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sure?" he said ... and then stopped. "I am not sure of anything," I retorted, "that's just where a critic 
of your ability comes in to guide our wanderings." He apologetically answered that nothing was 
further from his mind than to criticize anything I said. He agreed entirely; but what he wanted to 
know was -- well, to put it plainly, who I was, and why I had asked to see him? "But you're Mencken!" 
I gasped. "I certainly am," he admitted. "Well," said I, "I'm Aleister Crowley." He bowed deeply. "I 
don't doubt it for a second, but as I have not had the pleasure of hearing your name till now --- "I 
saw a great light. "Heaven help me for a fool," I cried. "You can't be my Mencken at all!" 
Explanations took place. He was a business man from South Africa. At this moment Harrison strolled 
up and we all enjoyed the joke over more brandy and still bigger cigars. 
When the real Mencken turned up, the tale of the conversation wagged out the message --- Jane 
Burr. This lady had recently arrived in London and created a silly-season scandal by walking about in 
knickerbockers. On this frail foundation, she had erected a superstructure of sexual ethics which 
bored the educated, excited the suppressed, and scandalized the orthodox. That night she was to 
be the lioness at a reception at Robinson Smith's. I said, "What rot this sensation stunt business is. 
I'll bring a girl who wears knickerbockers for their convenience in playing Thelema and climbing 
rocks in Sicily. This Miss Burr will look like a model of Madame Tussaud's beside the original." 
I did not know that Jane Burr was to be escorted by Mencken himself, and he told her what I had 
said. The Ape in her flowered black suit and stockings, wearing the silver and scarlet Star of the 
Temple, arrived with me and Harrison. Some took her to be Jane Burr, but all were spontaneous in 
admiration. Her success was due to her having the secret of wearing clothes, 
{909} 
oblivious of their existence. She had been acclaimed the Queen of the Evening when Jane Burr 
arrived. She had realized that she stood no chance against the real thing, put her principles in cold 
storage and donned her best evening dress. She did her best to oust her rival, but the failure was 
grotesque. And the worst of the whole thing was that the affair got into the papers. Her recantation 
had ruined her chance of being taken seriously. 
The incidents of my London campaign have constrained me to a somewhat zigzag course. But I think 
this completes the account. I need add only a brief epitome of my successes. 
Besides The Diary of a Drug Fiend and my autohagiography I had contracted with Collins for the 
publication of Simon Iff. By this they pledged themselves to pay me an advance equivalent to the 
subscription sales of The Drug Fiend. They promised to let me have this before November 9th. I had 
also sold to Ralph Shirley the rights of my translation of Eliphas Lévi's La Clef des Grands Mystčres in 
volume form, and he had paid me the advance due. The position was that on leaving London I had 
about twenty pounds on hand after paying my fare and allowing for bare subsistence on the pledged 
word of Collins, Hammond and Austin Harrison. 
All three failed me! If I have survived, it is that the gods have some further use for me. My own 
efforts break down every time, and that in circumstances such that the improbability of their doing 
so is enormous. The one miracle matches the other. If I were even tempted to doubt that my career 
is planned in every detail by my spiritual superiors with the precision of a chess player whose pieces 
are powerless to move except at his command, incidents of this surprising kind would bring me back 
with a jerk to a sense of reality. 
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95 
I broke the journey at Rome. All through northern Italy we had been held up by bandits of Fascisti, 
who had occupied the railway stations. It was the day of the coup d'état. For sometime I had 
interested myself in Fascismo which I regarded with entire sympathy even excluding its illegitimacy 
on the ground that constitutional authority had become to all intents and purposes a dead letter. I 
was delighted with the common sense of its programme and was especially pleased by its attitude