Albert Einstein Imposes on His First Wife a Cruel List of Marital Demands

Albert Ein­stein pas­sion­ate­ly wooed his first wife Mil­e­va Mar­ic, against his family’s wish­es, and the two had a tur­bu­lent but intel­lec­tu­al­ly rich rela­tion­ship that they record­ed for pos­ter­i­ty in their let­ters. Ein­stein and Maric’s love let­ters have inspired the short film above, My Lit­tle Witch (in Ser­bian, I believe, with Eng­lish sub­ti­tles) and sev­er­al crit­i­cal re-eval­u­a­tions of Einstein’s life and Mar­ic’s influ­ence on his ear­ly thought. Some his­to­ri­ans have even sug­gest­ed that Maric—who was also trained in physics—made con­tri­bu­tions to Einstein’s ear­ly work, a claim hot­ly dis­put­ed and, it seems, poor­ly sub­stan­ti­at­ed.

The letters—written between 1897 and 1903 and only dis­cov­ered in 1987—reveal a wealth of pre­vi­ous­ly unknown detail about Mar­ic and the mar­riage. While the con­tro­ver­sy over Mar­ic’s influ­ence on Ein­stein’s the­o­ries raged among aca­d­e­mics and view­ers of PBS’s con­tro­ver­sial doc­u­men­tary, Einstein’s Wife, a scan­dalous per­son­al item in the let­ters got much bet­ter press. As Ein­stein and Maric’s rela­tion­ship dete­ri­o­rat­ed, and they attempt­ed to scotch tape it togeth­er for the sake of their chil­dren, the avun­cu­lar paci­fist wrote a chill­ing list of “con­di­tions,” in out­line form, that his wife must accept upon his return. Lists of Note tran­scribes them from Wal­ter Isaacson’s biog­ra­phy Ein­stein: His Life and Uni­verse:

CONDITIONS

A. You will make sure:

1. that my clothes and laun­dry are kept in good order;
2. that I will receive my three meals reg­u­lar­ly in my room;
3. that my bed­room and study are kept neat, and espe­cial­ly that my desk is left for my use only.

B. You will renounce all per­son­al rela­tions with me inso­far as they are not com­plete­ly nec­es­sary for social rea­sons. Specif­i­cal­ly, You will forego:

1. my sit­ting at home with you;
2. my going out or trav­el­ling with you.

C. You will obey the fol­low­ing points in your rela­tions with me:

1. you will not expect any inti­ma­cy from me, nor will you reproach me in any way;
2. you will stop talk­ing to me if I request it;
3. you will leave my bed­room or study imme­di­ate­ly with­out protest if I request it.

D. You will under­take not to belit­tle me in front of our chil­dren, either through words or behav­ior.

While it may be unfair to judge anyone’s total char­ac­ter by its most glar­ing defects, there’s no way to read this with­out shud­der­ing. Although Ein­stein tried to pre­serve the mar­riage, once they sep­a­rat­ed for good, he did not lament Mil­e­va’s loss for long. Man­jit Kumar tells us in Quan­tum: Ein­stein Bohr, and the Great Debate about the Nature of Real­i­ty that although “Mil­e­va agreed to his demands and Ein­stein returned”

[I]t could not last. At the end of July, after just three months in Berlin, Mil­e­va and the boys went back to Zurich. As he stood on the plat­form wav­ing good­bye, Ein­stein wept, if not for Mil­e­va and the mem­o­ries of what had been, then for his two depart­ing sons. But with­in a mat­ter of weeks he was hap­pi­ly enjoy­ing liv­ing alone “in my large apart­ment in undi­min­ished tran­quil­i­ty.”

Ein­stein prized his soli­tude great­ly. Anoth­er remark shows his dif­fi­cul­ty with per­son­al rela­tion­ships. While he even­tu­al­ly fell in love with his cousin Elsa and final­ly divorced Mar­ic to mar­ry her in 1919, that mar­riage too was trou­bled. Elsa died in 1936 soon after the cou­ple moved to the U.S. Not long after her death, Ein­stein would write, “I have got­ten used extreme­ly well to life here. I live like a bear in my den… This bear­ish­ness has been fur­ther enhanced by the death of my woman com­rade, who was bet­ter with oth­er peo­ple than I am.”

Einstein’s per­son­al fail­ings might pass by with­out much com­ment if he had not, like his hero Gand­hi, been ele­vat­ed to the sta­tus of a “sec­u­lar saint.” Yet, it is also the per­son­al incon­sis­ten­cies, the weak­ness­es and pet­ty, even incred­i­bly cal­lous moments, that make so many famous fig­ures’ lives com­pelling, if also con­fus­ing. As Ein­stein schol­ar John Stachel says, “Too much of an idol was made of Ein­stein. He’s not an idol—he’s a human, and that’s much more inter­est­ing.”

