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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Montgomery Evans
The Ridge, Hastings.
23. 10. 45
Dear Montgomery,
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
I hope I need not tell you how delighted I was to have your letter of October 8th. I was indeed rejoiced to hear of the death of that swine Biggs: a man who had no virtue, no quality, except that infernal charm which enabled him to betray and rob his friends. I was delighted to hear that the end of his life was poisoned by his wife.
I am sorry that your teeth also are giving you trouble. I am getting nearly to the end of the painful and poisonous part of my operations, and feel already immensely better. I have had really a very bad summer. Of course the weather may have had much to do with it; for the last 3 weeks or more we have had the most perfect weather that I have ever known in England—extraordinary.
I do think that you may be right about your political prognostications. It seems to me as if you and I, or rather you-all and ours, are drifting rapidly into war with Russia.
I wonder if your papers are reprinting Wells' latest nonsense—"Life and Man's Future"—the poor, old boy has never recovered from being snubbed by "carriage-folk" in adolescence. Now he is suffering from senile dementia, and that is being complicated by melancholic delusions.
I quote from the article: "People are discovering that a frightful queerness has come into life"* and from that he deduces that within a period which is to be estimated by weeks and months rather than by aeons, life will be totally extinct on this planet. I need not tell you that these criticisms are painfully familiar to me. But I think it most dangerous to publish things of this sort, and I am talking to my lawyer to see if I can take any steps to put a stop to it, for there are so many people that take the old fool seriously—probably it runs into the hundred thousands. If the regulation about spreading rumours liable to cause alarm and despondency is still in force, we shall take action, probably before this letter comes back from being typed.
Thanks very much for the photographs of yourself. You appear to be extremely flourishing, also the house, which is certainly delightful to look at. I hope, though, it does not mean that you have had to cultivate your garden.
Please give my kind regards to Mitchell Kennerley and thank him for remembering me. Best of all to him.
It is curious that you should mention Simon Iff; only about a week before your letter came I heard from my agent in California that these stories were eminently marketable, and could she have copies. Besides the six that appear in the International I have got 18 under my hand and am having them typed. Can we procure Intl [International] Sept '17 — March '18 and send to her?** I should be so grateful.
What you tell me about independent writing is appalling; but it is only what is to be expected. We are getting very near the stage described by Louis Wilkinson in "Mr. Amberthwaithe"—that chapter of his is I think the most terrifying thing in literature.
I hear from Gerald Yorke with fair frequency. His address is 7 Selwyn Gardens, Cambridge. He would, I am sure, be very pleased to hear from you and do what he can for you.
Is there any chance of your re-visiting Europe, though I do not recommend it if you want to add to your book on Drink. The position seems to get worse all the time; even I, with special contacts and facilities, sometimes run distinctly short, and the price is frightful. The Port which I am now imbibing to support my toils runs me into 10/- a glass. But it is worth it.
That reminds me, Louis Wilkinson is getting another book out. I am not sure whether it is original or a revised and enlarged edition of "Swan's Milk", but he has quite a lot about me in it. I hope you will have a look at it when it comes out.
The Chess variation that you ask me about is just silliness; White can check at RS and take King's pawn. Black plays Queen to King's second and that is the end of the attack. There is nothing amusing about it; it is merely childish impatience.
I am frightfully busy this afternoon, and shall have to cut this letter short. If anything turns up that I can add when it comes back from being types, I will do so with my own fair fist.
No, nothing here.
Yours—write again soon!
Aleister
* The language of science!! ** Miss Jean Phillips, 132 South Reeves Drive, Beverly Hills Cal.
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