Correspondence from George MacNie Cowie to Aleister Crowley

14 Glenisla Gardens, Edinburgh.

7 May 1916.

Care Frater.

I've been in London 10 days and am not long back. I wasn't able to write to catch the American mail last week, and am doing it at leisure now I am back and seem to have got past, possibly Death's door. I caught a wretched cold and wasn't able to grapple with it as I can at home, and neglect made the results a bit alarming. There are cleaner ways of dying than by lung disease. However I've been able to tackle it properly since Wed: p.m. and I have now scotched it I think.

I saw Hammond [Benjamin Charles Hammond] and got him to write to you personally. I can do no more and have done my best to drive into him that the important thing is to have the metal plates completed. I take it that is the important thing, rather than perishable paper copies. If you wait till he gets a press and all the etceteras, nothing will ever marerialise I'm afraid. I could not understand about the engraver. He got his £30 duly, and I understood there were only a few trifles to complete, which I wasn't able to pay for at the time, but which night have been done and paid for after. H[ammond] now states that he needs £25, making £55 in all instead of £30 and that this is because you ordered additional plates not stipulated for at first. I knew nothing of this. As the thing must be done, now or never, I've agreed to find £3 a week somehow for some time and I understand Hammond was to set the man to work at once.

H[ammond] does not want to send you proofs of the l[etter] press till he hears from you—for obvious reasons. There may be a similar difficulty in sending fresh copy. It's a peculiar position. I cannot of course look at the proofs myself bar the illustrations.

I did not get anything fixed up about Lodge rooms. The rooms above Mary's [Mary Davies] would leave really no room to move about, and heaven knows what it would cost to crane up all the heavy stuff to a top flat in Regent Street. The big things, mirrors etc could hardly be got in at all. You remember what a narrow stair it is? The point is that if I only removed part of the stuff, I should still have to go on paying storage too, and that isn't business even if I had the money to play with. None of them had found another place worth looking at, tho' it was plainly for Hammond's own interest to do so. I went with Hobbs to the Depositary to see how we stood there. I found that all the things are stacked on top of each other in a very limited space and so covered in that everything is totally inaccessible without huge labour. This is not according to the understanding and is the result of the jam on London depositories by the huge amount of stuff stored away on account of the War. The wonder is that [Miss] Hobbs managed to get anything for us. She's certainly a capable person. But it costs about a pound a day for labour to get at anything. I am satisfied however that the things are as safe as they could be anywhere, and I always thought, at the outset, that you'd be back in a year.

At the eleventh hour Hobbs found a place in Theobalds Road, that I rather fancied, not a good locality for our purpose, but the house has features that make it seem very safe and unusually secluded. The rent seemed very big for such a place, £52 (it would be dear at £35 in Edinburgh) but I decided I'd offer £40 for it and did so. Just as I was leaving London the landlord wrote stating £50 was their limit. I can't make up my mind, as there is little hope that the London people would contribute enough even for running expenses, and I've that £3 a week to Hammond hanging over me and Lord knows what else. I think it as well to let it slide pro tem, I may go up to London again in August, and knowing better how the land lies may be able to come to some decision. You should tell me whether in your opinion, it is worth while shifting the stuff.

I'm not just very well at the moment, and perhaps I may decide next week to take the Theobalds Rd place if still available. It would at least give us a locus standi and the good Mary has quite a lot of promising Can[didate]s the sort I think who really mean it and would stick to the thing. There is a capital fellow called Best, whom I thought highly of—at Mrs D's afternoon reception there appeared a person in immaculate evening dress (with which he didn't appear to harmonise) and who was introduced as an initiate of Papus's lodge and who seemed to think very highly of himself. He is the image of a German Jew I once came into contact with and loathed, and this may involuntarily have prejudiced me against him. He has obviously more leisure than is good for him, and I could have made use of him, but for the feeling that he is a person to be cautious with, much too fond of pushing himself in, and of saying patronising things. It was a little before it dawned on me that he is the identical missionary de Wolfe who wrote you about the Qabalah. I think there are honester ways of getting a living than by trying to convert Jews and he admits he has never met a genuine case. I'd have advised him not to have anything to do with is, only it's evident he knows his present profession is a humbug, and that he's trying to find something else. Mary is perhaps too simple and I had to caution her. I'd not put too much confidence in de Wolf. There's nothing really against him, only I had an instinctive feeling of my own. He is a Dutch Jew. You might enlighten as to what to do in accepting a Bro[ther] from the Essene Lodge of Papus—don't want possible emissaries.

The others are nice ordinary people and would help us. I saw, of the faithful only Steff Langston [William Steff-Langston], who is as I thought an all righter, and very genuine, he and Mary 'took to' each other—and a Mrs Phillips who has come back to us. We called at the Chaldean Library but L Henri [?] was ill. Mrs D invited 'Cheiro' to come one evening, but he didn't. I was surprised at Anna Wright never having acknowledged my letters. It turned out that she had been away abroad a long time and only got my letters just before I left London. I missed seeing her. Mrs D was kindness itself and I should have had a changing time, but for my unlucky cold. It's curious, as London air suits me better than Edinburgh. I kept out in the sun (it was ideal weather) all I could.

It was a black week otherwise. That stink in Dublin etc. The town is a ruin, I am told by people there, and done by Irishmen with Hun gold and Hun bullets. Man is indeed a base animal.

It's none of my business but you should give the enclosed to Mater [Leila Waddell], and I hope you have shared the former ones. Give her my love and nothing is changed. I did no more than heartily sympathise with her, as I still do, I have trusted to your word that you are doing the straight and right thing in spite of appearance of dishonour, but some enlightenment would be welcome. Time goes on and there's no solution.

On the assumption that solution and clarcissement will arrive one day I send you my blessing, BUT one tenth to you 9 tenths to Mater. Mrs D was speaking so kindly about her and recalling old times, but had no questions.

Must.

Fraternally.

F[iat] P[ax].

By the way Mrs D has given Hobbs a forenoon engagement to look after her correspondence, so she has now a decent living and my mind (and conscience) is relieved about her. It's nearly 4 weeks since I heard from you.

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