July 30, 1990 e.v. key entry by Fr. H.B. (class A material) and by Bill Heidrick, T.G. of O.T.O. First proofreading against first edition on 12/10/90 e.v. by Bill Heidrick --- could benefit from further proof reading
Copyright (c) O.T.O. disk 1 of 2
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CONTENTS
ROSA Coeli --- Abjad-i-al'ain --- The Hermit --- The Wizard Way --- The Wings --- The Garden of Janus --- The Two Secrets --- The Priestess of Panormita --- The Hawk and the Babe --- The Duellists --- Athor and Asar --- After Judgment --- The Five Adorations -- Telepathy --- The Swimmer --- The Muse --- The God and the Girl --- Rosemary --- Au Bal --- Disappointment --- The Octopus --- The Eyes of Dorothy --- Bathyllus --- The Mantra-Yogi --- The Poet and his Muse --- Lilith --- Sport and Marriage --- The Twins --- The Convert --- The Sorceress --- The Child --- Clytie --- A Slim Gilt Soul --- The Silence of Columbine --- The Archaeologist --- The Ladder --- Belladonna --- The Poet at Bay --- Ut --- Rosa Decidua --- The Circle and the Point --- In Memoriam --- Ad Fidelem Infidelem --- The Sphinx --- The Jew of Fez --- The Pentagram --- Song --- An Hymn --- Prologue to Rodin in Rime --- The Camp Fire --- Ave Adonai --- The Wild Ass --- The Opium-Smoker --- In Manu Dominae.
Mr. Todd: a Morality.
TRANSLATIONS: L'Amour et le Crane --- L'Alchimie de Douleur --- Le Vampire --- Le Balcon --- Le Gout de L'Infini --- L'Heautontimoroumenos --- Le vin de L'Assassin --- Woman --- Tout Entiere --- Le vin des Amants --- Le Revenant --- Lola de Valence --- Le Beau Navire --- L'Invitation au Voyage --- Epilogue to "Petits Poems en Prose" --- Colloque Sentimental --- En Sourdine --- The Magician.
MR. NEUBURG'S NEW VOLUME OF POEMS.
"Imperial" 16mo, pp. 200
----------------
"Now ready. Order through" The Equinox, "or of
any Bookseller."
THE TRIUMPH OF PAN.
POEMS By VICTOR B. NEUBURG.
This volume, containing many poems, --- nearly all of them hitherto unpublished --- besides THE TRIUMPH OF PAN, includes THE ROMANCE OF OLIVIA VANE.
The First Edition is limited to Two Hundred and Fifty copies: Two Hundred and Twenty on ordinary paper, whereof less than Two Hundred are for sale; and thirty on Japanese vellum, of which Twenty-five are for sale. These latter copies are numbered, and signed by the Author. The binding is half-parchment with crimson sides; the ordinary copies are bound in crimson boards, half holland.
The price of ordinary copies is Five Shillings net; of the special copies, One Guinea net.
EXTRACTS FROM FIRST NOTICES.
"Not everyone will care for Mr. Neuburg's tone in all the pieces, but he is undoubtedly a poet to be reckoned with, and a volume so original as this is should create no small stir. It is superbly produced by the publishers." --- "Sussex Daily News."
"When one comes to the poems ... it is evident that they are written in English.... In a certain oblique and sub-sensible sense, eloquent and musical....Distinctly Wagnerian in their effects...." --- "Scotsman."
"It is full of 'the murmurous monotones of whispering lust,' 'the song of young desire,' and that kind of poppycock." --- "London Opinion."
"A competent master of words and rhythms. ... His esoteric style is unreasonably obscure from an intelligent plain poetry-lover's standpoint." --- "Morning Leader."
"A charming volume of poems... Pagan glamour ... passion and vigour. ... 'Sigurd's Songs' are commendable for dealing with the all too largely neglected Scandinavian Theology. ... A scholarly disciple. ... The entire volume is eminently recommendable." --- "Jewish Chronicle."
"A gorgeous rhapsody. ... Fortunately, there are the police. ... On the whole, we cannot help regretting that such splendid powers of imagination and expression are flung away in such literary rioting." --- "Light."
"Sometimes of much beauty of rhythm and phrase. ..." ---"Times."
"Poets who have any originality deserve to be judged by their own standard. ... A Neo-mystic or semi-astrological pantheist. ..." --- "Liverpool Echo."
"Love-making appears to have an added halo in his eyes if it is associated with delirium or bloodshed. ... Mr. Neuburg has a 'careless rapture' all his own; the carelessness, indeed, is just the trouble. His versification is remarkable, and there is something impressive in its mere fluency. ... So luxurious, so rampant, a decadence quickly palls. ... On the whole, this book must be pronounced a quite grievous exhibition of recklessness and folly." --- "Manchester Guardian."
"...We began to be suspicious of him. ... Hardly the sort of person we should care to meet on a dark night with a knobby stick in his hand. ... This clever book." --- "Academy."
"A vivid imagination fostered by a keen and loving insight of nature, and this allied to a command of richly adorned language ... have already assured for the author a prominent place amongst present-day poets. ... An enthusiastic devotion to classic song ... sustained metrical charm. From first to last the poet's work is an important contribution to the century's literature." --- "Publishers' Circular."
"This [book] contains the answer to a very well-known riddle propounded by the late Elizabeth Barrett Browning. You remember she asked in one of her poems, 'What was he doing to Great God Pan: Down in the reeds by the River?' Well, Mr. Victor Neuburg has discovered the answer, for he was obviously wandering near the river if he was not hidden in the reeds. ..." --- "ROBERT ROSS in "The Bystander."
"There is no question about the poetic quality of much of Mr. Neuburg's verse. ... We are given visions of love which open new amorous possibilities." --- "Daily Chronicle."
RIDER'S OCCULT PUBLICATIONS
-------------------
JUST PUBLISHED
THE KABALA OF NUMBERS. A Handbook dealing with the Traditional Interpretation
of Numbers and their Predictive Value. By "SEPHARIAL," Author of "A
Manual of Occultism," "Kabalistic Astrology," "Prognostic Astronomy,"
etc. etc. About 168 pp. crown 8vo, ornamental cloth gilt, 2"s." net.
-------------------
A MANUAL OF OCCULTISM. A complete Exposition of the Occult Arts and Sciences
by "SEPHARIAL," Author of "A Manual of Astrology," "Prognostic
Astronomy," "Kabalistic Astrology," etc. etc. With numerous diagrams and
illustrations. 368 pp., handsomely bound in cloth gilt. Gilt tops.
Crown 8vo. 6"s." net.
CONTENTS:
PART I. THE OCCULT SCIENCES, comprising: Astrology --- Palmistry ---
The New God --- Prophets and Prophecies --- Prophecies and Anticipations --- Julian the Apostate --- Mystical Christianity --- The Perfect Way --- Relationship of Christianity to Gnostic Faiths --- Early Christian Evidences --- Founders of Orthodox Christianity --- Friedrich Nietzsche --- The Strange Case of Lurancy Vennum --- Cagliostro.
Dr. ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE, writing to the author, characterises this book as "excellent both in style and matter."
"Mr HAVELOCK ELLIS writes to the author: --- "I have read your brilliant and stimulating volume of essays with much interest."
"The highly controversial matters of which he treats are dealt with in an exceptionally interesting and fascinating fashion ... suggestive and thoughtful, and written in a clear and illuminative style." --- "The Globe."
"Marked by very considerable literary ability." --- "Scotsman."
"Twelve brilliant and striking essays." --- "Liverpool Daily Post."
"Essays ... combining lightness of expression with considerable depth and originality of thought." --- "Birmingham Daily Post."
"Mr. Shirley illuminates his subject with a pleasing humour, and his book is readable and interesting as well as instructive." --- "The Yorkshire Observer."
DEATH: ITS CAUSES AND PHENOMENA. By HEREWARD CARRINGTON and JOHN R. MEADER.
Ornamental black cloth, gilt, 8 3/4 in. x 5 1/2 in., 552 pp., 8"s." 6"d."
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CONTENTS.
PREFACE. PART I. "Physiological." --- I. The Scientific Aspect of Life and Death. II. The Signs of Death. III. Trance, Catalepsy, Suspended Animation, etc. IV. Premature Burial. V. Burial, Cremation, Mummification. VI. The Causes of Death. VII. Old Age; its Scientific Study. VIII. The Questionnaire on Death: Answers. IX. My Own Theory of the Nature of Death (Hereward Carrington). X. My Own Theory of the Nature of Death (John R. Meader). XI. On the Possible Unification of our Theories. XII. General Conclusions.
PART II. "Historical." --- I. Man's Theories of Immortality. II. The Philosophical Aspect of Death and Immortality. III. The Theological Aspect of Death and Immortality. IV. The Common Arguments for Immortality.
PART III. "Psychological." --- Introductory. I. The Moment of Death. II. Visions of the Dying. III. Death Described from Beyond the Veil. IV. Experiments in Photographing and Weighting the Soul. V. Death Coincidences. VI. The Testimony of Science --- Psychical Research. VII. On the Intra-Cosmic Difficulties of Communication. VIII. Conclusions. Appendices. Bibliography. Index.
"The book ... has much to recommend it on the score of stimulus to calm reasoning and further research" --- "Pall Mall Gazette."
"The collaborators may certainly claim that they have brought proven evidence as to the persistence of individual consciousness and personal identity which merits consideration." --- "Sunday Times." "Well worth reading." --- "The Tatler."
"Our authors have maintained an admirably detached attitude ... Mr Carrington's theory will stand many tests of application in the light of our present knowledge." --- "Westminster Gazette." "An extraordinarily interesting book." --- "Truth."
"One closes their comprehensive survey with the conviction that the subject has been dealt with by two well-equipped, careful investigators." --- "T. P.'s Weekley." "A really useful piece of work." --- "T.P.S. Book Notes."
-------------------
London WILLIAM RIDER & SON, Ltd., 164 Aldersgate Street, E.C.
The Star in the West
BY
CAPTAIN J. F. C. FULLER
"FOURTH LARGE EDITION NOW IN PREPARATION"
THROUGH THE EQUINOX AND ALL BOOKSELLERS
SIX SHILLINGS NET
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A highly original study of morals and
religion by a new writer, who is as
entertaining as the average novelist is
dull. Nowadays human thought has
taken a brighter place in the creation:
our emotions are weary of bad baronets
and stolen wills; they are now only
excited by spiritual crises, catastrophes of
the reason, triumphs of the intelligence.
In these fields Captain Fuller is a master
dramatist.
=====================================
"This page is reserved for Official Pronouncements by the Chancellor
of the A".'." A".'.]
Persons wishing for information, assistance, further interpretation, etc., are requested to communicate with
THE CHANCELLOR OF THE A.'. A.'.
c/o THE EQUINOX,
3 Great James Street,
W.C.
Telephone: CITY 8987,
or to call at that address by appointment. A representative will be there to meet them.
======================
Probationers are reminded that the object of Probations and Ordeals is one: namely, to select Adepts. But the method appears twofold: (i) to fortify the fit; (ii) to eliminate the unfit.
======================
The Chancellor of the A.'. A.'. views without satisfaction the practice of Probationers working together. A Probationer should work with his Neophyte, or alone. Breach of this rule may prove a bar to advancement.
THE EQUINOX
"The Editor will be glad to consider
contributions and to return such as
are unacceptable if stamps are enclosed
for the purpose"
THE EQUINOX
THE OFFICIAL ORGAN OF THE A.'. A.'.