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2013.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lis­ten as Albert Ein­stein Reads ‘The Com­mon Lan­guage of Sci­ence’ (1941)

The Musi­cal Mind of Albert Ein­stein: Great Physi­cist, Ama­teur Vio­lin­ist and Devo­tee of Mozart

Ein­stein Doc­u­men­tary Offers A Reveal­ing Por­trait of the Great 20th Cen­tu­ry Sci­en­tist

Albert Ein­stein Express­es His Admi­ra­tion for Mahat­ma Gand­hi, in Let­ter and Audio

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC.

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Benedict Cumberbatch Reads Albert Camus’ Touching Thank You Letter to His Elementary School Teacher

It’s nev­er too late to thank the teacher who changed your life.

Oprah Win­frey fell to pieces when she was reunit­ed on air with Mrs. Dun­can, her fourth grade teacher, her “first lib­er­a­tor” and “val­ida­tor.”

Patrick Stew­art used his knight­hood cer­e­mo­ny as an occa­sion to thank Cecil Dor­mand, the Eng­lish teacher who told him that Shakespeare’s works were not dra­mat­ic poems, but plays to be per­formed on one’s feet.

And Bill Gates had kind words for Blanche Caffiere, the for­mer librar­i­an at View Ridge Ele­men­tary in Seat­tle, who des­tig­ma­tized his role as a “messy, nerdy boy who was read­ing lots of books.”

One of the most heart­felt stu­dent-to-teacher trib­utes is that of Nobel Prize-win­ning author and philoso­pher Albert Camus to Louis Ger­main, a father sub­sti­tute whose class­room was a wel­come reprieve from the extreme pover­ty Camus expe­ri­enced at home. Ger­main per­suad­ed Camus’ wid­owed moth­er to allow Camus to com­pete for the schol­ar­ship that enabled him to attend high school.

As read aloud by actor Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch, above, at Let­ters Live, a “cel­e­bra­tion of the endur­ing pow­er of lit­er­ary cor­re­spon­dence,” Camus’ 1957 mes­sage to Ger­main is an exer­cise in humil­i­ty and sim­ply stat­ed grat­i­tude:

Dear Mon­sieur Ger­main,

I let the com­mo­tion around me these days sub­side a bit before speak­ing to you from the bot­tom of my heart. I have just been giv­en far too great an hon­our, one I nei­ther sought nor solicit­ed.

But when I heard the news, my first thought, after my moth­er, was of you. With­out you, with­out the affec­tion­ate hand you extend­ed to the small poor child that I was, with­out your teach­ing and exam­ple, none of all this would have hap­pened.

I don’t make too much of this sort of hon­our. But at least it gives me the oppor­tu­ni­ty to tell you what you have been and still are for me, and to assure you that your efforts, your work, and the gen­er­ous heart you put into it still live in one of your lit­tle school­boys who, despite the years, has nev­er stopped being your grate­ful pupil. I embrace you with all my heart.

Albert Camus

The let­ter was grate­ful­ly received by his for­mer teacher, who wrote back a year and a half lat­er to say in part:

If it were pos­si­ble, I would squeeze the great boy whom you have become, and who will always remain for me “my lit­tle Camus.”

He com­pli­ment­ed his lit­tle Camus on not let­ting fame go to his head, and urged him to con­tin­ue mak­ing his fam­i­ly a pri­or­i­ty. He shared some fond mem­o­ries of Camus as a gen­tle, opti­mistic, intel­lec­tu­al­ly curi­ous lit­tle fel­low, and praised his moth­er for doing her best in dif­fi­cult cir­cum­stances.

Read­ers, please use the com­ments sec­tion to share with us the teach­ers deserv­ing of your thanks.

You can find this let­ter, and many more, in the great Let­ters of Note book.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Albert Camus: The Mad­ness of Sin­cer­i­ty — 1997 Doc­u­men­tary Revis­its the Philosopher’s Life & Work

Albert Camus, Edi­tor of the French Resis­tance News­pa­per Com­bat, Writes Mov­ing­ly About Life, Pol­i­tics & War (1944–47)

Hear Albert Camus Deliv­er His Nobel Prize Accep­tance Speech (1957)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er in NYC.

