Letter from Else Meidner to J.P. Hodin

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[Transcription/translation]

1 August 1969

‘Who never spent the darksome hours weeping for the morrow, he knows ye not, ye gloomy Powers.’ Dr Hodin, Dr Hodin, I’ve been thinking about you all this time, but you write that you’re tired and weary, and I myself have not been well and I’m finding it hard to write. I’ve been terribly depressed. What you said in your letter was of course unfair and not entirely true. Two years ago I had a visit from someone who’d been to see you. This person told me, to my embarrassment, that all your walls are covered with paintings and that none of them are mine. This made me very unhappy. Large or small, you have not put any of my pictures up. If ‘le ton fait la musique’ then you’d have been awfully severe with me, but you always treated me kindly. I couldn’t understand it. You also said you were dropping me etc. It was awful, I was very hurt but didn’t want to offend you. I know I wrote to you then, but I must have said something out of turn. You became more annoyed. I said that I didn’t want to be Ludwig’s appendage. That was just sour grapes. I didn’t mean it because I didn’t think you’d take it seriously, and I do belong to Ludwig because I worked with him for so long. Are you still cross? I ask because Dr Sabais wrote to me and said you wanted to publish the London articles. I know the London articles by heart (like everything you’ve written) and I know that I don’t get a mention. Is that really your intention, to leave me out? And here was I all this time thinking I would never lose you, and when everyone else abandoned me I thought to myself: ‘But Dr Hodin’s still here, he won’t forsake me.’ And that gave me a sense of security. Please write back and don’t be offended if this letter is a muddle. Is it? You already know I sent a strange letter to Dr Maass if you straightened that out for me. But I don’t have anyone else who can mediate between us. I suffer so very much. Why? What have I done that I should suffer so much? Always. Because I mistreat my friends, I suppose? You’re not still cross?

Sincerely, your very sad

Else Meidner

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