THE REVIEW OF SCIENTIFIC ILLUMINISM
An. VII VOL. I. NO. VI. Sun in Libra
SEPTEMBER MCMXI
O.S.
"THE METHOD OF SCIENCE---THE AIM OF RELIGION"
WIELAND & CO.
3 GREAT JAMES STREET, GRAY'S INN
LONDON, W.C.
PRINTED BY
TURNBULL AND SPEARS.
EDINBURGH
CONTENTS
PAGE
EDITORIAL 1
LIBER X 3
LIBER XVI 9
LIBER XC 17
LIBER CLVI 23
LIBER CC 29
LIBER CCCLXX 33
THREE POEMS FOR JANE CHERON. BY ALEISTER CROWLEY 41
CIRCLE. BY ETHEL ARCHER 52
THE ELECTRIC SILENCE 53
SONG 66
THE SCORPION. BY ALEISTER CROWLEY 67
THE EARTH. BY FRANCIS BENDICK 108
SLEEP. BY ETHEL ARCHER 112
THE ORDEAL OF IDA PENDRAGON. BY MARTIAL NAY 113
THE AUTUMN WOODS. BY VICTOR J. I. NEUBURG 149
THE DANGERS OF MYSTICISM 153
THE BIG STICK. BY JOHN YARKER, E. WHINERAY, ALEISTER CROWLEY, ETC. 160
SPECIAL SUPPLEMENT
THE RITES OF ELEUSIS 1
["The necessity of giving immediate publication to the text of The Rites of
Eleusis has obliged us to hold over the instalment of The Temple of Solomon
the King until next March."]
EDITORIAL
SLOWLY but surely the EQUINOX climbs from crest to crest of prosperity. such has been the response to the appeal in our last number that we have been able to put in hand the task of translating the Official Instructions of A.'. A.'. into French, and, if it continues, we shall be able to publish them in every important language of the world within the next two years.
Your overworked Editor, too, has been able to take the longest and happiest holiday of his life. River and forest have given him all that nature can; and this was the least part of his contentment. Moreover, he has been able to prepare, under sublime guidance, a dozen Official Instructions of A.'. A.'., to conclude the great Qabalistic Dictionary of Gematria, and to begin the almost equally important Greek Dictionary on similar lines.
He has had leisure to produce more play, sketches, poems, and stories in this last year than he has done in any previous five years of his life.
For all this his gratitude is due, and must be expressed, to the self-sacrificing devotion of our sworn sub-editor, Mr. Victor J. I. Neuburg. Rarely in all history has so unpleasing an exterior concealed such sterling qualities of heart and brain, such indomitable courage, such inflexibility of will, such loyalty and truth. We are glad to hear that he is about to accept a highly paid post on the staff of our bright little contemporary "The Looking-Glass," and that he who himself sings so musically may be in his turn the means of making others sing.
As we observed above, we are causing several extracts from the EQUINOX to be translated into French. {1}
We are further glad to hear such good reports from every branch. The North and the Midlands are already making London look to its laurels; the West has surpassed all hope; America, South Africa, Burma, India, the Malay Peninsula, West Africa, all thrive. Australia has received an important addition to its strength; we have excellent accounts from British Columbia, Paraguay, and Brazil. France is being specially nursed at present, but Holland, Switzerland, and Germany need no such aid. The work in Spain is still hampered by political conditions, and we are sorry to hear little from Italy. In Algeria and Egypt work has got somewhat into arrear, but we hope that the winter will see the fundamental task fairly accomplished.
As we go to press, we are overjoyed to receive the most excellent accounts from the Caucasus, where the good work done by Monsieur Nelidoff twenty years ago has come to marvellous fruition.
With regard to personal progress of Probationers, nothing can be more satisfactory. The process of sifting, subtle but severe, initiated by V.V.V.V.V., and carried out so thoroughly by the Praemonstrator of A.'. A.'., has been perfectly successful.
Every day brings a report illustrative of the fact that people who do not do the practices, but gossip about the A.'. A.'., find themselves mysteriously outside, without word spoken; and the correlative fact, that people who do the practices find that results do happen.
It is most astonishing, even to us; under the old empirical, dogmatic methods people could work really hard for years, and get absolutely nothing; in our three years' experience with the A.'. A.'., we have not found one man in whom three months' work has not produced at least one notable result.
What can we add but this: Blessing and worship to the Beast, the Prophet of the Lovely Star! {2}
LIBER
PORTA LVCIS
SVB FIGVRA
X
{3}
A.'. A.'.
Publication in Class A.
Imprimatur:
N. Fra A.'. A.'.
LIBER
PORTA LVCIS
SVB FIGVRA X
1. I behold a small dark orb, wheeling in an abyss of infinite space. It is minute among a myriad vast ones, dark amid a myriad bright ones.
2. I who comprehend in myself all the vast and the minute, all the bright and the dark, have mitigated the brilliance of mine unutterable splendour, sending forth V.V.V.V.V. as a ray of my light, as a messenger unto that small dark orb.
3. Then V.V.V.V.V. taketh up the word, and sayeth:
4. Men and women of the Earth, to you am I come from the Ages beyond the Ages, from the Space beyond your vision; and I bring to you these words.
5. But they heard him not, for they were not ready to receive them.
6. But certain men heard and understood, and through them shall this Knowledge be made known.
7. The least therefore of them, the servant of them all, writeth this book.
8. He writeth for them that are ready. Thus is it known if one be ready, if he be endowed with certain gifts, if he be fitted by birth, or by wealth, or by intelligence, or by some {5} other manifest sign. And the servants of the master by his insight shall judge of these.
9. This Knowledge is not for all men; few indeed are called, but of these few many are chosen.
10. This is the nature of the Work.
11. First, there are many and diverse conditions of life upon this earth. In all of these is some seed of sorrow. Who can escape from sickness and from old age and from death?
12. We are come to save our fellows from these things. For there is a life intense with knowledge and extreme bliss which is untouched by any of them.
13. To this life we attain even here and now. The adepts, the servants of V.V.V.V.V., have attained thereunto.
14. It is impossible to tell you of the splendours of that to which they have attained.
Little by little, as your eyes grow stronger, will we unveil to you the ineffable glory of the Path of the Adepts, and its nameless goal.
15. Even as a man ascending a steep mountain is lost to sight of his friends in the valley, so must the adept seem. They shall say: He is lost in the clouds. But he shall rejoice in the sunlight above them, and come to the eternal snows.
16. Or as a scholar may learn some secret language of the ancients, his friends shall say: "Look! he pretends to read this book. But it is unintelligible --- it is nonsense." Yet he delights in the Odyssey, while they read vain and vulgar things.
17. We shall bring you to Absolute Truth, Absolute Light, Absolute Bliss. {6}
18. Many adepts throughout the ages have sought to do this; but their words have been perverted by their successors, and again and again the Veil has fallen upon the Holy of Holies.
19. To you who yet wander in the Court of the Profane we cannot yet reveal all; but you will easily understand that the religions of the world are but symbols and veils of the Absolute Truth. So also are the philosophies. To the adept, seeing all these things from above, there seems nothing to choose between Buddha and Mohammed, between Atheism and Theism.
20. The many change and pass; the one remains. Even as wood and coal and iron burn up together in one great flame, if only that furnace be of transcendent heat; so in the alembic of this spiritual alchemy, if only the zelator blow sufficiently upon his furnace all the systems of earth are consumed in the One Knowledge.
21. Nevertheless, as a fire cannot be started with iron alone, in the beginning one system may be suited for one seeker, another for another.
22. We therefore who are without the chains of ignorance, look closely into the heart of the seeker and lead him by the path which is best suited to his nature unto the ultimate end of all things, the supreme realization, the Life which abideth in Light, yea, the Life which abideth in Light. {7}
LIBER TVRRIS
VEL
DOMVS DEI
SUB FIGVRA
XVI
A.'. A.'.
Publication in Class B.
Imprimatur:
N. Fra A.'. A.'.
LIBER TVRRIS
VEL DOMVS DEI
SUB FIGVRA XVI
0. This practice is very difficult. The student cannot hope for much success unless he have thoroughly mastered Asana, and obtained much definite success in the meditation-practices of Liber E and Liber HHH.
On the other hand, any success in this practice is of an exceedingly high character, and the student is less liable to illusion and self-deception in this than in almost any other that We make known.
[The meditation-practice in Liber E consisted in the restraint of the mind to a single predetermined imagined object exterior to the student, simple or complex, at rest or in motion: those of Liber HHH in causing the mind to pass through a predetermined series of states: the Raja-Yoga of the Hindus is mainly an extension of the methods of Liber E to interior objects: the Mahasatipatthana of the Buddhists is primarily an observation and analysis of bodily movements. While the present practice differs radically from all of these, it is of the greatest advantage to be acquainted practically with each of them, with regard firstly to their incidental difficulties, and secondly to their ascertained results in respect of psychology. ED.]
1. First Point. The student should first discover for himself the apparent position of the point in his brain where thoughts arise, if there be such a point. {11}
If not, he should seek the position of the point where thoughts are judged.
2. Second Point. He must also develop in himself a Will of Destruction, even a Will of Annihilation. It may be that this shall be discovered at an immeasurable distance from his physical body. Nevertheless, this must he reach, with this must he identify himself even to the loss of himself.
3. Third Point. Let this Will then watch vigilantly the point where thoughts arise, or the point where they are judged, and let every thought be annihilated as it is perceived or judged.<<This is also the "Opening of the Eye of Shiva." ED.>>
4. Fourth Point. Next, let every thought be inhibited in its inception.
5. Fifth Point. Next, let even the causes or tendencies that if unchecked ultimate in thoughts be discovered and annihilated.
6. Sixth and Last Point. Let the true Cause of All<<Mayan, the Magician, or Mara. Also The Dweller on the Threshold in a very exalted sense. ED.>> be unmasked and annihilated.
7. This is that which was spoken by wise men of old time concerning the destruction of the world by fire; yea, the destruction of the world by fire.
8. [This and the following verses are of modern origin.] Let the Student remember that each Point represents a definite achievement of great difficulty.
9. Let him not then attempt the second until he be well satisfied of his mastery over the first. {12}
10. This practice is also that which was spoken by Fra P. in a parable as followeth:
11. Foul is the robber stronghold, filled with hate;
Thief strangling thief, and mate at war with mate,
Fronting wild raiders, all forlorn to Fate!
There is nor health nor happiness therein.
Manhood is cowardice, and virtue sin.
Intolerable blackness hems it in.
Not hell's heart hath so noxious a shade;
Yet harmless and unharmed, and undismayed,
Pines in her prison an unsullied maid.
Penned by the master mage to his desire,
She baffles his seductions and his ire,
Praying God's all-annihilating fire.
The Lord of Hosts gave ear unto her song:
The Lord of Hosts waxed wrathful at her wrong.
He loosed the hound of heaven from its thong.
Violent and vivid smote the levin flash.
Once the tower rocked and cracked beneath its lash,
Caught inextinguishable fire; was ash.
But that same fire that quelled the robber strife,
And struck each being out of lust and life,
Left the mild maiden a rejoicing wife. {13}
12. And this:
13. There is a well before the Great White Throne
That is choked up with rubbish from the ages;
Rubble and clay and sediment and stone,
Delight of lizards and despair of sages.