Gandhi Writes Letters to Hitler: “We Have Found in Non-Violence a Force Which Can Match the Most Violent Forces in the World” (1939/40)

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

It must come up in every sin­gle argu­ment, from sophis­ti­cat­ed to sopho­moric, about the prac­ti­ca­bil­i­ty of non-vio­lent paci­fism. “Look what Gand­hi and Mar­tin Luther King, Jr. were able to achieve!” “Yes, but what about Hitler? What do you do about the Nazis?” The rebut­tal implies future Nazi-like enti­ties loom­ing on the hori­zon, and though this reduc­tio ad Hitlerum gen­er­al­ly has the effect of nul­li­fy­ing any con­tin­ued ratio­nal dis­cus­sion, it’s dif­fi­cult to imag­ine a sat­is­fy­ing paci­fist answer to the prob­lem of naked, implaca­ble hatred and aggres­sion on such a scale as that of the Third Reich. Even Gand­hi’s own pro­pos­al sounds like a joke: in 1940, Adolf Hitler aban­dons his plans to claim Leben­sraum for the Ger­man peo­ple and to dis­place, enslave, or erad­i­cate Ger­many’s neigh­bors and unde­sir­able cit­i­zens. He adopts a pos­ture of non-vio­lence and “uni­ver­sal friend­ship,” and Ger­man forces with­draw from Czecho­slo­va­kia, Poland, Den­mark, France, agree­ing to resolve dif­fer­ences through inter­na­tion­al con­fer­ence and com­mit­tee.

Hitler may have been a veg­e­tar­i­an, but that’s like­ly where any sym­pa­thy between him and Gand­hi began and end­ed. And yet, the above is pre­cise­ly what Mahat­ma Gand­hi asked of the Fuhrer, in a let­ter dat­ed Decem­ber 24, 1940. Engaged ful­ly in the strug­gle for Indi­an inde­pen­dence, Gand­hi found him­self torn by the entry of Britain into the war against Ger­many. On the one hand, Gand­hi ini­tial­ly pledged “non­vi­o­lent moral sup­port” for the war, sens­ing an enemy—Germany—even more threat­en­ing to world peace and sta­bil­i­ty. (That stance would change in short order as the Indi­an Nation­al Con­gress revolt­ed and resigned en masse rather than par­tic­i­pate in the war). On the oth­er hand, Gand­hi did not see the British Empire as cat­e­gor­i­cal­ly dif­fer­ent from the Nazis. As he put it in his let­ter to Hitler, whom he address­es as “Friend” (this is “no for­mal­i­ty,” he writes, “I own no foes”): “If there is a dif­fer­ence, it is in degree. One-fifth of the human race has been brought under the British heel by means that will not bear scruti­ny.”

Gand­hi acknowl­edges the absur­di­ty of his request: “I am aware,” he writes, “that your view of life regards such spo­li­a­tions as vir­tu­ous acts.” And yet, he mar­shals a for­mi­da­ble argu­ment for non­vi­o­lence as a force of pow­er, not weak­ness, show­ing how it had weak­ened British rule: “The move­ment of inde­pen­dence has been nev­er so strong as now,” he writes, through “the right means to com­bat the most orga­nized vio­lence in the world which the British pow­er rep­re­sents”:

It remains to be seen which is the bet­ter orga­nized, the Ger­man or the British. We know what the British heel means for us and the non-Euro­pean races of the world. But we would nev­er wish to end the British rule with Ger­man aid. We have found in non-vio­lence a force which, if orga­nized, can with­out doubt match itself against a com­bi­na­tion of all the most vio­lent forces in the world. In non-vio­lent tech­nique, as I have said, there is no such thing as defeat. It is all ‘do or die’ with­out killing or hurt­ing. It can be used prac­ti­cal­ly with­out mon­ey and obvi­ous­ly with­out the aid of sci­ence of destruc­tion which you have brought to such per­fec­tion. It is a mar­vel to me that you do not see that it is nobody’s monop­oly. If not the British, some oth­er pow­er will cer­tain­ly improve upon your method and beat you with your own weapon. You are leav­ing no lega­cy to your peo­ple of which they would feel proud. They can­not take pride in a recital of cru­el deed, how­ev­er skill­ful­ly planned. I, there­fore, appeal to you in the name of human­i­ty to stop the war.

As an alter­na­tive to war, Gand­hi pro­pos­es an “inter­na­tion­al tri­bunal of your joint choice” to deter­mine “which par­ty was in the right.” His let­ter, Gand­hi writes, should be tak­en as “a joint appeal to you and Sign­or Mus­soli­ni…. I hope that he will take this as addressed to him also with the nec­es­sary changes.”

Gand­hi also ref­er­ences an appeal he made “to every Briton to accept my method of non-vio­lent resis­tance.” That appeal took the form of an open let­ter he pub­lished that July, “To Every Briton,” in which he wrote:

You will invite Herr Hitler and Sign­or Mus­soli­ni to take what they want of the coun­tries you call your pos­ses­sions. Let them take pos­ses­sion of your beau­ti­ful island, with your many beau­ti­ful build­ings. You will give all these, but nei­ther your souls, nor your minds. If these gen­tle­men choose to occu­py your homes, you will vacate them. If they do not give you free pas­sage out, you will allow your­self, man, woman and child, to be slaugh­tered, but you will refuse to owe alle­giance to them.

