One very strange piece of writing Lovecraft did at this time was ‘European Glimpses’, dated on the manuscript to 19 December 1932. This is a very conventionalized travelogue of the principal tourist sites in western Europe (chiefly in Germany, France, and England), and is nothing less than a ghostwriting job for Sonia, although Lovecraft—on the few occasions when he spoke of the assignment to correspondents—went out of his way to conceal the fact. Sonia remarks in her memoir:
In 1932 I went to Europe. I was almost tempted to invite him along but I knew that since I was no longer his wife he would not have accepted. However, I wrote to him from England, Germany and France, sending him books and pictures of every conceivable scene that I thought might interest him … I sent a travelogue to H. P. which he revised for me.23
‘European Glimpses’ itself is by far the least interesting of Lovecraft’s travelogues—if, indeed, it can even be called such—on account of its very hackneyed descriptions of very hackneyed tourist sites that no bourgeois traveller ever fails to visit. Perhaps its only interesting feature is its record of Sonia’s glimpse of Hitler in the flesh in Wiesbaden.
At the very end of 1932 Lovecraft instituted what would become another travelling ritual, as he spent the week or so after Christmas in New York with the Longs. Naturally, he spent Christmas with Annie in Providence, but the very next day he caught a bus for New York and arrived at 230 West 97th Street for a visit of seven or eight days. Loveman and Kirk were dumbfounded to see Lovecraft in the city, but Morton proved to be away from his museum for more than a week, so that no meeting could be arranged. Lovecraft stayed in the city until 3 January.
Lovecraft’s own writing career was, as noted, not progressing very welclass="underline" only a single story (‘The Dreams in the Witch House’) was written in 1932, and none in the first half of 1933 (excluding the collaboration ‘Through the Gates of the Silver Key’). Lovecraft remarks to Donald Wandrei that in mid-February 1933 ‘my aunt & I had a desperate colloquy on family finances’,24 with the result that Lovecraft would move from 10 Barnes Street and Annie would move from 61 Slater Avenue and unite to form a single household. That Lovecraft and Annie could not afford even the meagre rent they were no doubt paying (Lovecraft’s was $10 per week, Annie’s probably similar) speaks volumes for the utter penury in which both of them existed.
But luck was, on this occasion, with them. Lovecraft and Annie found a delightful house at 66 College Street, on the very crest of the hill, directly behind the John Hay Library. The house was actually owned by the university and was leased out as two large apartments, one on each of the two floors. The top floor—five rooms plus two attic storerooms—had suddenly become vacant, and Lovecraft and Annie seized on it once they heard of its rent— $10 per week total, presumably half the combined rent for their two separate apartments. Best of all, from Lovecraft’s perspective, was that the house was built in the colonial style; it dates to about 1825. The place fell vacant on 1 May, and Lovecraft moved in on 15 May; Annie moved in two weeks later. Lovecraft was unable to believe his good fortune, and hoped only to be able to keep the place for a significant length of time. As it happened, he would remain there for the four years remaining in his life.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
In My Own Handwriting (1933–35)
The house is a square wooden edifice of the 1800 period … The fine colonial doorway is like my bookplate come to life, though of a slightly later period with side lights & fan carving instead of a fanlight. In the rear is a picturesque, village-like garden at a higher level than the front of the house. The upper flat we have taken contains 5 rooms besides bath & kitchenette nook on the main (2nd) floor, plus 2 attic storerooms—one of which is so attractive that I wish I could have it for an extra den! My quarters—a large study & a small adjoining bedroom—are on the south side, with my working desk under a west window affording a splendid view of the lower town’s outspread roofs & of the mystical sunsets that flame behind them. The interior is as fascinating as the exterior—with colonial fireplaces, mantels, & chimney cupboards, curving Georgian staircase, wide floorboards, old-fashioned latches, small-paned windows, sixpanel doors, rear wing with floor at a different level (3 steps down), quaint attic stairs, &c.—just like the old houses open as museums. After admiring such all my life, I find something magical & dreamlike in the experience of actually living in one … I keep half-expecting a museum guard to come around & kick me out at 5 o’clock closing time!1
A passage like this can be found in nearly every letter Lovecraft wrote during this period, and testifies to the miraculous stroke of luck whereby a move made for purely economic reasons—and after Lovecraft had come to feel so at home at 10 Barnes after seven years’ residence there—resulted in his landing in a colonial-style house he had always longed for. Even his birthplace, 454 Angell Street, was not colonial, although of course it remained dear to his heart for other reasons.
Across the back garden from 66 College Street was a boardinghouse, at which Annie customarily ate both her meals; Lovecraft would eat there occasionally, but he preferred either to go downtown to some cheaper eatery or to make his own humble meals out of cans or from groceries purchased at delicatessens or grocery stores such as the Weybosset Food Basket (still in operation).
One of the most engaging features of the place was a shed next to the boarding-house, whose flat roof supplied an excellent sunning place for the several cats in the area. It was not long before Lovecraft began to make friends with these cats. Since he was living on what was then Brown University’s fraternity row, Lovecraft christened this group of felines the Kappa Alpha Tau (K.A.T.), which he claimed stood for Kompson Ailouron Taxis (Band of Elegant Cats). Their comings and goings would provide Lovecraft much pleasure, and some heartache, over the years.
A few months before he moved to 66 College, around 11 March, Lovecraft had taken a trip to Hartford, Connecticut—on what he tells one correspondent was ‘a job of research which a client was conducting at the library there’.2 Again Lovecraft has prevaricated, and again the reason is connected with his ex-wife; for this was the last time he and Sonia saw each other face to face. After she returned from her European tour, Sonia took a trip to the Hartford suburbs of Farmington and Wethersfield; she was so captivated with the colonial antiquities in these towns that she wrote to Lovecraft and asked him to join her. He did so, spending a day and a night there.
That evening, before they parted for the night, Sonia said, ‘Howard, won’t you kiss me goodnight?’ Lovecraft replied, ‘No, it is better not to.’ The next morning they explored Hartford itself, and that evening, as they bade each other adieu, Sonia did not ask for a kiss.3 They never saw each other again nor, so far as I can tell, corresponded.
The new household at 66 College got off, literally, on the wrong foot when, on 14 June, Annie fell down the stairs and broke her ankle. She remained in Rhode Island Hospital for three weeks in a cast and returned home on 5 July, essentially bedridden and with a nurse in attendance; the cast was removed on 3 August, but Annie had to continue using crutches until well into the fall. All this could not have helped the finances of the household, and in an unguarded moment Lovecraft makes note of the ‘financial strain utterly ruinous to us at the present juncture!’4