Only the lightning from His hand that sits,
And shall sit when the usurping tyrant falls,
Can purge that wilderness of wills and wits,
Let spring that fountain in eternal halls.
14. And this:
15. Sulphur, Salt, and Mercury:
Which is master of the three?
Salt is Lady of the Sea;
Lord of Air is Mercury.
Now by God's grace here is salt
Fixed beneath the violet vault.
Now by God's love purge it through
With our right Hermetic dew.
Now by God wherein we trust
Be our sophic salt combust.
Then at last the Eye shall see
Three in One and One in Three,
Sulphur, Salt, and Mercury,
Crowned by Heavenly Alchemy! {14}
To the One who sent the Seven
Glory in the Highest Heaven!
To the Seven who are the Ten
Glory on the Earth, Amen!
16. And of the difficulties of this practice and of the Results that reward it, let these things be discovered by the right Ingenium of the Practicus.
{15}
LIBER TZADDI
vel
HAMVS HERMETICVS
SVB FIGVRA
XC
{17}
A.'. A.'.
Publication in Class A.
Imprimatur:
N. Fra A.'. A.'.
LIBER TZADDI
vel HAMVS HERMETICVS
SVB FIGVRA XC
0. In the name of the Lord of Initiation, Amen.
1. I fly and I alight as an hawk: of mother-of-emerald are my mighty-sweeping wings.
2. I swoop down upon the black earth; and it gladdens into green at my coming.
3. Children of Earth! rejoice! rejoice exceedingly; for your salvation is at hand.
4. The end of sorrow is come; I will ravish you away into mine unutterable joy.
5. I will kiss you, and bring you to the bridal: I will spread a feast before you in the house of happiness.
6. I am not come to rebuke you, or to enslave you.
7. I bid you not turn from your voluptuous ways, from your idleness, from your follies.
8. But I bring you joy to your pleasure, peace to your languor, wisdom to your folly.
9. All that ye do is right, if so be that ye enjoy it.
10. I am come against sorrow, against weariness, against them that seek to enslave you. {19}
11. I pour you lustral wine, that giveth you delight both at the sunset and the dawn.
12. Come with me, and I will give you all that is desirable upon the earth.
13. Because I give you that of which Earth and its joys are but as shadows.
14. They flee away, but my joy abideth even unto the end.
15. I have hidden myself beneath a mask: I am a black and terrible God.
16. With courage conquering fear shall ye approach me: ye shall lay down your heads upon mine altar, expecting the sweep of the sword.
17. But the first kiss of love shall be radiant on your lips; and all my darkness and terror shall turn to light and joy.
18. Only those who fear shall fail. Those who have bent their backs to the yoke of slavery until they can no longer stand upright; them will I despise.
19. But you who have defied the law; you who have conquered by subtlety or force; you will I take unto me, even I will take you unto me.
20. I ask you to sacrifice nothing at mine altar; I am the God who giveth all.
21. Light, Life, Love; Force, Fantasy, Fire; these do I bring you: mine hands are full of these.
22. There is joy in the setting-out; there is joy in the journey; there is joy in the goal.
23. Only if ye are sorrowful, or weary, or angry, or discomforted; then ye may know that ye have lost the golden thread, the thread wherewith I guide you to the heart of the groves of Eleusis. {20}
24. My disciples are proud and beautiful; they are strong and swift; they rule their way like mighty conquerors.
25. The weak, the timid, the imperfect, the cowardly, the poor, the tearful --- these are mine enemies, and I am come to destroy them.
26. This also is compassion: an end to the sickness of earth. A rooting-out of the weeds: a watering of the flowers.
27. O my children, ye are more beautiful than the flowers: ye must not fade in your season.
28. I love you; I would sprinkle you with the divine dew of immortality.
29. This immortality is no vain hope beyond the grave: I offer you the certain consciousness of bliss.
30. I offer it at once, on earth; before an hour hath struck upon the bell, ye shall be with Me in the Abodes that are beyond Decay.
31. Also I give you power earthly and joy earthly; wealth, and health, and length of days. Adoration and love shall cling to your feet, and twine around your heart.
32. Only your mouths shall drink of a delicious wine --- the wine of Iacchus; they shall reach ever to the heavenly kiss of the Beautiful God.
33. I reveal unto you a great mystery. Ye stand between the abyss of height and the abyss of depth.
34. In either awaits you a Companion; and that Companion is Yourself.
35. Ye can have no other Companion.
36. Many have arisen, being wise. They have said "Seek out the glittering Image in the place ever golden, and unite yourselves with It." {21}
37. Many have arisen, being foolish. They have said, "Stoop down unto the darkly splendid world, and be wedded to that Blind Creature of the Slime."
38. I who am beyond Wisdom and Folly, arise and say unto you: achieve both weddings! Unite yourselves with both!
39. Beware, beware, I say, lest ye seek after the one and lose the other!
40. My adepts stand upright; their head above the heavens, their feet below the hells.
41. But since one is naturally attracted to the Angel, another to the Demon, let the first strengthen the lower link, the last attach more firmly to the higher.
42. Thus shall equilibrium become perfect. I will aid my disciples; as fast as they acquire this balanced power and joy so faster will I push them.
43. They shall in their turn speak from this Invisible Throne; their words shall illumine the worlds.
44. They shall be masters of majesty and might; they shall be beautiful and joyous; they shall be clothed with victory and splendour; they shall stand upon the firm foundation; the kingdom shall be theirs; yea, the kingdom shall be theirs.
In the name of the Lord of Initiation. Amen.
{22}
LIBER CHETH
VEL
VALLVM ABIEGNI
SVB FIGVRA
CLVI
{23}
A.'. A.'.
Publication in Class A.
Imprimatur:
N. Fra A.'. A.'.
LIBER CHETH
VEL VALLUM ABIEGNI
SVB FIGVRA CLVI
1. This is the secret of the Holy Graal, that is the sacred vessel of our Lady the Scarlet Woman, Babalon the Mother of Abominations, the bride of Chaos, that rideth upon our Lord the Beast.
2. Thou shalt drain out thy blood that is thy life into the golden cup of her fornication.
3. Thou shalt mingle thy life with the universal life. Thou shalt keep not back one drop.
4. Then shall thy brain be dumb, and thy heart beat no more, and all thy life shall go from thee; and thou shalt be cast out upon the midden, and the birds of the air shall feast upon thy flesh, and thy bones shall whiten in the sun.
5. Then shall the winds gather themselves together, and bear thee up as it were a little heap of dust in a sheet that hath four corners, and they shall give it unto the guardians of the abyss.
6. And because there is no life therein, the guardians of the abyss shall bid the angels of the winds pass by. And the angels shall lay thy dust in the City of the Pyramids, and the name thereof shall be no more. {25}
7. Now therefore that thou mayest achieve this ritual of the Holy Graal, do thou divest thyself of all thy goods.
8. Thou hast wealth; give it unto them that have need thereof, yet no desire toward it.
9. Thou hast health; slay thyself in the fervour of thine abandonment unto Our Lady. Let thy flesh hang loose upon thy bones, and thine eyes glare with thy quenchless lust unto the Infinite, with thy passion for the Unknown, for Her that is beyond Knowledge the accursed one.
10. Thou hast love; tear thy mother from thine heart, and spit in the face of thy father. Let thy foot trample the belly of thy wife, and let the babe at her breast be the prey of dogs and vultures.
11. For if thou dost not this with thy will, then shall We do this despite thy will. So that thou attain to the Sacrament of the Graal in the Chapel of Abominations.
12. And behold! if by stealth thou keep unto thyself one thought of thine, then shalt thou be cast out into the abyss for ever; and thou shalt be the lonely one, the eater of dung, the afflicted in the Day of Be-with-Us.
13. Yea! verily this is the Truth, this is the Truth, this is the Truth. Unto thee shall be granted joy and health and wealth and wisdom when thou art no longer thou.
14. Then shall every gain be a new sacrament, and it shall not defile thee; thou shalt revel with the wanton in the market-place, and the virgins shall fling roses upon thee, and the merchants bend their knees and bring thee gold and spices. Also young boys shall pour wonderful wines for thee, and the singers and the dancers shall sing and dance for thee. {26}
15. Yet shalt thou not be therein, for thou shalt be forgotten, dust lost in dust.
16. Nor shall the aeon itself avail thee in this; for from the dust shall a white ash be prepared by Hermes the Invisible.
17. And this is the wrath of God, that these things should be thus.
18. And this is the grace of God, that these things should be thus.
19. Wherefore I charge you that ye come unto me in the Beginning; for if ye take but one step in this Path, ye must arrive inevitably at the end thereof.
20. This Path is beyond Life and Death; it is also beyond Love; but that ye know not, for ye know not Love.
21. And the end thereof is known not even unto Our Lady or to the Beast whereon She rideth; nor unto the Virgin her daughter nor unto Chaos her lawful Lord; but unto the Crowned Child is it known? It is not known if it be known.
22. Therefore unto Hadit and unto Nuit be the glory in the End and the Beginning; yea, in the End and the Beginning.
{27}
LIBER RESH
VEL
HELIOS
SVB FIGVRA
CC
{29}
A.'. A.'.
Publication in Class D.
Imprimatur:
N. Fra A.'. A.'.
LIBER RESH
VEL HELIOS.
SVB FIGVRA CC
0. These are the adorations to be performed by all aspirants to the A.'. A.'.
1. Let him greet the Sun at dawn, facing East, giving the sign of his grade. And let him say in a loud voice:
Hail unto Thee who art Ra in Thy rising, even unto Thee who art Ra in Thy strength, who travellest over the Heavens in Thy bark at the Uprising of the Sun.
Tahuti standeth in His splendour at the prow, and Ra-Hoor abideth at the helm.
Hail unto Thee from the Abodes of Night!
2. Also at Noon, let him greet the Sun, facing South, giving the sign of his grade. And let him say in a loud voice:
Hail unto Thee who art Ahathoor in Thy triumphing, even unto Thee who art Ahathoor in Thy beauty, who travellest over the Heavens in Thy bark at the Mid-course of the Sun.
Tahuti standeth in His splendour at the prow, and Ra-Hoor abideth at the helm.
Hail unto Thee from the Abodes of Morning!
3. Also, at Sunset, let him greet the Sun, facing West, {31} giving the sign of his grade. And let him say in a loud voice:
Hail unto Thee who art Tum in Thy setting, even unto Thee who art Tum in Thy joy, who travellest over the Heavens in Thy bark at the Down-going of the Sun.
Tahuti standeth in His splendour at the prow, and Ra-Hoor abideth at the helm.
Hail unto Thee from the Abodes of Day!
4. Lastly, at Midnight, let him greet the Sun, facing North, giving the sign of his grade. And let him say in a loud voice:
Hail unto thee who art Khephra in Thy hiding, even unto Thee who art Khephra in Thy silence, who travellest over the Heavens in Thy bark at the Midnight Hour of the Sun.
Tahuti standeth in His splendour at the prow, and Ra-Hoor abideth at the helm.
Hail unto Thee from the Abodes of Evening.
5. And after each of these invocations thou shalt give the sign of silence, and afterwards thou shalt perform the adoration that is taught thee by thy Superior. And then do thou compose Thyself to holy meditation.
6. Also it is better if in these adorations thou assume the God-form of Whom thou adorest, as if thou didst unite with Him in the adoration of That which is beyond Him.
