Category: LETTERS Page 49 of 274

To Charles Augustus Strong
C/o B. S. & Co.
123 Pall Mall S.W. Queen’s Acre
Windsor, England. August 5, 1914

Dear Strong,

What are we going to do? In vain Aristippus dwelt in foreign republics, to escape the cares of citizenship. They held him up and trounced him just the same when there was a row. How are you going to get back, and what of your father’s trip through France? As for me, I am stranded here, and mean to go to Oxford and stay there until the war is over, if I can find rooms. Mrs. Bowler, at 66 the High, can take me only for a few days. The worst of it is that I left every thing at the apartment unpacked, my winter clothes and my new letter of credit: however, I have £50 left which will do until my brother can send me more from America, if he is able to get there. I haven’t had word from him for some time. I suppose you will write to Françoise and give her directions; I am sending her a line merely to tell her not to expect me for the present.

At first this terrible situation in Europe made me quite sick and speechless, as if I had lost some dear friend; but now that the battle is well engaged my sporting blood is up, and I feel a pleasing horror at it all, and one seems to be living a greater life amid such fearful events and constant excitement. What is one to expect, and what is one to hope for? I hardly know; but it looks as if perhaps the Germans, in their sincerity and courage, had lost their heads, and become infatuated by the sense of duty and power. And I can’t help wishing the French well, and the poor blameless Belgians! It is fortunate that the Italians are out of it; but I see Captain Mahan thinks they will have to intervene, and against their allies!

God be with us all!

Yours ever, G.S.

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 Susan Sturgis de Sastre
Lion Hotel, Cambridge
England. August 3rd, 1914

Dear Susie,
From the papers this morning I see that a return to Paris is out of the question for the moment. Indeed, it was lucky that I came to England when I did; only I left in Paris some clothes and other things—including my new letter of credit—which I should have brought with me if I had anticipated staying here into the winter. In fact, I shall probably not do so, but when we see which way things are going, and whether England is to remain neutral or not, I may go by sea to Gibraltar or to Italy. For the moment I have written to my old landlady in Oxford asking if she has rooms. I could spend the rest of the summer there with comfort, and should be able to accomplish a good deal in the way of reading and writing.

The strain and excitement of these events is terrible. I don’t know what to expect nor even what to hope for. It is all a dark riddle, and the consequences will be hateful, whatever they are.

Yours affly,
Jorge

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book Two, 1910-1920.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2001.
Location of manuscript: Library, University of Virginia at Charlottesville.

To George Sturgis
9 Avenue de l’Observatoire
Paris. August 2, 1921

Your telegram—which I am acknowledging by cable—reaches me this morning: the very last previous news had been encouraging, but of course under the circumstances the worst was to be feared. Your poor father at least had been expecting his end almost daily for years: and now he seemed to be having a spell of complete happiness, and to have felt quite satisfied with the posture in which he was leaving all his affairs, with the situation of Josephine and with your approaching marriage. Has this taken place, or has it been put off on account of your father’s illness? You will now begin your married life a little sobered by this bereavement; but it need not be less happy for that: perhaps more so on the whole, because your new life will be your whole life now, and you will enter upon it with a certain seriousness, which the knowledge of the inevitable end always gives, when we have time to remember it.

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

To Richard Colton Lyon
Via Santo Stefano Rotondo, 6
Rome. August 1, 1949

As to Angst my quarrel with it is temperamental and you must not take it seriously. The reality is what Schopenhauer calls the Will, the Will to Live. It makes the child anxious to get the breast or the bottle, the lover his girl, the workman his Saturday-night wages, and the invalid to get well. You can’t help caring. But these natural cravings and fears are occasional, they can be modified or placated, you may “care” about something else, Latin poetry, for instance, which carries no Angst with it, though it is rich in interest and in reassuring knowledge of life. What I dislike about calling Will Angst is the suggestion that it is mysterious and non-natural. It is fundamental but can be appeased. It need not end in Collapse but may be transcended throughout by charity and reason. The existentialists’ reaction against inhuman philosophy and politics is healthy, but they do not seem healthy themselves. And egotism is not cured by becoming personal. It is simply made easier to practise. It is naturally prevalent and won’t cause any wars or totalitarian tyrannies. Meno male!

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book Eight, 1948-1952.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2008.
Location of manuscript: The Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge MA.