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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to David Sturgis
24 rue Lamark, Paris.
16 August 1924.
My dear Vagrant,
Do what . . .
Thanks for your of July 19.
About my address: it is about as safe as any from the next month.
I very much want to collaborate with you, but don't come here too late in the year. I want to get down to Africa when I have a man translating all my works into French, and as he seems unable to get to Paris, it is a case of Mohomet and the mountain.
My health is now pretty good but Leah [Leah Hirsig] has more or less broken down nervously from the long continued strain and anxiety which came to a climax last Saturday when she was outraged by the Immigration people in England. (A full report later.)
I am enclosing a draft of a pamphlet [An Open Letter to Lord Beaverbrook]. I don't know how much you know of the business, but this draft should give you a fair idea: it is this blackguardian that has so completely knocked us out. We want you to do your utmost to turn it into an asset. I want you to show it to all your friends, and to get any possible publicity for it, and furthermore to collect as much money as you can lay hold of from sympathisers—and, hang it all, any human being with any sense of decency ought to be furiously indignant—and forward it to Bro. Mudd [Norman Mudd], to be used for making the vindication as complete as possible. We can never get anywhere until we have wiped out completely this sort of villainy.
Your news-paragraph indicates, as well as anything could possibly do, the appalling state of affairs. Genius of any sort is being murdered outright.
The practical point at the moment is that all my activities are actively paralysed for lack of carfare.
Now hurry up and get this filthy business finished with, and let us lap up the blood of the slain and get onto something worth while.
Love is the law . . .
David Sturgis, Guaranty Trust Company, 522 Fifth Avenue, New York City.
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