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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Cordelia Sutherland
The Bell [Bell Inn]
Nov 18 [1944]
Cordelia, too rare and too remote!
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
At the dawn of my 46th Magical Birthday[1] I pour out my heart to you.
About Rising warts I never asked you the all-important questions about the room. Is there a writing-desk, or, if not, a [illegible]? And is there any way of putting all my books and MSS so that they are accessible? (Note: here is not quite all I need; desk is OK, but shelves and drawers is adequate. At 93 [93 Jermyn Street] shelves etc are really all I want; and the lack of desk has been a bad bore.) Perhaps you would explain this when you write to Mrs. Lilywhite Nosetip, or whatever her name is, and she could arrange to have this nice and convenient for me in these 3 weeks. She ought to be able to do something, and it makes all the difference to me. I could never settle down if writing were difficult.
I’m feeling rather rotten to-night (17th) Aftermath of Janet [Taylor]? She was awful this afternoon. She has a genius for making the most innocent remark into a grievance! Resents her sister’s becoming a nurse, not for any sensible reason, but because she ought to have devoted her life to being dogsbody to the great Janet! Thinks she is wasted as a secretary; wants to be a Great Authoress!
Quite angry with me for suggestion that she would get on better if she made it a rule to have a smile and a pleasant word for everybody, instead of leading off with “Lamentations and that twittering whine which is so irritating. You certainly hit the mark with your “hypochondriac gadfly”.
[illegible] to brighter themes! You gave me the most delightful day; I hope you didn’t miss your train. I gave [illegible] M. your message, neatly tied with pink ribbons; she was delighted.
I enclose a Riz [illegible] in case J.[anet] T.[aylor] forgets to give you the copy I gave to her to take with your [illegible]. I fear it is not much use just now; but maybe brighter days are round the corner.
A good
Much as I hate to do so, I am going to be a pig about whisky. J.T. is quite hopeless, anyhow, even if she were a [illegible]. It must be near time F.[ortnum] and M.[ason]. (Mr. Barrauce) gave me one, and oh! that Upchurch!
There’s something wrong with me; I go to sleep as I write; and when awake, can’t write what I am trying to write. Is it the weather or J.T. or just plain natural G.[od] O[nly] K.[nows] ??
I shall wait till A.M. to go on with this weird mumble-fumble in jungle-jungle.
Morning: slept well, but am still all wooly. It’s quite hurting me to write to you, because I want you here. What a crazy mood!
The upshot is that I refuse to attempt the impossible, and shall send this letter as it is, a sketch of a sad lonely derelict. (Joan Murray is v.[ery] ill; in bad pain, but won’t send for the leech because he did her no good last time. Silly, [illegible] helpless; and it depresses me.)
I do hope your own troubles are past; but do take care of yourself. Why not a month or so at P.P.? It would make your chess—
Love, dear girl!
Your devoted,
A.C.
P.S. You played 3 of those games very well indeed, and should have won one—that game where only a mad sacrifice saved me. A.C.
P.S. Hope you remembered Bob Ballads—is there no one small thing I can do to be nice to you? A.C.
1-Today is Crowley's 46th "magical" birthday—The anniversary of his initiation into the Golden Dawn on 18 November 1898.
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this A.M. and sure enough, the cable from N.Y. came
in—bigger than expected—and the Belgian too. And two other
pleasant surprises. So I’m standing very lordly, and won’t
have to pinch to do the work. Hope to get car bloke in A.M.
to-day, besides the chores, has been persistent rain.