7. Thus shalt thou ever be mindful of the Great Work which thou hast undertaken to perform, and thus shalt thou be strengthened to pursue it unto the attainment of the Stone of the Wise, the Summum Bonum, True Wisdom and Perfect Happiness. {32}
LIBER A'ASH
VEL
CAPRICORNI PNEVMATICI
SVB FIGVRA
CCCLXX
{33}
A.'. A.'.
Publication in Class A.
Imprimatur:
N. Fra A.'. A.'.
LIBER A'ASH
VEL CAPRICORNI PNEVMATICI
SVB FIGVRA CCCLXX
0. Gnarled Oak of God! In thy branches is the lightning nested! Above thee hangs the Eyeless Hawk.
1. Thou art blasted and black! Supremely solitary in that heath of scrub.
2. Up! The ruddy clouds hang over thee! It is the storm.
3. There is a flaming gash in the sky.
4. Up.
5. Thou art tossed about in the grip of the storm for an aeon and an aeon and an aeon. But thou givest not thy sap; thou fallest not.
6. Only in the end shalt thou give up thy sap when the great God F. I. A. T. is enthroned on the day of Be-with-Us.
7. For two things are done and a third thing is begun. Isis and Osiris are given over to incest and adultery. Horus leaps up thrice armed from the womb of his mother. Harpocrates his twin is hidden within him. Set is his holy covenant, that he shall display in the great day of M. A. A. T., that is being interpreted the Master of the Temple of A.'. A.'., whose name is Truth. {35}
8. Now in this is the magical power known.
9. It is like the oak that hardens itself and bears up against the storm. It is weather-beaten and scarred and confident like a sea-captain.
10. Also it straineth like a hound in the leash.
11. It hath pride and great subtlety. Yea, and glee also!
12. Let the magus act thus in his conjuration.
13. Let him sit and conjure; let him draw himself together in that forcefulness; let him rise next swollen and straining; let him dash back the hood from his head and fix his basilisk eye upon the sigil of the demon. Then let him sway the force of him to and fro like a satyr in silence, until the Word burst from his throat.
14. Then let him not fall exhausted, although the might have been ten thousandfold the human; but that which floodeth him is the infinite mercy of the Genitor-Genetrix of the Universe, whereof he is the Vessel.
15. Nor do thou deceive thyself. It is easy to tell the live force from the dead matter. It is no easier to tell the live snake from the dead snake.
16. Also concerning vows. Be obstinate, and be not obstinate. Understand that the yielding of the Yoni is one with the lengthening of the Lingam. Thou art both these; and thy vow is but the rustling of the wind on Mount Meru.
17. Now shalt thou adore me who am the Eye and the Tooth, the Goat of the Spirit, the Lord of Creation. I am the Eye in the Triangle, the Silver Star that ye adore.
18. I am Baphomet, that is the Eightfold Word that shall be equilibrated with the Three. {36}
19. There is no act or passion that shall not be a hymn in mine honour.
20. All holy things and all symbolic things shall be my sacraments.
21. These animals are sacred unto me; the goat, and the duck, and the ass, and the gazelle, the man, the woman and the child.
22. All corpses are sacred unto me; they shall not be touched save in mine eucharist. All lonely places are sacred unto me; where one man gathereth himself together in my name, there will I leap forth in the midst of him.
23. I am the hideous god; and who mastereth me is uglier than I.
24. Yet I give more than Bacchus and Apollo; my gifts exceed the olive and the horse.
25. Who worshippeth me must worship me with many rites.
26. I am concealed with all concealments; when the Most Holy Ancient One is stripped and driven through the marketplace I am still secret and apart.
27. Whom I love I chastise with many rods.
28. All things are sacred to me; no thing is sacred from me.
29. For there is no holiness where I am not.
30. Fear not when I fall in the fury of the storm; for mine acorns are blown afar by the wind; and verily I shall rise again, and my children about me, so that we shall uplift our forest in Eternity.
31. Eternity is the storm that covereth me.
32. I am Existence, the Existence that existeth not save through its own Existence, that is beyond the Existence of {37} Existences, and rooted deeper than the No-Thing-Tree in the Land of No-Thing.
33. Now therefore thou knowest when I am within thee, when my hood is spread over thy skull, when my might is more than the penned Indus, and resistless as the Giant Glacier.
34. For as thou art before a lewd woman in Thy nakedness in the bazaar, sucked up by her slyness and smiles, so art thou wholly and no more in part before the symbol of the beloved, though it be but a Pisacha or a Yantra or a Deva.
35. And in all shalt thou create the Infinite Bliss, and the next link of the Infinite Chain.
36. This chain reaches from Eternity to Eternity, ever in triangles --- is not my symbol a triangle? --- ever in circles --- is not the symbol of the Beloved a circle? Therein is all progress base illusion, for every circle is alike and every triangle alike!
37. But the progress is progress, and progress is rapture, constant, dazzling, showers of light, waves of dew, flames of the hair of the Great Goddess, flowers of the roses that are about her neck, Amen!
38. Therefore lift up thyself as I am lifted up. Hold thyself in as I am master to accomplish. At the end, be the end far distant as the stars that lie in the navel of Nuit, do thou slay thyself as I at the end am slain, in the death that is life, in the peace that is mother of war, in the darkness that holds light in his hand as a harlot that plucks a jewel from her nostrils.
39. So therefore the beginning is delight, and the End is delight, and delight is in the midst, even as the Indus is {38} water in the cavern of the glacier, and water among the greater hills and the lesser hills and through the ramparts of the hills and through the plains, and water at the mouth thereof when it leaps forth into the mighty sea, yea, into the mighty sea.
[The Interpretation of this Book will be given to members of the Grade of Dominus Liminis on application, each to his Adeptus.]
{39}
THREE POEMS FOR JANE CHERON
{41}
THREE POEMS FOR JANE CHERON
I
THE WAIF OF OCEANUS
"TO FRANK HARRIS"
SHE is like a flower washed up
On the shore of life by the sea of luck;
A strange and venomous flower, intent
To prove an unguessed continent.
New worlds of love in the curve of its cup!
New fruits to crush, new flowers to pluck.
White waif, white champak-blosso blown
From the jungle to the lost lagoon!
White lily swayed by the wind of time!
Grey eyes that crave the chrism of crime!
Blanched face like a note on a clarion!
Red mouth like the sun through simoon, typhoon!
Hurricanes howl, howl in her heart;
Serpents sleep in her smile; I hear
Horrible happenings long ago,
Direful deeds, weirds of woe, {43}
Things beyond history and art
In the tresses that tumble over her ear!
In what grim gloom did Satan get
This child on what wood-nymph dishevelled?
Whence was the wind that swayed the woods
On their bestial beatitudes?
Or what garden of rose and violet
Lay under the moon wherein they revelled?
She is like a poppy-petal.
All the seas of sleep are hidden
Under the languorous eyelids, whose
Lashes are long and strong to bruise
My heart where her lusts like hornets settle
On sacred leaves, on flowers forbidden.
She is like a drug of wonder.
All the limits of sense dissolve
When we fall like snows from the precipice
Sun-kissed to the black ravines of ice.
I am drowned in the universal thunder;
The hours disrupt, the aeons involve.
Ah! not in any mortal mood
Ends the great verb we conjugate.
From the highest hyberbole she doth swerve
In an incommensurable curve,
And the line of our beatitude
Is one with the sigil of our Fate. {44}
Pallid, a mummy throned, she sits;
The Egyptian eyes, the Egyptian hair,
The band on her brows, the slender hands,
All hieroglyphs of a God's commands
Beyond the rimes that a poet knits
With fruitless travail, sterile care!
Marvellous! marvellous, marvellous!
And again a marvel, a lotus-bud
Dropt from the brows of a Goddess unknown
On the ivory steps of the golden throne,
Virginal brows and luminous
With the star-stream flowing therein for blood.
Ah, but electric thrills the Host
Of the esoteric Eucharist!
The Pagan power of the corn and wine
Mystical, magical, hers and mine,
The dove-plumed snake of the Holy Ghost
That wings and writhes in the wounds unkissed!
Lie there, love --- if I love you indeed
Who adore and wonder and faint for drouth
Of the passion-flower fallen from the other side
Of time and space the tedious tide.
Lie there, lie there, and let me bleed
To death in the breath of the murderous mouth! {45}
II
THE SNOW MAIDEN
"TO MARGARET CALLAGHAN"
MY love is like the lucent globes
That drip from lips of cool crevasses,
To clothe them with the virgin robes
Of mosses, flowers, and grasses.
O spheres compact of fire and dew,
Lamps of the hollows of the mountain,
What dream angelic fathered you
On what celestial fountain?
Nay! but I lay on lower earth
Stagnant in sunless meres! The prison
Of monstrous spawn, detested birth ---
Behold me rearisen!
It was yon fierce diurnal star
That licked me up with his huge kisses,
And dropped me in his rain afar
Upon these frore abysses!
Yea! as I press to the cool moss
My mouth, and drink at its delirious
Delight --- acclaim the Sun across
The menaces of Sirius! {46}
Doth not the World's great Alchemist
Rule earth's alembic with the sun?
Is not the mind a foolish mist,
And is not water one?
The slim white body that you gave,
Wild Jaja', with exotic nautches
Wanton and wonderful, a wave
Of debonair debauches,
Is worth the virgin limbs and lips
Of her the virtuous, the viceless,
With life who never came to grips,
Who gave me nothing priceless.
Give me the purity distilled
From dervish sweat and satyr bruises.
The Holy Graal with wine is filled
From no unbroken cruses.
Doth not the World's great Alchemist
Corrupt His oysters to make pearls?
Shall not these lips praise Him? They kissed
No cold reluctant girl's.
Jaja' hath woven the web of God
From threads of lust and laughter spun.
In heaven the rose is worth the rod;
And love as water, One. {47}
III
JEANNE
A PASTORAL
"TO RAYMOND RADCLYFFE"
"Hey diddle diddle! the cat and the fiddle!
The cow jumped over the moon."
I LAID mine ear against your heart,
Jeanne!
A masterpiece of nature turned
A masterpiece of art,
With your blanched Egyptian beauty foiled
By the hungry eyes, and the red mouth soiled
By the honey of mine that your greed has spoiled,
Jeanne!
The body a corpse and the soul inurned!
Against your heart I laid mine ear,
Jeanne!
And the clock went ticking, ticking.
How could I choose but hear,
Jeanne!
Ah me! what thoughts came pricking
Like spurs in the flanks of a weary horse?
Nor heart nor clock could feel remorse,
But kept their definite deadly course,
Jeanne!
Alas! for man, for his life's disaster:
The clock beats fast, but a heart beats faster. {48}
Oh, your love was a marvellous thing,
Jeanne!
It was dawn, it was fire, it was birth, it was spring,
Jeanne!
But this is the curse, that it quickens its rate,
Lest man by love should escape from fate
And win from the dust to the Uncreate,
Jeanne!
Nay, we are lovers, you and I ---
And we must die, and our love must die!
How have we striven, each of us,
Jeanne!
To break the bars of the prison-house,
Jeanne!
We have raged like cats in a ring of fire,
Driven by desire that was true Desire,
The hate of the lower, the love of the Higher,
Jeanne!
What is the end of it, Jeanne? Why, that's
A mystery not to be solved by cats!
In the fields we wandered through to-day,
Jeanne!
Hand in hand, this wonderful May,
Jeanne!
This May we have made so marvellous
With the infinite longing and love of us, {49}
In the fields all faery with flowers there lay
The placid cows --- that had nothing to say,
Jeanne!
