Her Christmas remembrance was very kind and forgiving. Has thought of her so often. Living conditions deteriorate more each day. Miss Lewis can't even get a taxi to take her to Brooklyn to see her two sisters. The problem of finding servants is acute; their capable woman comes from ten until two to clean and prepare lunch, but for dinner they must cruise about town in search of food, and poor quality at that. Has been working on a story that very much interests her, but last week her right hand gave out again and she is back in Dr. Ober's brace. Isn't very philosophical about it. Will soon send Undset an early book of hers, which she thinks Undset might like despite its grave faults, which appeared in Danish and Swedish [probably 1918 edition of My Ántonia]. [Stout #1690]
The long agony is finally over, leaving a beautiful world destroyed. True peace will not return for a long time. The San Francisco "Conference" [April 25–June 26, to draft the charter of the United Nations] a pathetic event. Her brother has been there, and everyone was irritable and hungry. Nothing to eat and journalists had to sleep on cots in the halls, but the Russians stayed on their battleships in the harbor, well provisioned with good wine and food—not taking chances, and is afraid they won't take chances in the future either. Please let them know when she plans to return to Norway; wants so much to see her again before she goes. [Stout #1708]
Has read her letter many times. It must be sad to find her little town so altered and so many young men killed. But to be home, where everyone had a common cause to work for together, must be important; that feeling of working together creates hope as nothing else can. Here in the U.S. things are in a sad way. Yes, she might well lament, "Oh, if Roosevelt were still alive!" Now it seems as if John L. Lewis, President of the United Mine Workers, has more power than anyone else in the country. Is able to stop wheels turning everywhere. Nothing gets accomplished in Washington, due to squabbles and mismanagement. Everyone feels bitterly disappointed. She is fortunate to be in a place where the only "bigness" is that of the spirit. Is glad she saw America when she did, and not as it is now. Now lives, not in the present, but in old histories and great books. Is so glad her Kristin Lavransdatter is out in three volumes again, as it ought to be, instead of jammed into one big one. Hopes she will never let Hollywood film any of her books. Sorry to write such a hopeless letter. Maybe if they can get up to the country again, to the forests and big tides of the Maine coast, can regain her spirits. [Stout #1732]
Is sending a letter from Sigrid Undset that she may find interesting, since she has been to Norway. Willie [Stout #1752]
Has read over and enjoyed her letter many times. Past few months very difficult. Tendon in right hand relapsed in January, and since then has been immobilized in a brace. Isn't the world acting strangely now? Miss Lewis was lunching with some advanced Hindus and heard them speak absurdly, boasting and exulting about India's independence from England as an escape from despotism. When thousands die of famine in their cities and there is no Wavell [Viceroy of India 1943–47] to supervise rescue squads in Calcutta, they may change their tune. England still suffering regimentation and shortages. An elderly friend there tried to get enough lumber to repair his porch floor, but fell and broke his hip before the permission came. Doubtful he will survive the accident at his age. New York's winter was dreary and demoralizingly mild. Perhaps she knows the Irish proverb, "A green Christmas makes a full graveyard." New York has become the world's most foolish place to live. All the old women dye their hair yellow, or cut it short and frizz it wildly, and no one dresses tastefully any more. Is glad she remembers the shadbush and dogwood so fondly, and wonders if she had ever seen a Judas tree (Cercis canadensis) in bloom. Apologizes for writing such a foolish letter. The warm, soft winter, and the strange deterioration of humankind has robbed her of her spirit. Everyone seems to want to live in New York and wear outrageous outfits and drink cocktails. When she goes North, will feel better and write again. [Stout #1757]
