One Seventy-Six Columbia Heights
Brooklyn, New York

Sep. 3, 1932

My dear Mrs. Crane-

You are not to believe that I was not
very glad indeed to have your letter, or that my rudeness
in delaying my answer so long was anything but involuntary.
My troubles are legion, petty, and absorbing of time and
energy, and my health, since a fairly recent intestinal
infection contracted in Mexico, very shaky. These things are
responsible as well for my seeming neglect of your letter,
and for the limited number of times I saw Hart in Mexico.

Just the same, we became very good friends, and I was
glad and flattered by the fact that he considered me close
enough to come to me with some of his troubles. As you surely
know, his stay in Mexico was stormy and his life disordered,
due to coincidences of circumstances many of which were
beyond his control. To begin with, Mexico impressed and
frightened him, as it does most very sensitive people, and
at the same time that he ran from it--into drink--terrified,
he loved it. Certainly he made several good friends whose
affection for him could hardly be affected by any usual considerations, and who grieved, and still grieve,
deeply his loss.

This very small group of people closest to the events
of the last few weeks before Hart's departure, which group
includes particularly the Durieuxs, Lesley Simpson, and myself,
shares an interpretation of Hart's tragedy that is not at
all in agreement with the spoken and published explanations.
He had once before attempted to do away with himself-- had
gone so far as to call Mary Daugherty, secretary to Dr. Eyler
Simpson, of the Guggenheim Foundtion--whom Hart despised and
hated, I think--to make his will. Mary had the wit to call
a doctor and the doctor pulled Hart out of it--but perhaps you
know this story.

Anyhow, before he left he gave two or three of us to
understand, in a vague, chilling sort of way, that possibly
we would never see him again. He was obsessed by the idea of
death, constantly, and if we had taken this as seriously as
we might have, we should probably have foreseen--and I wish
we had, and had tried to avoid-- the tragedy on the Oriente.
Hart made very concrete accusations and established a sort
of spiritual legacy, things to be told his closest friends,
one afternoon at Caroline Durieux's house; she being least
occupied, and calmer than most of us. I have written Caroline
that I am putting you in touch with her, because she can
tell you better than I what Hart said, and what he wanted
said. I imagine that none of it will be new to you; it is
such a delicate subject, however, that it is hard for me to
find words subtle enough to convey what I mean, without falling
into accusations and resentments against Peggy. To be blunt,
crude, and very frank, I feel that she was in a way the

involuntary, powerful motivating factor; Hart spoke bitterly about the relationship between them, and spoke of attempting to escape, while at the same time reiterating his affection for her, and repeating that she was "a lovely person." My feeling is that at the bottom of it, Hart's attitude was a sort of 18th century chivalry, a gentlemanliness that involved a feeling of protection, responsibility, etc., for a fragile American lady in a somewhat difficult, apparently very dangerous foreign land. The tragedy itself I think was purely biological; because even a mere acquaintance with the girl, and some knowledge of her past, leaves the marked impression that she is sexually pathological, and that therefore, it would have been a combination of sexual exhaustion, alcoholic depression, and a seeming impossibility to escape--together with the problem of a future, moneyless, jobless, hard times--that all came together at once and somehow focussed on the purple sea outside Havana as the only answer. It is a beautiful place, there; the water is of a glinting, submarine blue, barely frothed, and all netted in silver. It is deep, deep and gentle, and I assure you that the thought of Hart's having been drawn overboard just there, was a hard blow for me to fight with against a similar temptation, and without any of the aggravating circumstances.

I am afraid I have been very clumsy. I fumble for words even in speaking of the matter, and in writing my brain becomes a monstrous spiral of evasions, and of distresses at not finding the words to close around the subtle things I feel I want to say. I hope Caroline will do better than I, and I hope that you will write to me again.

Yours very sincerely,

P.S. I would like the piece I wrote about Hart returned, unless you want it; I have no copy of it. Thank you for suggesting it.

Caroline's address is:

Mrs. Caroline Dureux

Paseo de la Reforma 427, apt. 10

Mexico City