No flame of words from maddening blood,
But complacent chewing of the cud.
I dared not whisper the sudden fear
Of my heart in your miracle of an ear,
Jeanne!
I tightened my lips, and my hand on yours;
So that you might think I loved you more.
But now in the midnight the thought endures,
And the love --- ah what is the dream we adore?
Suppose the infinite peace of the heart,
Jeanne!
The crest and crown of labour and art,
Of the mystic quest, of the toil of the saint,
The mount on whose slopes the strongest faint,
Jeanne!
Suppose that peace of God, that House
Of Delight of the Bridegroom and the Spouse,
Were only the calm of the chewing cows,
Jeanne!
Suppose that in all the worlds inane
There were one thing only vexed and vain,
Turbulent, troubled, and insane,
Jeanne!
Suppose that the universal plan
Had but one flaw, and that flaw were man! {50}
Then --- even then --- we are here,
Jeanne!
We love --- we shall die, sweet heart, take cheer,
Jeanne!
We are bound to a fate that brings release;
We move in a moil that must one day cease;
We shall win to the everlasting peace,
Jeanne!
And how things are, and why, and whence
Are puzzles for fools that lack the sense
Of cows --- enough of the future tense,
Jeanne!
For the end of love and the end of art
Is just --- my ear against your heart!
ALEISTER CROWLEY.
{51}
CIRCE
HER mouth a rosebud of delight,
Low-laughing 'mid the languid curls,
Whose kissing cadence seems to cite
The rhythmic melody of Night.
Her hair a saraband where whirls
A wanton witch, whose perfumes smite
The shuddering air; a summer night
Where summer lightning darts and curls.
Her soul a Parian marble shrine,
Centred in lily-cups that fold
Their carven petals, smooth and cold,
Far o'er a lake of frozen wine ---
Yet deep within whose inmost fold
Sleepeth a snake: the crystal brine
Of endless sorrow seals his shrine;
Wiser than Sin is he, so old!
ETHEL ARCHER.
{52}
THE ELECTRIC SILENCE
{53}
THE ELECTRIC SILENCE
[This parable is a synopsis of The Temple of Solomon the King, with which it may be collated. --- ED.].
I WAITED for news that my heart beat. The severing night was between me and my love. There was no god of sleep; sleep were traitor. I sought to praise my love, and to lament the hours that divided us; and I could not. Therefore I wrote down the story of my life.
And it is this:
* * * * *
Gilded and painted to hide its worm-eaten planks, my pleasure-boat was foundering. I cursed the treachery of the workmen, and resolved to trust myself to my own arms rather than to abide any longer therein.
No sooner had I taken off my clothes and plunged into the river than I perceived that it was now become dark. On the one hand glowed a star, curious indeed, but of no great brightness, and promising but little; while on the other was a sombre and fantastic lamp, whose fascination was its horror.
If I swam lazily towards either of these, it was because their light, confused and difficult on the one part, and tenebrous on the other, was yet light in comparison with that aimless and abiding gloom which had now settled upon the bosom of {55} the river. And these lamps were above the river, children of a nobler element. And in the river is the great Leviathan that devours men.
But before I had come within the sphere of attraction of either of these, suddenly mine eyes were gladdened with a marvellous vision. Infinitely far off, as it seemed, a ray of sunlight shot through the Saturnine gloom of the skies, and lit the surface of the water. And then I perceived that upon the river there floated, within that small circle of light, an ark, or as it might be, a coffin. Then looking up into that pierced cloud I saw within the light a certain house surrounded by a grove. Within, all was dark; yet from it proceeded a ray as silvery as the first ray was golden.
And I desired ardently to enter that house. Yet, having no wings, the task appeared beyond my human force. Then the heavens closed as suddenly as they had opened, and I was left darkling. Yet I had this candle of hope, that within the ark, could I reach it, might be some help of knowledge or power whereby that house might be attained.
So I swam steadily toward, though with some fear, for the eddies in that great stream were numerous, and my sole guide was a slender snake of light that moved upon the water.
Or so it appeared; for I have since discovered that I had an interior sense of direction as trusty as the mariner's compass; so that, though I knew it not, it was never possible for me to go astray.
Now as I swam I came upon one floundering and spluttering in the stream, who with mighty puffings urged me to continue. {56}
For but a little way beyond us (quoth he) is a mighty swimmer and a dexterous.
So with a mighty effort my comrade put forth all his strength, and we gained upon this one, and greeted him.
Thereupon he (and he was a goodly man, and fair) did most heartily welcome me as a fellow-traveller to that house, and confirmed me in my belief that the ark did indeed hold the secret of the way thereto. And as for the guide that might convey us through the darkness and the tumult of the stream, he spoke (something darkly) of one appointed, and more clearly that he was aware of divers marks upon the way; for, said he, to them that view it from above this trackless waste of water is mapped out and charted with a perfect science.
Behold! quoth he. And at that moment was there a glimmer just before me of a white shining triangle, and what was most strange, rather an impression than a vision of a man that hung upon a gibbet by one heel. This, said the fair man, is a most notable sign that we travel the right road.
Now by the light of the triangle I perceived another wonder; for my friend was not swimming as I was in the stream, but was borne by a boat, frail indeed, yet sufficient. Within this shallop or cockleshell he pulled me, and set me at the bench. Then (still by the light of the triangle) I saw a dark man at the thwart, rowing a strong stroke.
We pulled on almost in silence; for when I asked of the fair man his name he answered me only "I wish to know," and of the dark man "I wish it were light," the first clearly a confession of ignorance, the second a patent evasion; which things discomforted me much.
Yet we progressed evenly and rapidly, and were mightily {57} cheered after a while to see just a flash of lightning sundering two dark clouds; next a pale crescent, heavy and slow, yet silvered; next, as if it had dropped from the stars, an unicorn galloped past us and was gone ere we could fix it; next a tall lighthouse upon the water.
"Here," said the dark man my comrade, "is a pleasant place for refreshment before we turn to the further journey." As he spoke, although no sun was visible, a mighty rainbow appeared, and crowned the tower. I cried out joyfully, "The bow of promise," but they answered nothing. And at that I understood that they had travelled further already, and were but returned for an hour to succour me who had no boat.
Seven days then we remained in the tower, eating and drinking. Also in my sleep I had many marvellous dreams, of greater sustenance than sleep itself. And there was given unto me by my fair brother (for so I may now call him) a little book, wherein it was written how a man might build himself a shallop, and have for steersman one appointed thereunto.
This then I laboured to build, and the toil was great. Moreover, certain vile fish rose from the water, and with their fins beat upon the planks of my boat, that I might not end it.
However, at last I had it perfect, and was about to set sail at dawn. But first the dark man my brother departed from us, and went his way. And then the old man of the tower took me aside and offered me a seat at the funeral feast of his master. And although I verily believe that this old man was a rogue, a very knavish fellow, and a sot, yet in that funeral I took great pleasure. For the gentlest perfume was {58} borne upon the breeze, and the air was lit with faint electric flames that gathered themselves into a hill of light. So I, being lifted up, and my heart overflowing, came into the funeral chamber that was exceeding bright, and there was the table for the feast, and beneath it the coffin wherein lay the body of the master. There too I saw barren wood bear roses, and I heard the voice of the master. After that I was shewn all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time, and many other things of great use and beauty.
Then I took my leave of the old man of the tower, and boarded the shallop that I had made, when he cried out piteously that he feared earthquake, and asked me for my aid.
So with a heart both heavy and light I abandoned my shallop and the dreadful labour of its fashioning, and came back to him.
Then came earthquake as he had foreseen; and he and the boats also were swallowed up. In the tidal wave of the earthquake I was borne far away, even from the fair man my brother; and in the darkness he was lost to me. I knew not even whether he had perished.
But fashioning a raft from the loose planks of the wreckage, I made shift to paddle. The ark was invisible, and I had no more memory thereof, so turned away was I and absorbed in the bright signs upon the way. And now my raft was like to sink, and my arms were exceeding weary, when a voice sounded but a little above me: "Enter the ark!"
And I looked up and beheld a bearded man, mighty, with the signs of labour and long journeying writ upon him. I knew him; and for this reason was I much amazed, for I had believed him far from that place. But taking my hand {59} he drew me not without pain into the ark. Here (quoth he) forget all that thou hast seen and heard; for in this ark they are not lawful.
So I obeyed him, else I had drawn after me the raft that had brought me hither.
Then he questioned me, saying:
What lieth above the ark?
And I answered him:
The house of the silver ray, that is lighted by the ray of gold.
"He:" How many roofs hath the ark?
"I:" One.
"He:" Thou must pass through this one. Yet thou lookest eagerly upon the four walls of the ark.
"I:" I seek a door.
"He:" The door is in the roof.
"I:" Lead me to it, I pray thee!
"He:" Fix thine eyes upon it.
"I:" Sir, I will. Yet I pray thee to tell me thy name.
"He:" Thou didst know it of old, didst thou not?
"I:" The son of the mountain?
"He:" The Stone of the Crossways.
"I:" It is enough. Let me fix mine eye upon the door.
"He:" It is well.
Then I obeyed him, and in that obedience forgot him. For though mine eye wandered often, and although once the planks beneath me threatened to give way and plunge me once more into the stream, yet I strove as a man may.
Then, mine eye being accustomed to the gloom, I beheld by my side, yet a little above me, the dark man my brother. {60} Him I greeted most gladly, and told him of the earthquake. Whereat he sighed heavily.
Brother, quoth I, canst thou now tell me thy name? But he only answered me: "It is a pity!"
And with that I returned to my task, and he guided me therein with his counsel and example. Yet in the ark the gloom is fierce; the river without is but twilight, wherein shadows are free; within is darkness itself, and the essence and quintessence of darkness.
In this terrific silence I abode for very long; then for an instant that seemed longer than many lives the sun of heaven broke in and smote mine eye, so that I fell backward nigh fainting. But he bade me be of good cheer and return to the task. I obeyed; and behold! again the sun, and behind the sun a glimpse of one appointed equally to be hidden and to be seen, each as may be fitting.
But the brightness of the sun and its heat dazzled me and scorched me. My members refused to obey; and I slid backward into the great stream that was here so icy cold, and it refreshed me and comforted me.
Now then I was minded to enter again the ark when there flew unto me, I wot not whence, a dove, and perched upon my shoulder. And thus I swam for a while, and the waters of the stream were soft and warm, caressing me.
Yet I felt that this aimless drifting was enervating my limbs; so I gathered some stray planks of my raft -- for they still floated round the ark --- and began half playfully to paddle, with what purpose I cannot tell.
And so it was ordered that the dove flew to me with an oak-leaf in its beak. {61}
Thereat I was silent. But gazing eagerly thereon, I beheld one appointed, and I understood that the oak-leaf was sent from the House.
Then I took counsel of him who is to this end appointed, and with his own hand he brought to me a champak-blossom, a mustard-seed, and again an oak-leaf.
And these I treasured in my bosom, though I hardly knew wherefore. Nor could I understand what purpose they should serve, save darkly. And seeing this, the dove came to me again bearing an olive-branch; and with this I was so mightily pleased that for awhile I forgot all else, and swam lustily in the stream for my pleasure.
But now came a current of ice-cold water and enwrapped me; and when I looked, it bore spots of blood upon it. Then I went hastily into the ark that was ever near by; and, climbing to the roof by the ladder that I had before made, looked through. And all the sky was a hurricane, a madness of storm.
