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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Cordelia Sutherland
Aston Clinton Bucks
Aug 10 [1944]
You poor dear sweet thing!
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
Shortly after midnight, it was broken to me gently by my old and valued finds King Wau and the Duke of Chaw that I was for it; they exhibited the 36th Hexagram, Ming I, "Wounded Intelligence". So your letter was no surprise.
But you are very naughty indeed not to listen to me. You are overworked no doubt, and odd-job-i-bothered that you know, and can fight. But there is the constant unconscious nagging of the doodle-bugs. Don't say; "Oh, one soon forgets all about them," That is precisely the mischief.
So your resistance gets lowered, and down you go with a flop. A fortnight-out-here would put you right for the winter. And think how your chess would improve! You're just in the stage when continuous dull drill in card-games and combinations would save H.M. many limitations in the future.
I would like some powdered chocolate; and the other things seem to be settling themselves, except the suit. Davies still maintains his lordly silence. This you may be able to do without effort: there are one or two tailors who have branches at [illegible], and you may know the name. If so, tell me; but I positively forbid you to take any steps. If Nancy had come over, I would have asked her to enquire there; as it is, I will write.
You know her of, course. Yet you ask why she does, or doesn't do, so-and-so. However, she wrote that there were 60 people in front of her after the first bus had gone off chock-a-block.
Shall I shock you, or amuse your invalid leisure, if I tell you how she was shocked—a feat supposed impossible?
Some ten years ago a sportive youth made a bet that he would live 10 days in London, as a prince, on a capital of 4/8 1/2. No luggage, no borrowing; and get clean away. He went to that Dago Hotel in Greek St which is now a nunnery. There he found Nancy installed. The morning she met him on the stairs, waived a bottle of whiskey, said "Come up to my room for a drink!" [illegible]. She was bragging, as usual, of her work in lifting up the coloured gentlemen. Almost half way through the bottle he suddenly sat up and fixed her with a baleful glare. Very solemnly and slowly he uttered these words: I but you what you like; in my time I've had more niggers ____s up my ___ than you have."
The bottle was finished in a stony silence. And of such are the Kingdom of Heaven.
No bad news here: only this bloody cold in the head. Edith Pagson, on Saturday, should start me off again on one hell of a rampage of work. I shall positively need you for my stomach's sake, and for mine other infirmities, Thursday or Friday. And do make up your mind now to make it a fortnight!
Love is the law, lover under will.
Yours,
Aleister
P.S. I've done no correspondence chess since 1893. Too tedious altogether! Still, it might help you if you have say 12 games going. Say you're weak in the Rook Class.
A.C.
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