Hilda Doolittle - Tribute to Freud

Had the car plunged over a cliff? Were we in it?

Some of us, a group of six or eight, now seated on a mountain slope, ask, are we dead?

Reading the letters from Freud to H. D., one early winter’s day in Switzerland, where she then lived, it was clear to me that they properly belonged in an appendix to her homage to “the Professor.” Not as affidavit, but as an extension of that companionable warmth which Freud extended toward the creative spirit and its search for identity and direction.

So I asked H. D. for the privilege of printing the letters here, and then, later, secured permission from Freud’s heirs for those which they selected from the number he had written her. Of these nine letters which they chose, the ones dated July 20, 1933;

December 28, 1935; May 1936; September 20, 1936; and February 26, 1937, were written in German and are printed in a translation by Annemarie Holborn. The others are in Freud’s own English. All of these letters in the appendix are included “By Permission of Sigmund Freud Copyrights Ltd.”

N.H.P.

Dec. 18th, 1932

Wien IX., Berggasse 19

Dear Mrs. Aldington

I am not sure of your knowing German so I beg to accept my bad English. It may be especially trying to a poet.

You will understand that I did not ask for your books in order to criticize or to appreciate your work, which I have been informed is highly praised by your readers. I am a bad judge on poetry especially in a foreign language. I wanted to get a glimpse of your personality as an introduction to making your personal acquaintance. Your books will be waiting with me for your arrival. (An American friend of mine brought me today “Palimpsest. ”)

My relations to my patients (or pupils) are now especially complicated. I hope to arrange them in a few weeks and I will make an effort not to let you stay in waiting very long.

With kind regards

yours sincerely

Freud

26 January 1933

Wein IX., Berggasse 19

Dear Madam

I did not answer the charming letter you wrote to me late in December. At that time I hoped to be able to call you here very soon. But things have turned out differently. I did not succeed in finding time for you and kept postponing a decision. Now your second letter has reached me, together with the book on H. Ellis, which shall wait here for your arrival. I understand that a certain delay was quite agreeable to you. But I do not want to extend it too long, and I have made up my mind to make the necessary arrangements, even if it means using force. On the other hand, I cannot expect you to travel or change your place of residence in this present biting cold and at a time when an epidemic of grippe is spreading. I have heard that you are of delicate health. Would you prefer to come at the beginning of spring, in April/May? It is hard to control these hygienic factors and easy to make miscalculations.

Sachs wrote about you and your friends from Boston. I have not heard from H. Ellis — I owned already the book in honor of his seventieth birthday and have taken note of who is meant by the lofty person of the revelation.

With kindest regards to you and your friends,

Yours,

Freud

P. S. Glad you understand German.

20 July 1933

Wien IX., Berggasse 19

Dear H. D.

Thank you for your long letter which was written under such sad circumstances. I have already had a letter from Bryher from London. Probably the future depends on how Lady E. will feel. I talked to Yo and Tattoun: “You careless pack, you do not realize that Sir John is dead and that you may never have Perdita as your foster-mother nor see Villa Kenwin.” Since you have to part with them and this parting is very hard on you, you wish at least to see them in good hands. There has been much commotion in the dog-state. Wulf had to be shipped off to Kagran, because both ladies were in heat, and the fierce antagonism between Yofi and Lün, which is rooted in the nature of women, resulted in good, gentle Lün’s being bitten by Yofi. Thus Lün, too, is at present in Kagran and her future is uncertain.

About the human occupants of the house I can only report that they have been ill much of the time and only now begin to enjoy the summer.

I confidently expected to hear from you that you are writing, but such matter should never be forced. I trust I shall hear so later on.

The Spanish adventure about which you report is terrible and mysterious. .

With kindest regards,

Yours,

Freud

March 5th 1934

Wien IX., Berggasse 19

Dear H. D.!

Is it really a whole year since you first called on me? Yes, and the second half of this term I spent in suffering owing to the bad effects of another slight operation which was intended to relieve my habitual ailings. But after all it was not a tragic affair, only the inevitable expression of old age and the degeneration of tissues dependent on it. So I do not complain. I know I am overdue and whatever I still have is an unexpected gift.

Nor is it too painful a thought to leave this scene and set of phenomena for good. There is not much left to be regretted, times are cruel and the future appears to be disastrous. For a while we were afraid we will not be able to stay in this town and country — it is unpleasant to go into exile at the age of seventy-eight — but now we think we have escaped at least this danger.

We passed through a week of civil war. Not much personal suffering, just one day without electric light, but the “stimmung” was awful and the feeling as of an earthquake. No doubt, the rebels belonged to the best portion of the population, but their success would have been very shortlived and brought about military invasion of the country. Besides they were Bolshevists and I expect no salvation from Communism. So we could not give our sympathy to either side of the combatants.

I am sorry to hear you do not yet work but according to your own account the forces are seething. From Perdita’s trip, I am getting postcards. The last came from Trinidad. Happy girl!

Give my love to Bryher and don’t forget me.

Yours affectionately

Freud

28 December 1935

Wien IX., Berggasse 19

Dear H. D. and Perdita:

I think I shall prefer to continue in German. We here, too, have more fog and darkness than is usual around Christmas time. But in front of my window in the inner room stands a proud, sweet-smelling plant. Only twice have I seen it in bloom in a garden, at the Lago di Garda and in the Val Lugano. It reminds me of those bygone days when I was still able to move around and visit the sunshine and beauty of southern nature myself. It is a datura, a noble relative of the tobacco plant, whose leaves used to do so much for me in former times but now can do so little.

It is hardly advisable to give an octogenarian something beautiful. There is too much sadness mixed in with the enjoyment. But one thing is certain: I have not deserved this gift from you and Perdita, since I did not even answer your friendly letters regularly.

I sincerely return your kind wishes for a good year 1936. You, and especially Perdita, still have so much ahead of you. I hope there will be much that is good and liberating. Also Bryher must allow me to thank her at least in this connection.

In warm friendship,

yours,

Freud