When Gand­hi vis­it­ed Eng­land that year, he found the viceroy of colo­nial India “dumb­struck” by these requests, writes Stan­ley Wolpert in his biog­ra­phy of the Indi­an leader, “unable to utter a word in response, refus­ing even to call for his car to take the now more deeply despon­dent Gand­hi home.”

Gand­hi’s 1940 let­ter to Hitler was actu­al­ly his sec­ond addressed to the Nazi leader. The first, a very short mis­sive writ­ten in 1939, one month before the ill-fat­ed Sovi­et Non-Aggres­sion Pact, strikes a con­cil­ia­to­ry tone. Gand­hi writes that he resist­ed requests from friends to pen the let­ter “because of the feel­ing that any let­ter from me would be an imper­ti­nence,” and though he calls on Hitler to “pre­vent a war which may reduce human­i­ty to a sav­age state,” he ends with, “I antic­i­pate your for­give­ness, If I have erred in writ­ing to you.” But again, in this very brief let­ter, Gand­hi appeals to the “con­sid­er­able suc­cess” of his non­vi­o­lent meth­ods. “There is no evi­dence,” The Chris­t­ian Sci­ence Mon­i­tor remarks, “to sug­gest Hitler ever respond­ed to either of Gand­hi’s let­ters.”

As the war unavoid­ably raged, Gand­hi redou­bled his efforts at Indi­an inde­pen­dence, launch­ing the  “Quit India” move­ment in 1942, which—writes Open University—“more than any­thing, unit­ed the Indi­an peo­ple against British rule” and has­tened its even­tu­al end in 1947. Non-vio­lence suc­ceed­ed, improb­a­bly, against the British Empire, though cer­tain oth­er for­mer colonies won inde­pen­dence through more tra­di­tion­al­ly war­like meth­ods. And yet, though Gand­hi believed non-vio­lent resis­tance could avert the hor­rors of World War II, those of us with­out his lev­el of total com­mit­ment to the prin­ci­ple may find it dif­fi­cult to imag­ine how it might have suc­ceed­ed against the Nazis, or how it could have appealed to their total­iz­ing ide­ol­o­gy of dom­i­na­tion.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mahat­ma Gandhi’s List of the Sev­en Social Sins; or Tips on How to Avoid Liv­ing the Bad Life

Tol­stoy and Gand­hi Exchange Let­ters: Two Thinkers’ Quest for Gen­tle­ness, Humil­i­ty & Love (1909)

Hear Gandhi’s Famous Speech on the Exis­tence of God (1931)

Watch Gand­hi Talk in His First Filmed Inter­view (1947)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

Read the Uplifting Letter That Albert Einstein Sent to Marie Curie During a Time of Personal Crisis (1911)

Marie Curie’s 1911 Nobel Prize win, her sec­ond, for the dis­cov­ery of radi­um and polo­ni­um, would have been cause for pub­lic cel­e­bra­tion in her adopt­ed France, but for the near­ly simul­ta­ne­ous rev­e­la­tion of her affair with fel­low physi­cist Paul Langevin, the fel­low stand­ing to the right of a 32-year-old Albert Ein­stein in the above group pho­to from the 1911 Solvay Con­fer­ence in Physics.

Both sto­ries broke while Curie—unsurprisingly, the sole woman in the photo—was attend­ing the con­fer­ence in Brus­sels.

Equal­ly unsur­pris­ing­ly, the press pre­ferred le scan­dale to la réal­i­sa­tion sci­en­tifique. Sex sells, then and now.

The fires of radi­um which beam so mysteriously…have just lit a fire in the heart of one of the sci­en­tists who stud­ies their action so devot­ed­ly; and the wife and the chil­dren of this sci­en­tist are in tears.…

—Le Jour­nal, Novem­ber 4, 1911

There’s no deny­ing that the affair was painful for Langevin’s fam­i­ly, par­tic­u­lar­ly his wife, Jeanne, who sup­plied the media with incrim­i­nat­ing let­ters from Curie to her hus­band. She must have been aware that Curie would be the one to bear the brunt of the public’s dis­ap­proval. Dou­ble stan­dards with regard to gen­der are noth­ing new.

