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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Charles Cammell
Thames Hotel, Maidenhead.
14 June 41.
Dear Charles.
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
Your poem cheered me immensely; I hold it to be one of your very best. It is so simple, so intense; its cadences are clear like a cascade of crystal waters on the flower-skinned heights of Olympus. (I say Olympus not Ida for there is here a golden link with Godhead). Surely as with all true poets, you grow younger with age; you leap more ardently yet more securely, and your wings seem to develop, with less effort, greater power. One honour you yet lack, the brand of martyrdom! How proud I am that the slaves fear me to such unclean extremity!
I have not yet seen Frieda [Frieda Harris]; she is to come here on Monday. Thus I am still ignorant of the recent schemozzle at Oxford, bar the bare fact of the cancellation [of a showing of the Tarot cards painted by Frieda Harris] with the blatantly false excuse "greatly regret—found impossible to arrange it during the present term". As if one would spend a hundred pounds and more on catalogues, invitations, leaflets, stationary and postage, unless it had been arranged, and fairly firmly. I went to inquire; present, a sacred and hostile youth in a dull desolation. He refused all information.
But—now, Charles, this is true what I'm going to tell you, and I have the letter to prove it—I wrote to N and V [Nicholson and Venn] very politely, asking them to receive letters addressed to me in their care, and hand them to F.H. [Frieda Harris] to answer, as some of these people whom I invited wanted to meet her, and I was moving about until my appearance at the Private View on June 7. No, that's not the inconceivable and incredible part. What follows is. One letter for me was very important indeed, and I knew that it had been sent. Not receiving it, I wrote to them to ask about it. Grip the arms of your chair, and hold your breath! I got it, with a full page letter of fury, from their solicitors. I fear that I shall burst with Spiritual Pride.
[Note: the next two pages of the letter are missing.]
I hope she has managed to arrange the technical "complete delivery", so as to need no coupons; and perhaps as the parcel is sizeable, it would be best to bring it as personal baggage next time you come to London. I very much want to see you in any case: the Oxford crime gives us an incomparably good opportunity of unseating the mighty maggots. The whole Freedom of Art is at stake in this battle. Now, Master Ridley!
I must go to London on Tuesday; so shall not be able to report what F.H. tells me on Tuesday until Wednesday. Expect, therefore, news of me on Thursday or at latest Friday, A.M., a registered letter with money for tweeds if Iona [Cammell's wife] replies promptly and all is well. I have written to you about this, hoping thereby to facilitate the happy conclusion next week-end.
Love is the law, love under will.
Yours ever
Aleister Crowley.
Best love to you, Iona, and the younger darling's.
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