BR TO ALYS RUSSELL, 12 NOV. 1893
BRACERS 20377. ALS(M). Camellia Collections. SLBR 1: #15
Edited by N. Griffin. Proofread by A. Duncan and K. Blackwell

<letterhead>
Pembroke Lodge,
Richmond,
Surrey.1
Nov. 12. 1893.
10.20 p.m.

My dear Alys

There can be nothing more to tell later as I leave here before daybreak tomorrow and everybody is gone to bed now. I have been on the whole a good deal more successful here than I expected. I spoke very fully to my aunt telling her exactly how matters stood and how you and your mother felt: she however, although she had agreed with my grandmother before, entirely came round to my point of view and thought it was no use now not to meet: she had no difficulty in believing (what her own life has proved to her only too bitterly) that absence so far from making me think less would make my thoughts dwell all the more exclusively ona the one subject. She quite believed after I had spoken fully that there was no chance of my affection ever diminishing. I have always found her extremely sympathetic but was surprised to find that ever since last Christmas she had thought I was in love though she didn’t know with whom. So she of course readily believed I had subjected myself to a long course of self-examination and hadb already tried absence as a test: she said the best test was to imagine an insuperable obstacle: I told her till June I had imagined the obstacles insuperable and had thought only pain could result from my feelings: so then she was completely convinced. To be quite fair, she thought once a month rather often but very mildly. She really understood everything at least as well as I do myself and was inexpressibly good and kind. — My grandmother is of course still and always will be unable to understand the situation: but I found her feeling about our frequent meetings very much less strong than I had imagined: all she said was that she wouldn’t take the responsibility of bringing them about, and would not say, when I asked her, that there was any harm in them: only she hoped we would not get bound in any way: but that I think is more because she doesn’t want it to happen than for any other reason. She said most strongly it had never crossed her mind to blame either you or your mother in the very slightest degree for one moment: and she was very kind in saying she thought we had both acted very beautifully (that was her word) throughout. My Uncle, under the modernizing influence of his wife, has thought throughout and still thinks we had better meet just as often as we like. — So much for the opinion of others. I have realized today that I said yesterday a great many things of which I am heartily ashamed. I was taken unawares and I fear my masculine selfishness which I had hoped dead revived in terrible strength. I was rather taken aback and clutched at any and every argument available whether legitimate or not: my only excuse for having argued selfishly is that you were wanting to do it for my sake; this strikes me as coming to the same as saying I had a right to be selfish because you were being unselfish which doesn’t seem very good reasoning. 

I don’t know whether you noticed and regretted my selfishness yesterday, but at any rate it must have struck you afterwards: I can only say I regret it. — But I think really my argument without undulyc selfish considerations was perfectly good: and I am confirmed in this opinion by having brought my aunt to think exactly as I do although before she thought differently. I need external sympathy because since I know I have made you unhappy I have lost faith in the rectitude of my own conduct<.> I feel such an unutterable brute to be so happy at your expense that I can’t bear to think of it. If you are really going to have a bad conscience I will give up anything in heaven or earth — for I cannot believe we can lay the foundations of permanent happiness except by following the very best that is in us. Can you not lay the responsibility at my door? I am perfectly confident that it would be right to meet as often as may be (say once a month in term time and once a week in the Vac.) if only you would think so too. Cannot you accept the opinion of my aunt as that of an unprejudiced person and of one who has proved how well she understands by having seen and maintained since Christmas quite against my grandmother’s opinion that things were as they were though I didn’t know I had betrayed anything beyond sympathy for her: perhaps I understood her feelings too well. Do make up your mind that it would be quite useless for you to go against my firm and unalterable conviction as to what we ought to do, and that therefore your conscience may be at rest. My happiness is involved but is not endangered by the course Id suggest. You know one always risks remorse whatever course one adopts as, in my experience at least, remorse depends far more on results than on conviction of having done wrong; and no act can quitee certainly have good results. I have been much relieved and encouraged by conversation with my people: I wish I could pass on some of this encouragement to you. I have been perfectly open with them about your opinion and your mother’s. Do write very soon when you have reflected on this letter and tell me your conscience is at rest or I shall have to give up the fruit of all this arguing which has been much the severest mental labour I ever engaged in. But this is no argument. It was wonderful how you argued yesterday. I could never had done it. Goodbye Alys.

Ever yours
Bertrand Russell.

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Textual Notes

• a

  on above deleted all

• b

  had after deleted it

• c

  unduly after deleted unduly selfish

• d

  I above deleted you

• e

  quite inserted