Now in my eagerness I had approached closely to the roof, so that the storm whirled me away into itself. One might say that I was the storm. And when I came to myself I was floating upon the bosom of the river, borne by that very bark that once I had built myself in the lighthouse. And in the storm I had lost my hair and beard; for the wind had torn all out by the root. So that I heard a voice saying, "It is a babe upon the waters." And looking at the bark, I found it refashioned by him that is appointed to refashion. For it had planks of my old shallop, and planks also of the ark, and it was shaped like a cradle rather than like a boat. And I heard the voice of one appointed to speak saying: "Behold thou me!" {62} And I could not. Nevertheless I gazed earnestly, and paddled in the direction of the sound.
While this was a-doing suddenly the river fell in a cataract. And I looked for the olive-branch, and it was withered, and sunk beneath the stream. And I looked for the dove, and it was wrapped round with a most hideous serpent. And I was helpless. In the end he devoured that rose-winged companion of my journey, and went seeking a new prey.
Now in this cataract I had most surely been wrecked but that I clung tightly to the boat. This indeed floated as serenely as if it had been upon the still waters of a lake; and when I had a little plucked up courage, I saw sitting at the helm him that is appointed to steer; I saw him face to face.
This then endured for a space; and with his aid I began ship-buildning. "For" (said he) "there are many that swim, and find no boats. Be it thy task to aid them." Of my journey to the House he spake nothing. But in the ship-building came the fair man my brother to my help; and one evening as we sate at meat he said: May it please you to enter the House; for there is prepared for you a goodly bedchamber. But I would not at that time; for I was ashamed, being unclothed; not understanding that in the House robes are provided by him that is appointed to provide them.
Thus we laboured, and built many fair shallops upon the model of that wherein we sailed. In all these there was not one splinter of wood too much, or too little; and there was no ornament; and neither paint nor varnish covered the planks, for they were planks of a tree that cometh neither from the East nor from the West. But the sails were of gold tissue, very brave, with figures inwoven. {63}
Now at last the time being come, did I take my chamber in the House. And upon the secret things that were there shown to me I ponder yet; so that in this place I shall make no mention of them. But this treasure will I give out, that everything noble in that House seemeth vile to them that are swimming in the stream; and everything vile to them appeareth noble. Thus they endure not the delicate stuffs with rough and impure handling; and the rubbish they carry away with them, and devour. Thus wisely hath the master of the House ordained.
Now of the silver radiance that issueth from the darkness of the House I will say nothing; nor of the golden ray that illuminateth the darkness of the House.
But for the sake of one that may come to share my bed-chamber will I speak of the last adventure.
Upon the breast of the river came a wild swan, singing, and for a moment rested upon mine image reflected in the water. And I said: "Come up hither."
And the wild swan said: "How shall I come up thither?"
"I:" I will guide thee.
"The Swan:" Who art thou?
"I:" My Father is the keeper of the King's Cup: I have prepared a little ship wherein I may go my journeys upon the great river.
Who will draw it?
"The Swan:" I will draw it.
So we set forth together; and of the horrible tempests that arose it is unworthy discourse. And of what followed after is discourse unprofitable; but the wild swan still guides my ship. {64}
And the end shall be as is appointed by the master of the House; but this I know, that this ship is the King's ship. And in my bosom are the champak-blossom, and the mustard seed, and the oak-leaf, more lovely than before.
And upon us watcheth ever he that is appointed to watch.
And the wild swan sings ever; and my heart sings ever.
. . . . . .
Now then I had laid aside the pen, and a voice cried: Write!
Fear not!
Turn not aside!
Is it not written that Sorrow may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning?
Sleep therefore in peace and in faith: shall he not watch whose eye hath no eyelid, who to this end is appointed?
And my heart answered: Amen! {65}
SONG
COME, Love awaken! O'er the wild salt sea,
Shadows strange-shapen whirl themselves and flee
As eddying mist, by storm winds overtaken,
And sunbeams kissed --- the shafts all curled and shaken
In shuddering ecstasy!
Come, Love, nor list to tired dreams that twist
Thy lithe long limbs in fierce abandonment,
Awake, and learn of me the secret of the sea,
Whose meaning is the sum of all things blent
In fiercest harmony.
Soft winds are calling on the cloudy deep,
(Like foam-flowers falling from the breasts of Sleep
Their Lotus-kiss is), such a world forestalling
Of wanton blisses, that the fear of palling
Makes e'en the Sirens weep.
Ah me! What serpent hisses from out those purple bysses,
Far in the womb of the long-lying sea?
She wakes! Nor dare he creep back to her soul, whence Sleep
Has torn aside the mist-hung drapery;
Too strange the way, and steep.
ETHEL ARCHER.
{66}
THE SCORPION
A TRAGEDY IN THREE ACTS
BY
ALEISTER CROWLEY
"God is Love." --- Epistles of St John.
{67}
To GR:Alpha-Gamma-Alpha-Theta-Alpha in memory of the Hour of
Initiation, and to Lampada Tradam and
Mohammed ibn Rahman in memory of our
wanderings in the Desert, and to my brothers
of the O.'. of K. D. S. H. in memory of the
Martyrdom of our G.'. M.'.
J. B. M.
I dedicate this tragedy.
THE SCORPION
PERSONS OF THE TRAGEDY
ACT I
SIR RINALDO DE LA CHAPELLE, "Preceptor of the Knights Templars"
SIR RAYMOND, SIR JAMES, SIR EUSTACHE, and OTHERS, "his Knights"
JOCELYN, "a Troubadour, in their company"<<WEH NOTE: This is an anachronism. No troubadour would have gotten stuck in such a situation. Despite general misconceptions, troubadours generally did not go about singing. Most troubadours just composed and had jongleurs to do the wandering and singing. The system of troubadours and jongleurs developed in 11th to 13th century Provence, following the Norman conquest of Britain, and probably based on the bardic traditions of the British Isles. Minstrels were jongleurs with a permanent position at court. In recent centuries these terms have become confounded. Although there were troubadours during the time of the Templars, they didn't go around battle fields entertaining the troops! Our modern system of composers and performers is directly derived from that of the troubadours and jongleurs.>>
ESQUIRES, "etc., to these"
SAID OMAR, "an Arabian Emir. His band of Warriors"
LAYLAH, "his newly-wedded bride"
A NYMPH, "and children attendant on her"
ACT I
SCENE: "The desert. In the foreground, a walled well with a lever. Three
palms. Tall grasses. The ground is uneven. In the background other
palms, among which are several military charges, held by esquires. Around
the well are Knights Templars, armed, reposing. Also" JOCELYN, "a
troubadour."
JOCELYN ["sings to his harp"]:
Noon slumbers softly in the palms;
The desert breezes whisper psalms;
And we who rest must rise and ride
Beneath the banner cruciform
That braves the Saracen and the storm,
This blessed Christmastide.
For we are hardy, and worn with blows
And battles,
And languish for our mother snows.
What is the gladness of the well
To us who pine for citadel,
And joyous burg, and Christian feast?
But we are vowed to Christ to fight
For God, our honour, and our right
Against the recreant East. {70}
We have left our ladies, you and I,
My brothers!
To keep our castles, and to sigh!
Oh! could some holy hermit give
One short day's dalliance fugitive!
Speed hither through the enchanted air
Our ladies, for our faith's reward!
Would it not sharpen every sword
And perfume every prayer?
Love sharp as holly and pure as snow,
And kisses
Beneath the moon for mistletoe!
SIR RAYMOND. Something ill sung, Jocelyn, and too sadly, forsooth! Here the hermits are foul and malicious. I would clear the land of them.
SIR JAMES. Spies, every one. And enchanters to boot.
SIR EUSTACHE. The maids are worse, to my mind. Think of the gallant Florimond, as tall a knight of his hands as ever swung sword or couched lance.
SIR RAYMOND. Netted like a fish!
SIR JAMES. And now lives in the desert with the witch, a wild man, and banned.
SIR RAYMOND. Little better than a robber. And the word goes that he hath apostatized from our holy faith.
[ALL "cross themselves."
JOCELYN ["sings"]
Heigho! Heigho! the Crescent and Cross!
If the one is a bargain, the other's a loss. {71}
Who would be found
On the ground
Of Mahound
A recreant knight, and a renegade boaster?
Better we each
Leave our bones here to Bleach
And be saved, than go burn with the Paynim impostor!
For the infidel swine
Lack our spirit divine;
There crazy old prophet prohibits them wine!
Drink, every knight!
God and my right!
We'll drive the black dogs to their kennels to-night!
SIR JAMES. Peace to thy ribaldry! Here comes the Preceptor. To saddle!
JOCELYN. Why cannot he ride with us, as a good knight and gay?
SIR JAMES. Who poises in his mind the destinies of Christendom needs not in his ear thy fool's prattle, or thy fool's face at his elbow. Though he have seen but five-and-twenty summers he is wiser than many a greybeard! See, even afar, how weightily he sits his horse. His forehead bent, his shoulders arched ---
JOCELYN. The seat of a hunchback!
SIR JAMES. Like Atlas supporting the world.
SIR RAYMOND. Good Jocelyn, could thy wisest thought match his most foolish, thou would'st sit at the council.
JOCELYN. Gramercy! I smile awry. With a hawk on my wrist, and a madrigal at my lips, a prayer in the morning {72} given, and a kiss stolen at night, I want none of your dusty conclaves. I had as lief be a scholar.
SIR JAMES. If the world were like thee, Christendom would perish in a year and a day. Thy good knights comrades would row the Turkish galleys, and a few prize fools --- such as thou --- make sport for their Emirs or guard their women.
JOCELYN. And a good thing. I am weary of crusading. The sacred Sepulchre is empty --- praise God, Who performed a miracle to make it so! --- and we must perforce come and fill thousands more with good Christian flesh and blood, that was alive and jolly. Let us be off, though! The Preceptor sheds dullness as the sun sheds light, alike on the evil and on the good. One, two, three --- I'll race you all to Sidi Khaled.
["They go off R. toward their horses," JOCELYN "singing as he goes."
What is the worth
Of a hound or a hawk?
A monkey for mirth!
A parrot for talk!
Rosamond's skin
Is whiter than milk,
Seductive as sin
And softer than silk.
Would I were back
From crusade for an hour,
My limbs lying slack
In Rosamond's Bower!
["From the palms C. comes forward" LAYLAH, "veiled, with a pitcher. She
attaches it to the cord of the lever and" {73) "dips it into the well.
She looks about her, and seeing no one, raises her veil."
LAYLAH. From the heart of the sand
The water wells up
Purer than the rain.
So in my heart
Love springs
Chaster than the grace of heaven itself.
Earth purifies
More subtly than the sea.
Only through matter
Can spirit understand itself,
Justify itself, become itself.
This mystery I heard
From the holy man of Bassu.
His beard was whiter than snow
Because it had once been blacker than burnt wood.
So will I cherish my love,
The love which I owe,
Which I give, to my husband
The noblest of the Emirs;
For I and my love and my service
And my duty
All are his.
I have no duty to God
But to obey my husband.
So my heart is freer
That all other hearts, {74}
As the dweller among the palms
Is freer than the wanderer in the desert.
The wanderer must find the palms;
The dweller is at ease.
My heart is a young gazelle
Leaping with love toward my husband.
He is black-bearded and bold and magnificent.
Even on the morn of the wedding he rode forth
Against the infidel.