A furi­ous throng gath­ered out­side of Curie’s house and anti-Semit­ic papers, dis­sat­is­fied with label­ing the pio­neer­ing sci­en­tist a mere home wreck­er, declared—erroneously—that she was Jew­ish. The time­line was tweaked to sug­gest that Curie had tak­en up with Langevin pri­or to her husband’s death. Fel­low radio­chemist Bertram Bolt­wood seized the oppor­tu­ni­ty to declare that “she is exact­ly what I always thought she was, a detestable idiot.”

In the midst of this, Ein­stein, who had made Curie’s acquain­tance at the con­fer­ence, proved him­self a true friend with a “don’t let the bas­tards get you down” let­ter, writ­ten on Novem­ber 23. Oth­er than a del­i­cate allu­sion to Langevin as a per­son with whom he felt priv­i­leged to be in con­tact, he refrained from men­tion­ing the cause of her mis­for­tune.

A friend­ly word can go a long way in times of dis­grace, and Ein­stein sup­plied his new friend with some stout­ly unequiv­o­cal ones, denounc­ing the scan­dal­mon­gers as “rep­tiles” feast­ing on sen­sa­tion­al­is­tic “hog­wash”:

High­ly esteemed Mrs. Curie,

Do not laugh at me for writ­ing you with­out hav­ing any­thing sen­si­ble to say. But I am so enraged by the base man­ner in which the pub­lic is present­ly dar­ing to con­cern itself with you that I absolute­ly must give vent to this feel­ing. How­ev­er, I am con­vinced that you con­sis­tent­ly despise this rab­ble, whether it obse­quious­ly lav­ish­es respect on you or whether it attempts to sati­ate its lust for sen­sa­tion­al­ism! I am impelled to tell you how much I have come to admire your intel­lect, your dri­ve, and your hon­esty, and that I con­sid­er myself lucky to have made your per­son­al acquain­tance in Brus­sels. Any­one who does not num­ber among these rep­tiles is cer­tain­ly hap­py, now as before, that we have such per­son­ages among us as you, and Langevin too, real peo­ple with whom one feels priv­i­leged to be in con­tact. If the rab­ble con­tin­ues to occu­py itself with you, then sim­ply don’t read that hog­wash, but rather leave it to the rep­tile for whom it has been fab­ri­cat­ed.

With most ami­ca­ble regards to you, Langevin, and Per­rin, yours very tru­ly,

A. Ein­stein

PS I have deter­mined the sta­tis­ti­cal law of motion of the diatom­ic mol­e­cule in Planck’s radi­a­tion field by means of a com­i­cal wit­ti­cism, nat­u­ral­ly under the con­straint that the structure’s motion fol­lows the laws of stan­dard mechan­ics. My hope that this law is valid in real­i­ty is very small, though.

That delib­er­ate­ly geeky post­script amounts to anoth­er sweet show of sup­port. Per­haps it for­ti­fied Curie when a week lat­er, she received a let­ter from Nobel Com­mit­tee mem­ber Svante Arrhe­nius, urg­ing her to skip the Prize cer­e­mo­ny in Stock­holm. Curie reject­ed Arrhe­nius’ sug­ges­tion thus­ly:

The prize has been award­ed for the dis­cov­ery of radi­um and polo­ni­um. I believe that there is no con­nec­tion between my sci­en­tif­ic work and the facts of pri­vate life. I can­not accept … that the appre­ci­a­tion of the val­ue of sci­en­tif­ic work should be influ­enced by libel and slan­der con­cern­ing pri­vate life.

For a more in-depth look at Marie Curie’s night­mar­ish Novem­ber, refer to “Hon­or and Dis­hon­or” the six­teenth chap­ter in Bar­bara Goldsmith’s Obses­sive Genius: The Inner World of Marie Curie.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2018.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Marie Curie Attend­ed a Secret, Under­ground “Fly­ing Uni­ver­si­ty” When Women Were Banned from Pol­ish Uni­ver­si­ties

Marie Curie’s Research Papers Are Still Radioac­tive a Cen­tu­ry Lat­er

Marie Curie Invent­ed Mobile X‑Ray Units to Help Save Wound­ed Sol­diers in World War I

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor and the­ater mak­er in NYC.

Einstein’s Divorce Letters and the Cruel List of Marital Demands He Imposed on His First Wife

Albert Ein­stein is the rare fig­ure who’s uni­ver­sal­ly known, but almost entire­ly for his pro­fes­sion­al achieve­ments. Few of us who can explain the the­o­ry of rel­a­tiv­i­ty can also say much about the per­son­al life of the man who came up with it, though that does­n’t owe to a lack of doc­u­men­ta­tion. Thanks to sci­ence YouTu­ber Toby Hendy, we have, for exam­ple, some of the love let­ters he wrote to the women who con­sti­tut­ed a ver­i­ta­ble parade through his life. Also, in anoth­er video for her chan­nel Tibees, Hendy reads the let­ters he wrote in the process of divorc­ing his first wife, the Ser­bian physi­cist and math­e­mati­cian Mil­e­va Mar­ić.

