"Sat evg. My Dear Dear Love—A thousand thousand thanks for the lovely flowers—they are almost too much joy—the narcissus are quite intoxicating."

"Tuesday night. O My Dear Love I cannot tell you all the divine joy you gave me today."

"Wed. night. My Darling—I have read the Ibsen poems, some of which I love very much."

"Thursday. Darling just one moment to thank you for your dear little letter this mg."

"Thursday night. My Darling Love—Mollie went to bed very early, my brother and I went a short walk round the town, and now he is gone to bed too, so I am making the most of my opportunity."

"Good Friday evg. My Darling Love—Two of my days away are past, today not unpleasantly."

"Sat. evg. My Darling Love—It was a joy to get your dear letter when I got here."

"Easter Sunday." "I stayed here with the Whiteheads 3 years ago, just after the most miserable time of my life." [Unexplained.]

"I resolved to commit suicide as soon as I could get rid of certain definite obligations which for the moment made it impossible: but I had not yet got rid of them a year ago."

[See letter #327, record 17417.]

"Tuesday night. My Dear Dear Love—Your letter written today is such a joy to get—the Sunday one failed to reach me but will be forwarded."

"Friday night My Darling Darling What a joy it was to find your little note—such a dear note."

"Sunday night. Darling Darling I am very very sorry J. [Julian] is less well."

"Sunday night" "The stuff I wrote about the fundamental pain seems to me very good indeed—the most sincere and penetrating thing I have ever written."

"Monday night. My Dear Dear Love—You gave me a moment of heaven today—it was utterly divine."

"Friday night. My Darling Darling—After you left me I went up to Hampstead Heath and wandered about till it was time for my dinner."

"Sat. aft." "My Darling Darling I came down here, left my bicycle at the gate and walked about."

"Sunday night My Darling—Here I am, back in my rooms, with all my learned books and all the apparatus of the mathematician—it seems so odd, because I have been utterly forgetting all that."

"Tuesday mg." Wittgenstein didn't come last night.

"I have been thinking over the work I have done this last year—the Shilling Shocker, the article on religion, the Aristotelian paper, the autobiography [Nothing is known of this outside of this correspondence. Note how the book "Prisons" has been reduced to "the article on religion".], the paper on Bergson, and I shall have Matter done within the year."

"Tuesday evg." I saw a good deal of Wittgenstein this aft.—he wears well. He is quite as good as I thought. I find him strangely exciting. He lives in the same kind of tense excitement as I do, hardly able to sit still or read a book. He was talking about Beethoven—how a friend described going to Beethoven's door and hearing him "cursing, howling and singing" over his new fugue; after a whole hour Beethoven at last came to the door, looking as if he had been fighting the devil, and having eaten nothing for 36 hours because his cook and parlour-maid had been away from his rage. That's the sort of man to be.

Wittgenstein brought me the most lovely roses today. He is a treasure. I have got a number of new technical ideas from him which I think are quite sound and important. I shan't feel the subject neglected by my abandoning it, as long as he takes it up. I thought he would have smashed all the furniture in my room today, he got so excited. He asked me how Whitehead and I were going to end our big book, and I said we should have no concluding remarks, but just stop with whatever formula happened to come last. He seemed surprised at first, and then saw that was right. It seems to me the beauty of the book* would be spoilt if it contained a single word that could possibly be spared. I argued about matter with him. He thinks it a trivial problem. He admits that if there is no matter then no one exists but himself, but he says that doesn't hurt, since physics and astronomy and all other sciences could still be interpreted so as to be true.—Yes, I think my daily round here is useful—Wittgenstein alone wd. have made it so."

*[Principia Mathematica]

L. begins "Tuesday evg. My Darling Darling Your dear letter of this mg. has just reached me. I will be with you by 11....

"Wed. night" "I think if I ever publish that autobiography I might publish it anonymously, under the name of Simon Styles unless you can suggest a better name. I might invent an author of that name, and publish lots of things as his. No one would guess it was me.... I am relieved that you liked the autobiography—I felt it had made no impression in scraps." [See also letter #421.]

