To George Pierce Baker
Oxford, England. May 17, 1887
Royce’s novel! Good heavens, what a failure! I’m so sorry for him, poor man; he knows so much about the universal consciousness that he has forgotten what individual consciousness is like, especially in women. And thus I have no patience with the false, inexperienced morality of the book, which shows private judgment (on the subject of what is seriously wrong and what is excusable) run wild. And the tedium of it.
I am having a delicious time in Oxford, such as no mortal has a right to expect in any part of this wretched earth. I am being dined lunched and breakfasted, and have met a lot of nice fellows, who are sweet, gentle, and good besides being learned and athletic—in fact, walking ideals. Of course the town is charming, and the fields emerald green. I feed, read, go to some lectures, walk, talk, and loaf. Perfectly happy for the time being, but looking forward to a stupid summer at Avila, where I propose to do some solid work, pleasure being out of the question. My future depends mainly on the Harvard-fellowship-dispensing-bureau. If they wisely decide to contribute to the patriotic work of keeping me alive, I shall probably be in Berlin again next winter.
From The Letters of George Santayana: Book One, [1868]-1909. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2001.
Location of manuscript: The Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven CT.