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Correspondence from Leah Hirsig to Blanche Conn
Tunisia Palace Hotel, Tunis
Oct. 1, 1923. e.v.
My dear Blanche Conn,
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
I started to answer your letter of Aug. 27 more than a week ago but I never got a chance to finish it. In the meantime we received the sum of 3333 francs via the American Express from an unknown person named Gluck from Paris. Are you the joyful one? If so, let me tell you that you are no longer the only joyous one. As we anticipated, the crises came several days before the arrival of the uncanny sum. We were on the point of being greatly inconvenienced and what not—in fact we should have had to apply to our various consuls to send us home, but for the timely help which was followed up by a sum not quite so substantial and several hopeful contracts in view.
I expect to leave Tunis in three days time, spend a week or two or more in Cefalu, and then proceed to Paris. I will give you my Paris address so that your letters to me may not be too long delayed in reaching me. It is Hotel Bois, 30 rue Vavin, Paris XI. I do not however intend to stay in Paris for any time; my job is to go to some small place not too far away to regain my health which has been extremely poor for the past year and more. There is nothing organically wrong with me—so the doctors say, but I am overtired, over worked, and over-worried. I expect with things going as they are that the causes may be removed and I will be the "wellest" woman alive.
Now enough about me. Back to your letter of Aug. 27.
1. You are sadly mistaken if you think that I have less respect for you since you were "frank etc." Only since you showed me your true self (a little tiny bit of it) did I realize how much you needed assistance and how truly you were one of us. Of course you are immature. We've all got to be for a time. The danger is that some of us, especially New York City school teachers never ripen—they just rot away. No one knows that better than I—I stuck to the bloody job for over 15 years as you well know.
2. You must not find excuses for yourself. If you continue in that line you will never break away. And get it out of your mind once and for all that you are a square peg and that you must find a square hole to fit into. Fy upon you. What would Freud say to this phraseology? Even if you are a square peg, you needn't be a square head. There. By continuing to limit yourself thusly you miss all the chances that round holes etc. etc. ad infinitum have.
Nobody dedicated books to me—nor did I care whether they did or not (perhaps that's why it happened) while I was worrying about being a telegraph pole—and nary a wire affixed to me. Much worse than your square peg affair—or so I thought at the time. I am swearing internally at this moment that I cannot come to you to prove what an ass you are (same as I was) and how happy you would be in spite of all adversity and trouble and scandal and worry, if you could and would concentrate on the words "Every man and every woman is a star," and apply it to yourself and help others to see it for themselves. The real art of nature is that each and every one of her stars is individual and that each must find its path and stick to its path and to no one's else. I could go on forever but I refrain and proceed to the next point.
3. Sex and Marriage. This should be the title of your next book, which should have an inscription to me or a word of thanks for supplying you with the title, material and the idea.
What in the name of Christopher Columbus (I swear by him because the 12 Oct, is near at hand and he will give you a holiday to write to me) has sex got to do with marriage and the kitchen? I had those ideas when I was young and foolish. I, too, was afraid, not of one little Merle but of a possible dozen. However Fate took me by the —— and I came too. The whole point is that the sex instinct is the creative instinct and you can't get out of the responsibility of utilizing that instinct because of the dictates of your fathers and the sins of your sister women. As long as the sex problem bothers you so long will you continue to be only a little bit of your true self—and less and less as you go on in years. There is only one way to deal with this problem, as indeed with all natural appetites—you must master it by utilising it and finding out for yourself, not what the books say about it, and not suppress it by killing it. [illegible] the easier course for respectable women and men—and so it is at first, but you have got to pay the bill in the end with cancer, insanity, and what not. Be warned in time. Most respectable women receive the first intimation that the "sex-devil" has got them when it is too late. I wish I had time to write a treatise on the difference between repression and control. I have met so many people who are astoundingly ignorant on the subject. You must think of this and meditate on it very seriously. Then again, even those who recognise the difference in any number of ways are absolutely blinded when sex is introduced. That is very badly worded but I think you know what I mean.
As a parting shot—Don't congratulate yourself on the fact that your maiden-head is unbroken. Too often has the spirit and the soul of a woman been broken so that she might "sleep with her maker". The incongruity of the whole thing makes me shriek with laughter. The question arises Is your Maker really the great fellow he is cracked up to be? and scores of others. Please let me stop now or I shall be at the typewriter all night.
I appreciate your poem very much indeed even tho my colleagues here say that Lesbia's should be Lesbos. But they are a lot of snobs—two Cambridge youths versus one Oxford. I am sure they are right because Lesbia was a female woman whereas Lesbos was the island where Sappho did her stunts. You must bow prettily and say thank you for the correction.
I have written some poetry too but it is not permitted by the censor. For once in your life thank the censor.
But seriously, I hope you will be able to get away from that rotten job soon. I have a notion that you are not sufficiently desperate—you always find a way out—a show to go to, a friend to talk to and what not. Come to Cefalù where, as it is said in the Drug Fiend [Diary of a Drug Fiend] that there is absolutely no diversion (no distraction) and consequently one is thrown entirely on one's own and reached the inner layers of oneself. It is a sort of hell that leads to paradise. The hell you are in at present is not nearly bad enough but you never get out of it.
Please write to me very sincerely. Don't try to cover over anything (I don't mean that you should sob on my non-present shoulder and cut out your natural wit) but talk to me freely. I shall call you a bloody fool in any case—I say the word rather well now and always say it to my best beloved ones.
I expect our letters will cross once more. May you cross soon.
Again assuming that you are the sender of that 3333 let me say that I have no idea how to thank you and so I won't try.
Love is the law, love under will.
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