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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Norman Mudd
50 rue Vavin Paris VIe
die F [Thursday] [Undated: circa April 1924]
C∴F∴
93.
My sickness has assumed a strange and terrible form. It began with a bit of restlessness, turned to a positively savage attack of hunger, and finally forced me to get up and shave.
Specialists, hastily summoned from Prague, Moscow, Berlin, Rome and London declare that I have been suffering from Acute Symmudditis. Now the cause is removed, they agree, it will take a lot to stop me from getting well p.d.q.
The shave etc did not tire me yesterday; and, though I slept very badly, mere odd snatches, I woke finally at 7.30 with a really desperate "urge" (ugh!) to get up and out. I held myself light till about 11 and than gave way, made an elaborate toilet, and after lunch, staggered out into the sunlight for some 20 minutes. I went straight to bed (1.30 P.M.) and hope to be all the better for the daring feat!
But of course this raises the serious problem of eating: it costs much more if I'm out. And I confess to getting tired of the alternative between eggs and cold stuff, however fascinating.
I wish Austin [Austin Harrison] were over here. I think we could do very well together on a monthly to combine the qualities of the old English Review, the Yellow Book, and something more spiritual than either. A[ustin] H[arrison] has all the qualities of the man of the world editor, and I have all the enthusiasm and vision that he lacks. Incidentally, we get on very well together when in personal touch. (I think you missed seeing that because we are really very fond of each other in some very mysterious way: our quarrels are so bitter because they are lovers' quarrels.)
I am convinced that an enterprise of this sort would mean immediate success. The outcry against me would be stilled at once, as soon as I appeared in the arena again. It always was so. And of course I have learnt much wisdom of late years, and should not give occasion to the enemy to blaspheme as I have done in the past: At least my enemies would be more serious people, and not fight so foully.
Excuse my prattling: it's the good sunlight. But I'm suddenly very tired.
93 93/93
Yours ever
666.
P.S. a question has arisen: was the whole of my trouble really due to withdrawal of h [Heroin] and my rapid recovery to cautious restocking (Thanks to idiocy of Dr. J[arvis], one can't measure). If such were the case, it might (or might not) be necessary to arrange for a further supply in say 4-6 weeks time. I'm really annoyed about the matter: if I could calculate, it would be all right. But there are too many factors: So I have decided simply not to worry about it till conditions are better. 666.
P.S. Enclosed SMF 6-9. Thank you, dearest grandchild, for your careful instruction in the art of sucking eggs.
Also I have cared less than nothing for "fame" for a very long while. Baudelaire [Charles Baudelaire] has a prose poem to this effect—quite enough for the most infirm of noble minds!
I remember nothing of James Thomson. I should like a copy to revise for alleged impurity.
I'm quite all right, I think, spiritually. Have ceased to worry, in a way. But want to have no more knock-down blows till I'm stronger. Parts of your letter did depress me, though the general tone was so cheering. I am physically fit to leave any day that the arrangements can be made. 666.
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