Ein­stein mar­ried Mar­ić in Jan­u­ary 1903, says Hendy, “after they had been togeth­er for around five years. The rela­tion­ship was in its prime, and so was the aca­d­e­m­ic pro­duc­tiv­i­ty. It was in 1905 that Ein­stein would pub­lish his four major papers that would change the face of physics. By 1912, how­ev­er, Ein­stein had start­ed hav­ing an affair with his cousin,” Elsa Lowen­thal.

By 1914, Ein­stein wrote to Mar­ić a let­ter “detail­ing some con­di­tions of them con­tin­u­ing to live togeth­er,” if not quite as man and wife. The con­di­tions read as fol­lows:

CONDITIONS

A. You will make sure:

1. that my clothes and laun­dry are kept in good order;
2. that I will receive my three meals reg­u­lar­ly in my room;
3. that my bed­room and study are kept neat, and espe­cial­ly that my desk is left for my use only.

B. You will renounce all per­son­al rela­tions with me inso­far as they are not com­plete­ly nec­es­sary for social rea­sons. Specif­i­cal­ly, You will forego:

1. my sit­ting at home with you;
2. my going out or trav­el­ling with you.

C. You will obey the fol­low­ing points in your rela­tions with me:

1. you will not expect any inti­ma­cy from me, nor will you reproach me in any way;
2. you will stop talk­ing to me if I request it;
3. you will leave my bed­room or study imme­di­ate­ly with­out protest if I request it.

D. You will under­take not to belit­tle me in front of our chil­dren, either through words or behav­ior.

Though they agreed to put this strin­gent plan into effect, less than two weeks lat­er, he wrote to Elsa, “Yes­ter­day my wife left for good with the chil­dren” — and “you, dear lit­tle Elsie, will now become my wife and become con­vinced that it is not at all so hard to live by my side.”

Ein­stein did mar­ry Lowen­thal in 1919, and the union, though hard­ly char­ac­ter­ized by ide­al faith­ful­ness, did last until her death in 1935. There would be plen­ty of oth­er women, but none who played quite the same role in his life as Mar­ić, not only the moth­er of his chil­dren, but also — accord­ing to some his­to­ri­ans — a col­lab­o­ra­tor on some of his accom­plish­ments in physics. Accord­ing to Lost Women of Sci­ence, “there is lit­tle tan­gi­ble evi­dence to sup­port the claims that Mar­ić was a co-author of Einstein’s first major work. That said, there are plen­ty of per­son­al tes­ti­monies from those who knew Mar­ić and Ein­stein that her involve­ment was like­ly.” One con­di­tion of their divorce set­tle­ment, at any rate, held that Mar­ić receive his Nobel Prize mon­ey, were he to win it, which he went on to do a cou­ple of years lat­er. This makes clear that, what­ev­er the impor­tance of her own sci­en­tif­ic work, she must’ve had a good head on her shoul­ders.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Read­ings of Albert Einstein’s Love Let­ters (and Chilly Divorce Let­ters) to His First Wife Mil­e­va

Albert Ein­stein Impos­es on His First Wife a Cru­el List of Mar­i­tal Demands

Albert Ein­stein & Sig­mund Freud Exchange Let­ters and Debate How to Make the World Free from War (1932)

Read the Uplift­ing Let­ter That Albert Ein­stein Sent to Marie Curie Dur­ing a Time of Per­son­al Cri­sis (1911)

“Do Sci­en­tists Pray?”: A Young Girl Asks Albert Ein­stein in 1936. Ein­stein Then Responds

Albert Einstein’s Grades: A Fas­ci­nat­ing Look at His Report Cards

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Franz Kafka’s Anxious Letters to His Fiancée, Read Aloud by Richard Ayoade

It can’t have been easy being Franz Kaf­ka. But then, it can’t have been much eas­i­er being Franz Kafka’s fiancée, as evi­denced by the cor­re­spon­dence read aloud by Richard Ayoade in the new Let­ters Live video above. “It is now 10:30 on Mon­day morn­ing,” he wrote to Felice Bauer on Novem­ber 4, 1912. “I have been wait­ing for a let­ter since 10:30 on Sat­ur­day morn­ing, but again noth­ing has come. I have writ­ten every day but don’t I deserve even a word? One sin­gle word? Even if it were only to say ‘I nev­er want to hear from you again.’ ” This anx­ious, hec­tor­ing tone was not a one-off indul­gence. “Dear­est, what have I done that makes you tor­ment me so?” he plead­ed just over two weeks lat­er.