"Thursday aftn" Reading Bosanquet. [Perhaps The Principle of Individuality and Value. See letters #469-70, records 17568, 17569.]

"Friday night." "Wittgenstein went to be medically inspected with a view to military service and found he had rupture, so he will have to be operated on as soon as term is over. He has had it before."

"Sat. night. My Dearest Dearest Love—It is dreary not even knowing where you are—I forgot to ask you."

[Letter continues] "Sunday night. I am glad to have come to the end of this long day without letters, or even the chance of sending letters." "Wittgenstein (who has just been here) is delighted, but no one else will be."

9 pages on Matter today.

"In the train Tuesday evg. My Dear Love—Our last moments, were full of divine beauty to me."

[Letter is not signed; no letter no. on letter.]

"In my flat later." "Forstice leaves out a host of things." Vague ambitions beyond Forstice.

[Postmarked envelope of 29 April does not belong with this letter; it was written sometime later.]

[Incomplete letter beginning with p. 2.]

"Liverpool Str. 8.20 My Dear Dear Love Yes, the end of our day was wonderful."

[Assume was written on the morning of the 30th of April on the train between London and Cambridge and mailed once he arrived; pmk reads 12.15 p.m.]

"Trinity Tuesday evg. Well, Dearest, here I am, very sober, very calm, and as good as gold—you wouldn't recognize me."

[Letter no. is not on letter.]

"Friday 7.15. My Darling Darling—I am too vexed to have been out when your first note came—I am just back now."

"Sunday aftn. My Dearest Here I am having tea in a tea-shop, as the trains are inconvenient on Sunday and I am bicycling up to London."

"Tuesday night.

My Dearest Dearest Love—I have written such horrid letters, do forgive me."

Plan for another go at imaginative writing.

"Thursday night." "... —then Lytton [Strachey] came to tea to meet Wittgenstein, which he wished to do. Everybody has just begun to discover Wittgenstein; they all now realize that he has genius. He was very good at tea. He is the only man I have ever met with a real bias for philosophical scepticism; he is glad when it is proved that something can't be known. I told Hardy this, and Hardy said he himself would be glad to prove anything: 'If I could prove by logic that you would die in five minutes, I should be sorry you were going to die, but my sorrow would be very much mitigated by pleasure in the proof.' On reflection I found that I agreed with him."

"Thursday aftn." "Somebody had been telling them [Lytton, Shove and Sheppard] about Wittgenstein and they wanted to hear what I thought of him. They were thinking of electing him to the Society. I told them I didn't think he would like the Society. I am quite sure he wouldn't really. It would seem to him stuffy, as indeed it has become, owing to their practice of being in love with each other, which didn't exist in my day—I think it is mainly due to Lytton."

[Strachey]

"Friday night. My Darling Love—Yes it was a happy day today."

"Sat. mg. My Darling Love—Fancy your having been out to the Alhambra!"

"Sunday night." "Mrs. Whitehead liked the little poem, but said it ended too abruptly. Part of the autobiography (the early part) [see also letters #421, 423], which I had shown her, she also felt too egotistical."

"Tuesday night." "When I got home, I prepared my lecture, took it to Wittgenstein (who likes to read it over beforehand), had half an hour's passionate discussion with him (he doesn't feel like a frightened rabbit, but gives as good as he gets)...."

"Monday night." About his Winter's letters to her which he's just read over: "There is a great monotony about them", "almost all worthless and had better be burnt."

"Livl. Str. Tuesday mg." Friday night to dine with Whitehead in University College to meet Poincaré. Mrs. Whitehead said "even the last chapter, on the fundamental pain, has the taint of egoism, though less than the earlier ones."

[Presumably of the autobiography.]

"O My Dearest my Dearest Do not let your love for me grow weary with all my faults—they all grow out of the awful strength and torrent of my love—Dearest Love, you do not know all the terrible yearning of my soul to you."

