55 
Money 
Cara Soror, 
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. 
You ask me for the initiated view about the power of 
money. As the poet says: "O.k. oke; I'm yer bloke." F. 
Marion 
Crawford, a Victorian novelist, now (I think 
deservedly) obsolescent, though I saw one of his books last 
week on the shelves of a tuppenny shark-library,' wrote a 
tale Mr. Isaacs based on the life of one Mr. Jacobs, the Indian 
Rothschild of two generations ago, financing princes, little 
wars-everything. One night in Bombay the burden of his 
wealth broke his nerve; he stood at the window of his hotel, 
and flung masses of money to the mob. Soon after came a 
stranger, and said to him, "You have insulted the fourth of 
the great powers that rule this world; it shall be taken from 
you." It was so; he lost all. In the end he became, after a 
fashion, Sannyasi, and died (I suppose) in the usual odour. 
I thought of this incident in Paris in the twenties, when I 
saw American tourists plaster the bonnets of their cars with 
1000 franc notes, or tear them up and strew the floors of 
banks with them. Grimly I prognosticated Twenty-Nine. And 
it was so. 
"Nice work!" you charmingly remark; "but hardly what I 
sought to know." Patience, child! 
1. No money-lender in the drunkenness of guilt plus the delirium of cocaine 
fortified by buckets of hashish would dare dream of getting such interest on his 
capital as these vampires. 
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