Kaf­ka and Bauer had been intro­duced three months before. She was a rel­a­tive of Max Brod, Kafka’s friend and even­tu­al lit­er­ary execu­tor, and accord­ing to Kafka’s diaries, made a fair­ly unpre­pos­sess­ing first impres­sion: “Bony, emp­ty face that wore its empti­ness open­ly. Bare throat. A blouse thrown on. Looked very domes­tic in her dress although, as it turned out, she by no means was.”

Yet dur­ing their ensu­ing five-year cor­re­spon­dence, he was moved to write her more than 500 let­ters, some of them sent one day after the oth­er — and more than a few berat­ing her for not writ­ing back quick­ly enough.

This rela­tion­ship twice led to engage­ment, but per­haps unsur­pris­ing­ly, nev­er cul­mi­nat­ed in mar­riage. Nev­er­the­less, Bauer’s rela­tion­ship with Kaf­ka remained impor­tant enough to her that she saved every­thing he wrote to her, which was col­lect­ed and pub­lished in book form as Briefe an Felice (and lat­er, in trans­la­tion, as Let­ters to Felice) in 1967. Per­haps, as bur­den­some as they could no doubt be, Kafka’s let­ters sug­gest­ed to Bauer a cer­tain lit­er­ary skill. (This was, after all, the same peri­od in which he wrote The Meta­mor­pho­sis and “In the Penal Colony,” as well as ear­ly ver­sions of The Tri­al). They also hint at his since-cel­e­brat­ed sense of humor, not least in a con­clud­ing line like “Damn the mail!” — words that, in Ayoad­e’s deliv­ery, draw a round of applause.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Franz Kafka’s Kafkaesque Love Let­ters

Franz Kaf­ka: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to His Lit­er­ary Genius

What Is Kafkaesque?: The Phi­los­o­phy of Franz Kaf­ka

Under­ground Car­toon­ist Robert Crumb Cre­ates an Illus­trat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Franz Kafka’s Life and Work

David Fos­ter Wal­lace Reads Franz Kafka’s Short Sto­ry “A Lit­tle Fable” (and Explains Why Com­e­dy Is Key to Kaf­ka)

Behold the Draw­ings of Franz Kaf­ka (1907–1917)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Hear the Letter of Gratitude That Albert Camus Wrote to His Teacher After Winning the Nobel Prize, as Read by Footballer Ian Wright

When Albert Camus won the Nobel Prize, he wrote a let­ter to one of his old school­teach­ers. “I let the com­mo­tion around me these days sub­side a bit before speak­ing to you from the bot­tom of my heart,” the let­ter begins. “I have just been giv­en far too great an hon­or, one I nei­ther sought nor solicit­ed. But when I heard the news, my first thought, after my moth­er, was of you.” For it was from this teacher, a cer­tain Louis Ger­main, that the young, father­less Camus received the guid­ance he need­ed. “With­out you, with­out the affec­tion­ate hand you extend­ed to the small poor child that I was, with­out your teach­ing and exam­ple, none of all this would have hap­pened.”

Camus ends the let­ter by assur­ing Mon­sieur Ger­main that “your efforts, your work, and the gen­er­ous heart you put into it still live in one of your lit­tle school­boys who, despite the years, has nev­er stopped being your grate­ful pupil.”

In response, Ger­main recalls his mem­o­ries of Camus as an unaf­fect­ed, opti­mistic pupil. “I think I well know the nice lit­tle fel­low you were, and very often the child con­tains the seed of the man he will become,” he writes. What­ev­er the process of intel­lec­tu­al and artis­tic evo­lu­tion over the 30 years or so between leav­ing the class­room and win­ning the Nobel, “it gives me very great sat­is­fac­tion to see that your fame has not gone to your head. You have remained Camus: bra­vo.”

It isn’t hard to under­stand why Camus’ let­ter to his teacher would res­onate with the foot­baller Ian Wright, who reads it aloud in the Let­ters Live video at the top of the post. A 2005 doc­u­men­tary on his life and career pro­duced the ear­ly viral video above, a clip cap­tur­ing the moment of Wright’s unex­pect­ed reunion with his own aca­d­e­m­ic father fig­ure, Syd­ney Pig­den. Com­ing face to face with his old men­tor, who he’d assumed had died, Wright instinc­tive­ly removes his cap and address­es him as “Mr. Pig­den.” In that moment, the stu­dent-teacher rela­tion­ship resumes: “I’m so glad you’ve done so well with your­self,” says Pig­den, a sen­ti­ment not dis­sim­i­lar to the one Mon­sieur Ger­main expressed to Camus. Most of us, no mat­ter how long we’ve been out of school, have a teacher we hope to do proud; some of us, whether we know it or not, have been that teacher.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch Reads Albert Camus’ Touch­ing Thank You Let­ter to His Ele­men­tary School Teacher