[Letter no. not on letter.]

"Thursday mg. My Darling—My train doesn't go for an hour and a half so I will write a line now."

"Friday night." Poincaré was seedy and didn't turn up.

"Sat. mg. My Darling Love—It was nice getting your little letter this morning."

"Sunday night." "How wonderful it would be if I could really write poetry. It is not impossible I may be able to."

"Sat. night." Wittgenstein coming tomorrow at 4.15.

[Letter no. not on letter.]

"Monday mg." Goes to Cardiff Friday to give Matter paper, which he's finished today.

"Monday night. My Darling Darling—I can't tell you what a joy it is to think I shall see you tomorrow."

"Tuesday night." "Argued with Wittgenstein".

"My Darling Love—Yes, they have been days of wonderful happiness—simple, unmixed happiness."

[Letter no. not on letter.]

"Thursday night." "Wittgenstein maintained the paradox that mathematics would improve people's taste because taste comes of thinking honestly—we were all against him."

[This was during his] "evening".

"My Darling—Here I am, just past Didcot, enjoying the beauty of the country and the change in scene enormously."

BR says he's enclosing a letter from Lucy Silcox (record 17571), and follows her in recommending reading the Euthyphro by Plato.

"Friday mg." Matter paper "still not fit to publish".

Wittgenstein—explanation of above.

[This letter is probably continued in a section of letter #473, record 17573.]

"Tuesday. My Darling Love—Don't be unhappy more than you can help."

"Sunday aftn. out of doors My Darling Love—Your little letter this mg. was such a joy."

"Tuesday aftn. out of doors. This evening, thanks to Wittgenstein, I go to a concert."

"Monday night." Wittgenstein "has made me more of a sceptic." Plan of turning autobiography [see ls. #421, 423, 439, 442] into conversation between an old and a young man.

"Tues" "night" "Wittgenstein came home with me, and has only just gone. He thinks my paper on Matter [not published but extant] the best thing I have done—but he has only read the beginning and end. I went out into the fields with him this afternoon and we lay on the ground and listened to the larks and cuckoos—it was very nice. I have a very great affection for him."

"Wed. night. My Darling—I had a hasty meal and caught the 8.20 at Liverpool Street."

"Thursday mg." Reading Bosanquet.

"Thursday night." "All the men except Wittgenstein have exams."

"Friday. My Darling Love—I haven't as long as usual before the 2.35, but I have time for a line."

"Friday night." BR has "read a long rather unfavourable review of Principia Mathematica in the Bulletin of the American Math. Soc. I thought the man very stupid, which I suppose was natural."

[The review seems to be the one by James Byrnie Shaw, "What Is Mathematics?", BAMS, 18 (May 1912): 386-411.]

"Sat. mg. My Darling—No letter this mg. but I am not surprised as you must have been appallingly busy and very tired."

"Sunday aftn.*" "Bugeya and Wittgenstein waiting to be lectured to, so I lectured. W. doesn't like the rest of my "Matter" paper, but only I think because of disagreement, not because of its being badly done." Went to garden party [inspiration for opening scene of "Forstice"?] given by Whitehead's widowed sister. "In the fields"

"Whitmonday aftn." "... then I had a walk with Wittgenstein, very enjoyable. He is thinking of doing philosophy in the regular way here, and perhaps ultimately teaching. It will be a great joy to me if he stays on here. I told him he ought not simply to state what he thinks true, but to give arguments for it, but he said arguments spoil its beauty, and he would feel as if he was dirtying a flower with muddy hands. He does appeal to me—the artist in intellect is so very rare. I told him I hadn't the heart to say anything against that, and that he had better acquire a slave to state the arguments. I am seriously afraid that no one will see the point of anything he writes, because he won't recommend it by arguments addressed to a different point of view. But that must take its chance.—In July he is to be operated for rupture; then he thinks of going to Iceland."

