Max Ernst believes he is being persecuted by an invisible, occult force.

Max ERNST (1891.1976)

Autographed letter signed to Gala and Paul Éluard.

Four large octavo pages taken from a notebook.

No place or date [c. 1925]

"The most disgusting thing about this 'event' is that I don't understand anything about it, unless there's some invisible figure persecuting me." 

Max Ernst believes he is being persecuted by an invisible, occult force.

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“My dearest friends, Paul and Gala, I ask you in advance not to hold my bad luck against me—my terrible, ugly, disgusting misfortune ; not to reproach me, nor even to harbor any thoughts about it; not to be in a bad mood (it's enough that I am), nor angry, nor furious. The most disgusting thing about this “event” is that I understand absolutely nothing about it, unless there is some invisible figure persecuting me. Call this figure “misfortune” or whatever you like, for me, it exists. I was ready to leave, my luggage was packed, etc., etc.—just as I was about to leave the house, I realized that my wallet had disappeared. Knowing how wouldn't be of much interest, but the circumstances are too mysterious. I had it at noon; I put it in my pocket in the presence of Péret and Madame Piédanna; I only went out to make a few small purchases, for which I didn't take it out of my pocket.” It's also impossible that someone stole it from my pocket, or that it was slipped in. So I must have had it when I got home. No one went into my studio, where I had left the jacket on the sofa. (A curious resemblance to the other case you know about.) So I'm almost certain that this invisible thing exists. Péret laughed at this explanation, but he couldn't think of any others.

And after the few experiences I'd had with the game, nothing would be too surprising, if, at the same time, things weren't happening to me that seemed like sheer luck. I'm talking about the banquet of the magnificent, where my situation was truly dire. Among the people at the Léwy banquet, quite a few were doing everything they could to draw the police's attention to me (notably Mr. Grünewald, a Swedish Jew, the owner of the Kahnweiler portrait, and Mr. Baseler, a Polish Jew and art dealer). And it was only out of cowardice that they gave up after old Wassilieff intervened.

Now I'm going to try to find some money (I see a fairly good possibility, Wednesday the 15th), and leave immediately so that I arrive either on August 16th or 17th at 12:20 PM in Luchon. My dear friends, I'm thinking of you and I'm bored here without you, and the only reason for my gloom is that this nasty business ruined my chance to leave last night. I'll send a telegram if I succeed.

Not much has happened since my last letter. They started making a statement of principle and of a practical and political nature. Nothing more has been done for the magnificent one. Well, Breton did, at the last minute, change the title for the reproduction of a portrait of the master with his seagull: it's now called St-Pol-Roux the Coward. I consider that sufficient; let's not concern ourselves with this old man anymore and move on to more important matters.

Goodbye, my dear friends. Goodbye, little Gala (you also lost 200 francs the other day, so don't shout). I like you all very much, and I realize it again from not having been able to come yet, which fills me with sadness—sadness. M