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Albert Camus’ Exis­ten­tial­ism, a Phi­los­o­phy Mak­ing a Come­back in Our Dys­func­tion­al Times

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Benedict Cumberbatch Reads Kurt Vonnegut’s Letter of Advice to People Living in the Year 2088

There was a time when a com­pa­ny like Volk­swa­gen could com­mis­sion var­i­ous lumi­nar­ies to write let­ters to the future, then pub­lish them in Time mag­a­zine as part of an ad cam­paign. In fact, that time was­n’t so very long ago: it was the year 1988, to be pre­cise, when no less an opti­mistic (or opti­misti­cal­ly bleak?) nov­el­ist than Kurt Von­negut was still active. At some point between writ­ing Blue­beard and Hocus Pocus, he com­posed a mis­sive direct­ed toward human­i­ty a cen­tu­ry hence (in 2088), which you can read even in this rel­a­tive­ly ear­ly year of 2024 here.

Von­negut begins with quo­ta­tions from Shake­speare and St. John the Divine, explain­ing that “our cen­tu­ry has­n’t been as free with words of wis­dom as some oth­ers, I think, because we were the first to get reli­able infor­ma­tion about the human sit­u­a­tion.” In his time, we knew full well “how many of us there were, how much food we could raise or gath­er, how fast we were repro­duc­ing, what made us sick, what made us die, how much dam­age we were doing to the air and water and top­soil on which most life forms depend­ed, how vio­lent and heart­less nature can be, and on and on. Who could wax wise with so much bad news pour­ing in?”

Of spe­cial import to him was the rev­e­la­tion that “Nature was no con­ser­va­tion­ist. It need­ed no help from us in tak­ing the plan­et apart and putting it back togeth­er some dif­fer­ent way, not nec­es­sar­i­ly improv­ing it from the view­point of liv­ing things.” Earth may have giv­en rise to human­i­ty, but it has not the capac­i­ty to care whether we or any oth­er par­tic­u­lar life form sur­vives on it. And so we must take it upon our­selves to ensure our own well-being, which requires liv­ing in accor­dance with what Von­negut calls “Nature’s stern but rea­son­able sur­ren­der terms”:

  1. Reduce and sta­bi­lize your pop­u­la­tion.
  2. Stop poi­son­ing the air, the water, and the top­soil.
  3. Stop prepar­ing for war and start deal­ing with your real prob­lems.
  4. Teach your kids, and your­selves, too, while you’re at it, how to inhab­it a small plan­et with­out help­ing to kill it.
  5. Stop think­ing sci­ence can fix any­thing if you give it a tril­lion dol­lars.
  6. Stop think­ing your grand­chil­dren will be OK no mat­ter how waste­ful or destruc­tive you may be, since they can go to a nice new plan­et on a space­ship. That is real­ly mean, and stu­pid.
  7. And so on. Or else.

You can eas­i­ly imag­ine these words uttered by Von­negut him­self, but how about by Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch? There’s no need to imag­ine: you can sim­ply watch the new video above, tak­en from a recent Let­ters Live event. Cum­ber­batch is one of the series’ star read­ers, hav­ing pre­vi­ous­ly inter­pret­ed let­ters by Nick Cave, Albert Camus, Alan Tur­ing, and oth­ers onstage. This advice to the “ladies and gen­tle­men of AD 2088” has proven to be one of his hits; you can hear anoth­er, ear­li­er read­ing here. Per­haps Von­negut’s words bear repeat­ing, but then, he always showed a sharp aware­ness that human­i­ty has few qual­i­ties as per­sis­tent as the inabil­i­ty to lis­ten.

Relat­ed con­tent:

In 1988, Kurt Von­negut Writes a Let­ter to Peo­ple Liv­ing in 2088, Giv­ing 7 Pieces of Advice

Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch Reads Kurt Vonnegut’s Incensed Let­ter to the High School That Burned Slaugh­ter­house-Five

Watch James Earl Jones Read Kurt Vonnegut’s Let­ter Urg­ing High-School Stu­dents to Cre­ate Art & “Make Your Soul Grow”

Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch & Ian McK­ellen Read Epic Let­ters Writ­ten by Kurt Von­negut

Hear Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch Read­ing Let­ters by Kurt Von­negut, Alan Tur­ing, Sol LeWitt, and Oth­ers

22-Year-Old P.O.W. Kurt Von­negut Writes Home from World War II: “I’ll Be Damned If It Was Worth It”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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