[Letter no. not on letter.]

"Whitmonday night. My Darling Love—I wrote to Kirkby Lonsdale, but I don't feel sure you will get my letter, so I am writing to Burnley too."

"Tuesday mg." "This morning I must write my review of Bosanquet. I think it is the worst book of philosophy I ever read."

"Wittgenstein is coming all alone to be lectured to...."

"Tuesday night." Wittgenstein did come; and BR did write review of Bosanquet. [BR's anonymous review of The Principle of Individuality and Value appeared in The Nation, 11: 7 Sept. 1912, 840,842.]

"I have written out notes of the ideas on purpose and mechanism and determinism that I talked to you about the other day."

"Thursday aftn. My Dearest—I will look up the trains to Lausanne and enclose the result with this."

[The attached letter, record 17571, from Lucy Silcox was probably sent with letter #454, record .]

This letter was surely enclosed with letter #454 to Ottoline Morrell, record 17552. Silcox recommends reading Plato's Euthyphro, and BR in his enclosing letter recommends it to Ottoline.

"Wed. night" "Wittgenstein surprised me the other day; he suddenly said how he admired the text 'what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul' and then went on to say how few there are who don't lose their soul. I said it depended more on suffering and the power to endure it. I was surprised—I hadn't expected that kind of thing from him."

"Thursday night" Lectured to Wittgenstein. Continues "Friday mg." and then "Friday night." The "Friday night" section probably continues letter #455 of 17 May 1912.

"Friday evg." "I have written a review of a bad book by Belfort Bax." [Not found. The book is probably E. Belfort Bax, Problems of Men, Mind and Morals (London: Richards, 1912), published in March 1912 (Eng. Cat. of Books). No review of Bax indexed in The Nation, vol. 11 (1912).]

Had Wittgenstein to lunch.

"Yesterday Wittgenstein began on Dickens, saying David Copperfield ought not to have quarrelled with Steerforth for running away with little Emily. I said I should have done so; he was much pained, and refused to believe it; thought one could and should always be loyal to friends and go on loving them. We got onto Julie Lespinasse, and I asked him how he would feel if he were married to a woman he loved and she ran away with another man. He said (and I believe him) that he would feel no rage or hate, only utter misery. His nature is good through and through; that is why he doesn't see the need of morals. I was utterly wrong at first; he might do all kinds of things in passion, but he would not practise any cold-blooded immorality. His outlook is very free; principles and such things seem to him nonsense, because his impulses are strong and never shameful. I think he is passionately devoted to me. Any difference of feeling causes him great pain. My feeling towards him is passionate, but of course my absorption in you makes it less important to me than his feeling is to him. Oddly enough, he makes me less anxious to live, because I feel he will do the work I should do, and do it better. He starts fresh at a point which I only reached when my intellectual spring was nearly exhausted.

I told W. the story of Julie and then gave him one of her letters to read. He was much moved. I had represented Guibert [?] as the cause of her misery. He said she was bound to be unhappy, since she could love like that. I had never talked with him before about things of that sort."

"Sat. night. My Darling—Your little line written this morning was a great comfort."

[Enclosure is a summary by BR of her illnesses.]

"I don't know if this will arrive before me or not but I send it on the chance." BR meant to write in the train, but 2 people who were at Saturday's dinner were there; "I kept them in fits of laughter the whole way."

"Sunday evg." "My Dearest Today as was natural I had no letter from you."

"Today I had Wittgenstein in the morning, the last time this term. I hated saying goodbye to him." O.M. and BR are in Lausanne—writing Forstice.

"My Dear Dear Love One word to greet you on your birthday morning."

BR and Ottoline Morrell are together in Lausanne. The attached envelope is pmk. 16.VI.12 Lausanne.

