and from which circumstances diverted me twenty five years ago. My sister Josephine and I have been looking over old papers; I have collected and reread all my father’s letters to my mother and to me. They have given me a new and vivid impression of our whole family history, and I seem to see the crises and turning points of my own life in a dramatic way which I was unconscious of before. ‘83, ‘88, and ‘93 were the years in which I took the path of least resistance when, with a little more courage on my part, or sympathy on the part of my family, I might have turned to less arid courses. However, I had a good time at Harvard from ‘89 to ‘93; and since then I have written a great many books, such as they are. What consoles me is that I still may have time and inspiration to write two or three more, more nearly such as they should be.

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book Two, 1910-1920.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2001.
Location of manuscript: Rockefeller Archive Center, Sleepy Hollow NY

To John McKinstry Merriam
Via Santo Stefano Rotondo, 6
Rome. November 15, 1945

My dear Merriam:

Senex ad senem de senectute scribo: yet we are much older than Cicero ever was and also much more recent, so that we have a double chance of being wiser, having more experience of life, individual and collective. And the charm I find in old age—for I was never happier than I am Now—comes of having learned to live in the moment, and thereby in eternity; and this means recovering a perpetual youth, since nothing can be fresher than each day as it dawns and changes. When we have no expectations, the actual is a continual free gift, but much more placidly accepted than it could be when we were children; for then the stage was full of trap doors and unimaginable transformations that kept us always alarmed, eager, and on the point of tears; whereas now we have wept our tears out, we know what can pop up of those trap doors, and what kind of shows those transformations can present; and we remember many of them with affection, and watch the new ones that still come with interest and good will, but without false claims for our own future.

So much for the philosophy of old age. As for current events, state of health or decrepitude, etc., I have little to say. I seem to be perfectly well, but like the One Horse Shay I am undoubtedly a little feeble all over, and less than an atomic bomb, if it struck me, would probably reduce me to a little heap of dust. Meantime I continue to write more or less every day, and have weathered the little discomforts of war and muddled peace without serious trouble. The Sisters here look after me nicely, I have a pleasant corner room with extensive views over green country and mean to remain here for the rest of my days. As to society, I have never received so many visits as the American soldiers in Rome have made me. It has been very pleasant to see so many young faces and to autograph so many books, which is what they usually ask me to do. As to memories of 1886, I have written them out, and need not repeat them, but wish the survivors a happy and peaceful sunset.

Yours sincerely,
G Santayana

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book Seven, 1941-1947.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2006.
Location of manuscript: American Antiquarian Society, Worcester MA

To Cyril Coniston Clemens
Hotel Danieli
Venice, Italy. November 14, 1939

As to Florence and Papini, they are not in my line.  You don’t know very much about me*. I avoid literary people and Anglo-American centres, like Florence; and I am not “America’s” this or that. I have never been an American citizen, but still travel with a Spanish passport, though I seldom go to Spain, my relations there being all dead as are my best friends in England. Yet I still love them all; and now that my Realms of Being are finished at last, I am turning to writing recollections about them.

Yours sincerely, G Santayana

* But you are right in feeling that I sympathize with Peacock’s point of view. Yet I didn’t like the one book of his that I have read, except the Latin in it. Witty at times, but fault-finding & inconclusive.

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book Six, 1937-1940.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2004.
Location of manuscript: William R. Perkins Library, Duke University, Durham NC

To George Sturgis
Villa Le Balze
Fiesole, Italy. November 13, 1923

Dear George,

My best congratulations on the safe landing of young Neville. I am glad he is not to have a middle name and the one you are giving him (apart from family associations) is a very pretty one. The two boys will make a convenient pair, and if they have good tempers, as they probably will in view of their healthy and decent parentage, they ought to pull together nicely through life. Having a twin, or a quasi-twin, brings in anticipation some of the advantages of marriage or of having two eyes instead of one. The smaller boy, in this case, will also be able to wear out the elder’s clothes, when they are outgrown too fast. These details of domestic economy are pleasant in themselves, even if the saving is not urgent.

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book Three, 1921-1927.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2002.
Location of manuscript: Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge MA

To Cyril Coniston Clemens
Via Santo Stefano Rotondo, 6
Rome. November 12, 1948

Dear Clemens,

Does this suggestion of a Nobel Prize come from you or from some American source, or does it possibly come from Sweden, where a version of my “Idea of Christ in the Gospels” has appeared recently in a very appropriate form? This would make a great difference in my feelings about the proposal; but in either case there are obstacles to such an award (besides the improbability of it) that I think are insuperable.

1. I am not able to travel to Sweden or to make a public appearance there.
2. I am not, as is often supposed, an American citizen, yet cannot be classed as a Spanish author, since I write only in English.
3. I have no need of the prize; but perhaps the money could be diverted by the Swedish authorities to some worthier object.
4. In what science or art could I be said to have accomplished anything? Literature? Philosophy? It is doubtful.

Therefore I beg you, if the idea is yours, to drop it at once, and not to undertake anything of this kind in my favour. I might seem bound to express overwhelming gratitude for your interest, but I do not feel that it is interest in anything that I care for. It is your love of action.

Yours sincerely,
G Santayana

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book Eight, 1948-1952.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2008.
Location of manuscript: William R. Perkins Library, Duke University, Durham NC