He is so strong and brave:
God must look favourably upon him,
Bidding him return a conqueror
To the flower of his garden
That awaits his hand to pluck.
["During the last part of the song" SIR RINALDO DE LA CHAPELLE, "preceptor
of the Knights Templars, has entered L. quitely, dismounted, tethered
his palfrey to palm, and approached" LAYLAH. "As she pulls the pitcher
from the water he claps his hands over her eyes. She shudders with
fear, but gives no sound."
SIR RINALDO. You are a brave maiden.
LAYLAH. You are --- an infidel. I had not my dagger, or your shriek --- not mine --- would have summoned my kin.
RINALDO. I have a score good knights within sound of my horn. And your kin are but the dotards and women and little children. Your fighting men are away.
LAYLAH. Ay, slaying your good knights. {75}
RINALDO. It may be so. But you are my hostage.
["He releases her. She faces him."
LAYLAH. A worthless pledge.
RINALDO. These silks and pearls! I could draw your veil through a link in my chain mail.
LAYLAH. I am the bride of the Emir.
RINALDO. A fair bride. I guessed you his daughter.
LAYLAH. My feet have not entered his house.
RINALDO. Your feet are fair. ... Can you tell fortunes?
LAYLAH. On the forehead of every man his destiny is written.
RINALDO. Read mine.
LAYLAH. Let me go to my house.
RINALDO. Then I will read yours. You are to be captive to a strange knight.
LAYLAH. Not to you, Sir Knight!
RINALDO. The rest is dark.
LAYLAH. You dare not touch me.
RINALDO. Sit there! ["He seats her on the wall of the well."] Do you guess what I have been thinking as I rode through the sun to these palms?
LAYLAH. Some new plot to carry fire and sword through our quiet villages.
RINALDO. No. I was wondering why men should not live at peace. I was wondering what was the quarrel that has beggared Europe and made Asia a shambles these nigh five score years.
LAYLAH. I cannot tell you.
RINALDO. This is all I know, that in the time of Pope Urban the Second, some pilgrims to Jerusalem began to {76} grumble.<<WEH NOTE: Gunther's 11th century pilgrimage was massacred.>> And a madman screamed so loud on their behalf that all Europe was infected.<<WEH NOTE: Pope Urban II preached the first Crusade at Clermont. For more on this, see "Christian Intolerance", "Thelema Lodge Calendar", Dec. 1990 e.v.>> All pilgrims grumble. All mankind grumbles. Can chivalry do nothing better than redress grievances? Progress and learning are dead in this eternal redressing. Or if we must redress grievances, let us redress the great grievance, man misunderstanding man!
LAYLAH. Let me go to my house. {"She tries to slip away."]
RINALDO. Sit there! ["He puts her back very accurately."] We worship one God, as you do. That is the essence of agreement. We have one prophet, as you have; there's little odds in a name. Let our fools go worship at the tomb of our prophets, as your fools go worship at the tomb of yours; and let us break the heads only of those who break the peace.
LAYLAH. Let me go to my house. You are breaking the peace now, and I will break your head.
["She has unloosened a stone from the Well and strikes him.
His cheek bleeds."]
RINALDO. ["unmoved."] Sit there! ... So this is my reading of the future. I who met you in hate shall leave you in love ... and there an end of the Crusades!
LAYLAH. Love! ["bitterly sarcastic."]
RINALDO. Love! ["enthusiastic."]
LAYLAH. I had rather a scorpion stung me.
RINALDO. My crest is a scorpion. ["He points to the golden bejewelled crest upon his light helmet."] I am thirsty. Give me water.
LAYLAH. I would give water to a thirsty dog. ["She pours water into his hands."] {77}
RINALDO. For water I will give you fire. Twelve hundred years ago came peace on earth and goodwill toward men through a virgin sacrifice. ... History repeats itself.
LAYLAH. I am on the edge of the well; but I shall not fall in. You are a renegade, I see; and, I think, a monster. You are mad with pride and conceit of your own wisdom. So I know you for a fool.
RINALDO. The wisdom of this world is foolishness with God.
LAYLAH. Prate on! Even the dust mocks at you.
RINALDO. There are snakes in the dust.
LAYLAH. What do you mean?
RINALDO. I saw it in your eyes three minutes since. I did not need to turn my head to know that on the horizon gallop your husband and his band.
LAYLAH. You are clever.
RINALDO. And you were forced despite yourself to drop a hint that might warn me to rejoin my knights.
LAYLAH. No!
RINALDO. Yes. By that I knew that you loved me.
LAYLAH. And by this ("she strikes him") know that I hate you.
RINALDO. You are too young. I have seen lions.
LAYLAH. You are a savage.
RINALDO. Nature is savage. Passion is savage. The God alike of Jews and Moslems delights in death. Or why are men and beasts slain in His honour? Brutal force is at the heart of things. Man is dragged crying from his mother's womb in dire agony; man fights his surroundings --- the nearer they are the more bitterly must he fight them {78} --- and at last he is hurled fighting into the hungry mouth of death.
LAYLAH. The cloud grows.
RINALDO. Indeed you love me, if you bid me waste no time.
LAYLAH. Oh no! ...
I must respect you. You treat me as if I were a pebble in the sand. Nothing moves you.
RINALDO. Love moves me.
LAYLAH. We are opposites in all.
RINALDO. So Nature hath ordained. Man hates his neighbour: but when he finds his opposite, he loves it. All joy is the warfare of enemies, from the clash of lance and sabre, when Saracen meets Christian on the plain to --- this, when Christian rushes Saracen in his arms and ---
["He clasps her."
LAYLAH. Oh! ["The pitcher is overturned and the water flows out."
RINALDO. I love you.
LAYLAH. I am a speck of dust in the simoom.
RINALDO. Let it whirl! There is no more Christian and Saracen, but man and woman --- as it was in the beginning and for ever shall be.
"He has borne her in his arms to the tall grasses. She struggles
uselessly. They are now invisible."
LAYLAH. Help me, O God of Battles!
RINALDO. God is love.
["Music. From the well issues a nymph dressed in silver and azure gauze,
with jewels and roses in her hair. After her a cluster of children."]
{79}
THE NYMPH ["sings."]
In the well
Where I dwell,
It is cool, it is dusk;
But the truth
Of my youth
Is a palace of musk.
Truth comes bubbling to my brim;
Light and night are one to Him!
In the dark
You may mark
The slow ooze of my springs,
But you know
Not the glow
Where the soul of me sings.
Truth comes bubbling to my brim;
Life and death are one to Him!
There is cold
In the old
Grey gloom of my caves;
There is heat
In the beat
Of my passionate waves.
Truth come bubbling to my brim;
Love and hate are one to Him.
["They dance and return to the well." R. "and" L. "are now seen behind the
grasses, she sobbing upon his shoulder."] {80}
RINALDO. The cloud blackens all the sky. Laylah!
["He takes the scorpion from his helmet."
Keep this token of me.
LAYLAH. For a token of hate and of revenge!
RINALDO. As you will. But the Crusades are ended!
["He draws her to the well, and lays her down. With her arms on the low
wall, and her face hidden, she sobs." RINALDO "takes his palfrey, and,
with one glance over his shoulder towards the enemy and another to"
LAYLAH, "rides off, driving the spurs into his horse. "LAYLAH "remains
sobbing. After a long interval she half-rises, and stretching her arms
after him, calls brokenly:"
LAYLAH. Come back! ... Come back! ...
["Sobs again take her more violently than ever. She struggles to her feet,
holds out the scorpion crest and calls:"]
Come back! ... Come back!
["She collapses. Dead silence. After a little the distant galloping of
horses is heard. It grows louder and louder." LAYLAH "rises, mistress
of herself, kisses the golden scorpion and hides it at her heart, and
refills the pitcher."
["Enter a band of Saracens, who dismount. Their leader, the" EMIR SAID
OMAR, rushes forward to the well."
SAID OMAR. Victory! we have chased the infidels three days, and the vultures of the desert are gorged, and the jackals burst with fatness. My gazelle, didst thou languish for me? My rose, my tulip, my anemone, slim palm of the oasis, sweet water of the well! We shall feast to-night, {81} little one, star of the night, beautiful young moon over the sand-dunes!
["He clasps her in his arms."
LAYLAH ["tonelessly"]. Victory! Ay, victory is sweet. We shall feast to-night.
["She shudders."
SAID OMAR ["seeing that all is not well"]. What is it? What is it?
LAYLAH. I have had evil dreams.
SAID OMAR ["to his men"]. On to the houses! We must feast; we must sleep.]
["He takes" LAYLAH "on his saddlebow."]
You must sleep, whisper of the west wind!
LAYLAH. I shall have evil dreams.
SAID OMAR. No! you shall not sleep to-night, white fairy of Paradise, black-eyed gazelle of the wilderness!
LAYLAH. Be gentle with me ... I ache ... I have been stung by a scorpion.
SAID OMAR. There are no scorpions in the winter. Where is the wound?
[LAYLAH "puts her hand to her heart, and falls fainting limp across the
saddlebow."]
Call Ibrahim, the wise physician! On to the houses!
["Exeunt. The voice of the nymph of the well, faintly from below."
"Truth comes bubbling to my brim:
Love and Hate are one to Him!"]
CURTAIN.
{82}
PERSONS OF THE TRAGEDY
ACT II
LAYLAH, "wife of Sidi Omar"
SILMAN, "her son by Sir Rinaldo de la Chapelle"
OTHMAN, .
AKBAR, :"her sons by Sidi Omar"
MOHAMMED,.
FATMA, "her aged Nubian nurse"
LEDMIYA, "a young handmaiden, musical. Other waiting-women. Pipe-slaves."
ABDUL KHAN, "an eunuch. Other eunuchs"
ACHMET, "equerry to Sliman"
A FAIR-HAIRED CHRISTIAN MAIDEN, "daughter to Sir Rinaldo de la Chapelle"
MESSENGERS
THE POPULACE
{83}
ACT II
"Twenty years later. An Oriental Palace in a city near Jerusalem; the Hall
of Audience. In the throne is" LAYLAH "veiled. Around her are waiting-
women and her old nurse" FATMA. "At the door an eunuch on guard with
drawn scimitar."
LEDMIYA ["a young girl with a stringed instrument"].
As the flower waits for the rain,
As the lover waits for the moon,
We wait, we wait, an hungry pain,
For tidings from the battle plain ---
If those we love are hurt or slain,
Or if the Lord hath smitten again
The legions of the Cross, and hewn
A path of blood where glory flares.
The sabre strikes, the trumpet blares,
The war horse neighs, --- Oh let us see
The Crescent borne to victory!
LAYLAH. Is there no news?
FATMA. It is rumoured that the battle has begun.
LEDMIYA. Under the very walls of Jerusalem!
ABDUL KHAN. Within the southern gate.
FATMA. Many, many will fall. Alas, alas! {84}
LAYLAH. Sliman is strong and brave --- my splendid boy.
FATMA. Ay, there are hairs on his chin. But the strongest and the bravest fall first.
LAYLAH. Thou ominous owl! Be silent, or I will have thee whipped.
FATMA. Oh! Oh! indeed I only say what we all know. If he should die indeed, thou mayst have Sidi Omar left, thy dear lord. And Othman, and Akbar, and Mohammed!
LAYLAH. Sliman is my first-born.
FATMA. Ay, he is not like his brothers. He is square and solid-set. He is more like the cedar than the palm.