"My beloved I cannot tell you when we are together all that is in my heart—but I want you to know of it. It seems to me as if I had only just now began really to love you. All that you have suffered—much of it through me—is so present to me. I have such a longing for you to have happiness—all the demands I have wished to make have obscured real love for a long time now. But now while the blindness of physical passion is less I see it all so clearly and the spiritual love is not obscured. I have never loved you with such an infinite tenderness as now—if only it would last! If only I could always think of you and not of my own happiness or unhappiness.—You give me so much that is divine my dearest—I treasure all that you say about spiritual things, and it becomes very living and growing in me. Do not fear any fading of my love—it has never been deeper than now—Goodnight my heart."

[Letter no. is not on letter.]

"Friday night. My Darling Love—I wrote you such wretched scraps today because of feeling busy and the sense of people coming." [continues] "Sat. morning" [20 July 1912]

"My Dear Dear Love—We are both worn out and we see things much blacker than they are."

"Thursday evg. My Darling—Your telegram was forwarded to me from Cambridge; it must have got there just after I started."

[Assuming "Thursday" is a slip of the pen. See printout of letter for the reasons. S. Turcon]

"My Darling, my Darling, I cannot tell you when we are together all the divine happiness I feel."

"In the train at Paris. My Beloved—Your unhappy letter which reached me this mg. makes me feel an utter brute."

"Tonight I finished 'Forstice' after a fashion, and then read it through. It wants changes, but it really is good; the best part of it is your part, really; I am sure everybody would say so."

"My Darling Darling—I have only a few moments left—your dear dear letter is such a joy."

"Friday night." Got telegram from Whiteheads about Eric's illness.

"Sat. night. My Darling Love Your little letter written in the shaky train reached me this afternoon and was a great joy."

"Sunday night. My Darling Darling Your letter written when you got home arrived this mg. and was a very great joy."

"Monday night." Wittgenstein and his sister to lunch Wed. [For Hermine Wittgenstein's account, see B. Leitner, The Architecture of L. Wittgenstein (Lon: Studio International, 1973), p. 18.]

"Tuesday night. My Darling Darling—Today was a heavenly day—it got more and more divinely happy every moment."

"Wed. mg. My Darling Love, I do hope you were not too terribly tired after our day yesterday—it was divine."

"Wed. evg. My Darling Darling—A letter from you forwarded from Fontainebleau reached me today—such a dear dear letter—the happiest I have ever had from you—except perhaps just after Studland, which was not better. You cannot think what it means to me when you say the spell of loneliness is broken—your loneliness has been torture to me both on your account and on mine. Yes I think it is because I realize your life more that you feel it so different. And I do now really understand the way complications and nerves together affect you. I feel the change in you quite immeasurable. Always before I had a feeling that you condescended to me—that is of course too strongly put, but when I was vexed that was how it appeared—that your inner life was solitary and independent, that you were anxious to give but too proud to receive. And that made me have very little to give; also it made me feel that no full or complete relation was possible between us. What helped me most at Lausanne was that you were willing to let me know when you were unhappy, and to let me sometimes give sympathy, and to help me to understand things which I misunderstood if you said nothing. And then being able to write made everything solid, because I no longer had the sense of something very important being thrown away.

Yes, we are only now at the beginning really. I am convinced that now that we have once got straight we shall keep so, even if minor difficulties come up. I don't feel now that I lose you when I come here—you are no longer apart from the rest of my life. Darling we must avoid everything that gives a jar to you and makes you retire into yourself—it will be much easier now that I am reasonable.

"11 July mg." "Will write on Cause for my presidential address" to Aristotelian Society.

"Thursday evg." BR has Wittgenstein to talk to.

"Friday night." Began a book for review.

"Friday aftn." Two books to review.

"Whitehead has just been appointed to a post at University College which is a good thing."

"Sunday mg." Some of Forstice back from typist.

"Monday evg." Wittgenstein and family.

At least two copies of Forstice—"a copy" to be sent to G. L. Dickinson.

"Monday mg. My Darling Love—When the 2nd post came I had a moment of disappointment, seeing no long envelope, and then such a relief to find your letter."