LAYLAH. Sidi Omar's mother was a princess from Lebanon.
FATMA. He is silent and stern.
LAYLAH. Sidi Omar's father was the holiest man of Syria. He lived alone forty years in the mountain.
FATMA. He is relentless in anger, and obeys not. One would say there was Christian blood in him.
LAYLAH. On the night of his begetting there was Christian blood on Sidi Omar's hands.
FATMA. He is as fair as a Christian.
LAYLAH. The men of Sidi Omar's tribe are white men, thou wizened old black witch.
FATMA. Ah! Sidi Omar! Sidi Omar! Sidi Omar! Happy the prince whose wife is as faithful as thou. Thou canst not open thy mouth without uttering his name.
LAYLAH. Do not take it in thine, mother of lies!
FATMA. My mouth has been shut these twenty years.
LAYLAH. What? Any time these twenty years thou hast {85} deserved a beating, old scandal-monger! And often thou hast had it.
FATMA. It was not a beating that thou didst earn, princess. Many a time I have fetched water from the well by ---
LAYLAH. Abdul Khan! take out this prating hag and beat her soundly. Fatma! this is the last time I leave thy lying tongue in that camel-lipped old face of an unbelieving Jinneeyah!
["The eunuch drags her out, screaming and scolding."
What news! What news!
LEDMIYA ["at the window"]. A horseman gallops from Jerusalem.
LAYLAH. Oh, quick, quick, quick, his tidings! For pity's sake. Would it were the winged horse of brass! I am distracted. Mind me not! I can wait. A queen must be able to wait.
LEDMIYA. He is quite near now. And in the distance is a glint, and a faint shouting. I think the battle is coming here.
LAYLAH. Oh, we cannot have been beaten! Silman is so strong and brave.
FATMA ["re-entering"]. All is lost! All is lost! Let us all flee!
LAYLAH. Peace, parrot! ["Enter Messenger."
MESSENGER. Pardon, princess!
LAYLAH. Thy news, or thy head shall pay it.
MESSENGER. Glorious news! Sidi Omar hath entered Jerusalem, and sacked the House of the Knights Templars, and the House of the Knights Hospitallers, and --- {86}
LEDMIYA. ["at window"]. Oh, I can see the spears shining through the dust of the horses!
MESSENGER. --- but ---
LAYLAH. Speak, if thou wouldst ever speak again!
MESSENGER. But the Knights of Malta appeared in great strength, riding from the valley on their noble chargers, armed at all points ---
LAYLAH. Yes? Yes?
MESSENGER. So that we judged it best to fall back upon the reserves. The Maltese fell upon us --- you may see them fighting now.
LAYLAH. What news of my brave Sliman?
FATMA. And Sidi Omar? And Othman? And Akbar? And Mohammed?
LAYLAH. Peace. What news?
MESSENGER. Sidi Omar is hurt.
LAYLAH. And Sliman?
MESSENGER. I do not know, princess.
LAYLAH. Get forth, back to the fight. Reward him, ye!
FATMA. Reward for such bad news! What is the world coming to? In my young days ---
LAYLAH. Such withered weeds were burnt.
FATMA. Alas, Sidi Omar! The strong, the brave, the comely! He is dead, he is dead.
LAYLAH. Hurt, said the messenger.
LEDMIYA. Now comes another from the fight, riding hard. he bears a fair-haired child across the saddle. Oh, do look!
LAYLAH. Is there no messenger?
LEDMIYA. It is Achmet! It is good Achmet! {87}
LAYLAH. The equerry of Prince Silman! Out of the way, girl!
["She pushes" LEDMIYA "roughly from the window."]
Booty! He must be well and victorious! Bring him in! Now we shall know --- good tidings! good tidings!
["She paces up and down impatiently. Enter" ACHMET "with a young girl."
ACHMET. The duty of my Lord! Good tidings from the battle. The spoils of my lord's spear! He prays you to keep her among the women until he return and place her in his harem.
LAYLAH. A man! He is a man! I have borne a man-child, a lion, a conqueror!
ACHMET. Indeed, he has slain twenty Christians with his own hand. And still he is in the front of the battle. He laughed: "To-day I am a man, I need thee no more; by my chamberlain and carry this toy to my mother." I think she is a princess.
THE CHILD. My father is the Grand Master of the Temple, and he is coming to cut all your heads off.
LAYLAH. Leave her with us! Ride back on a fresh horse, and bear aid to the prince. ["Exit" ACHMET
LEDMIYA ["at window"]. There is a tumult in the courtyard, and a great wailing. ["Wailing without."
LAYLAH. The sun will be set in an hour. One hour more of favour and protection for my boy, oh God of Battles!
THE CHILD. Our God is love! He will protect me, I know.
LAYLAH. Imp! Be silent! How you startled me! And now I look at you --- what is it? what is it? You frighten me. Take her away --- there, with the pipe-slaves.
[FATMA "takes the child down stage to the pipe-slaves." {88}
THE CHILD. You are ugly, you black creature!
LEDMIYA. Oh! Oh!
["She runs to" LAYLAH "and hides in the folds of her dress."
LAYLAH. What now?
LEDMIYA. They are bringing in a corpse.
LAYLAH. Oh my God --- if Achmet lied!
["The door opens. The corpse of" SIDI OMAR "is brought in by six eunuchs."]
Ah! ["She goes down hall."] Lay him there! ["She rends her veil."] Sidi Omar, these twenty years have I been wedded to thee and thou hast not known my heart! Leave me, that I may bewail him as is fitting.
["All depart but" FATMA and LEDMIYA "and the" PIPE-SLAVES "with their prisoner."]
Fatma, do thou lament. I await tidings of the battle. Is there sign of a messenger?
[FATMA "goes to corpse and mutters over it."
LEDMIYA ["at window"]. There are many that make hither. Some bear the dead away --- two, three, five, eight, oh so many! Some ride weary or wounded ...
LAYLAH. Some ride like messengers?
LEDMIYA. No. Yes, one. No, he has fallen from his horse, and lies still.
["Wailing without."
LAYLAH. Go, bid those fools be quiet. Is there not enough woe in this house but that their shrieks should edge it?
[LEDMIYA "goes out. The wailing stops. Then suddenly it begins again more
loudly than before."
FATMA. More death! More misery!
[LEDMIYA "returns, and goes again to window." {89}
LAYLAH. Silence, thou blotchy spider! Thou baboon of ugliness! Mother of curses!
["Four eunuchs bring in the corpse of the boy" MOHAMMED.
Ah God! my youngest, my own delicate darling! Lay him by his sire! ["She goes down and bends over him."] Was not this arm too tender to bear a sword? Why would he go to the battle? He was made for luting and the zephyr. His eyes were larger and lovelier than the gazelle's! His eyebrows were blacker than the kohl upon mine eyelids. Alas, my baby! My young one, my tender one! ... Is there tidings, girl?
LEDMIYA. One rides fast. His horse stumbles at the gate. He leaps clear. The horse has fallen. He runs hither.
LAYLAH. News! News!
[LEDMIYA "goes out. Enter a Messenger."
2ND MESSENGER. The duty of my lord to his mother! We keep the hounds at bay now. Prince Sliman is like the Angel of Death. No man can stand before him. The Christians tremble, and give back when he rides against them.
LAYLAH. A man! A man! He is not hurt?
2ND MESSENGER. Scratches. As if a lion were at play with kittens!
LAYLAH. I am glad he has scratches. Every one shall be sung by the poets as if it were the axe-blow of old Duke Walter.
["Again the wailing surges in the courtyard." LEDMIYA "rushes in."
LEDMIYA. Alas, alas, my queen! I cannot say it! Do not ask me to say it! ... They are bringing him in.
LAYLAH. Who? Devil-child! ["She strikes her. Four eunuchs bring in the corpse of" AKBAR.] Forgive me! I am not myself. I am not a woman. Lay him there, beside his {90} father! ["She goes down to corpse."] Akbar, my little one! Strong wast thou and greater than thy brothers. Thou hadst the hawk's eye, and the deer's foot; and thine hand on the bowstring was surer and stronger than thy father's! Three, of my five, my five that should guard me and cherish me! Three taken, and two left! Yet, while one is left ...
LEDMIYA ["at window"]. The battle is fiercer every moment. Hundreds and hundreds must be killed. But the press is thinner. I can make out the banners. Oh! I can see Sliman's banner!
LAYLAH. Let me see! let me see! ["She rushes to window."] Yes! it flows free in the good air! How fierce he fights. I cannot see him; but he must be there. Yes! it moves forward now; the Christians part before him like the air before an arrow. The dust swallows all up again.
["Wailing rises without, louder and more insistent."
A curse upon these fools! But for them I could hear his battle-cry. ... Has he ever cried, and I not heard him? Oh, why did the strange knight not bear me on his palfrey? I must be mad.
FATMA. You must be mad!
LAYLAH. Bewail the dead, thou bald vulture, shaggy toothless crone, dam of perdition! There floats the banner again, above them all. The Templar's banner dips; some one has cut through the staff. The Christians are in rout. ...
["Four eunuchs enter, bearing the corpse of "OTHMAN.
FATMA. Othman is dead! Alas! Alas! Weep, mother, three brave boys beside their sire! All dead! dead!
LAYLAH ["not turning from window"]. Lay him beside his father and his two brothers! Brave banner! Brave {91} banner! We go through the Christians as a wedge cleaves a plank, as a ship cleaves the sea, as a bird cleaves the air! Victory! Sliman! Sliman! Drive them, like cattle, to their walls again!
FATMA. She has always been mad! I wonder what really happened.
LAYLAH. The sun is setting in blood. There are storm-clouds lit like burning charcoal blown upon by the mightiest of the Djinn. I cannot see the banner. It grows dark. They must stop fighting soon. They will withdraw to their walls --- nay, let them camp among the dead! Come back with tidings! Tell me, Sliman is safe. Ah! there sounds the horn of truce.
THE CHILD. My father is the Grand Master of the Temple, and he will come and cut all your heads off.
LAYLAH ["goes down to her"]. Thou preposterous little curd of sour milk! Thy father is dead! I saw the Banner of the Temple snap like a dry twig. My brave son Sliman cut it at a single blow. He will whip home the dogs, your friends, and you shall be his toy to play with and break and make sport of. He will twist your skinny arm --- so!
["She catches the child's wrist, twists it, and makes her scream."
Spindle-legged little spider! {"The child bites her wrist."]
Venomous as a scorpion!
THE CHILD. My father's crest is a scorpion.
LAYLAH. No! No! it cannot be. I am mad. I hear a strange thing. Now I know what I saw in your face. Child! Child! I am sorry I hurt you. I want to be friends with you. I am all-powerful here. No harm shall come to you! His child! Come and kiss me! ["The child shrinks away."] {92}
No! I am sorry. I am your good friend. I will take you back to your father. He is not dead. I am sure he is not dead.
THE CHILD. I do not understand you.
LAYLAH. Oh, you shall understand. Your father will make you understand! ["changing again to roughness"]. What was your mother like? Had she your golden hair, and the complexion like a shaved sow? And the simper, and the grey eyes! I have grey eyes too; but mine are steel-grey, true as steel; and yours are chill and watery. But you have your father's temper, and his silence, and his will.
THE CHILD. What do you know of my father?
LAYLAH. Nothing. I only jested; I wanted to try you, to hear what you would say. Tell me about your mother.
THE CHILD. She was a fair and noble lady. She died when I was born.
LAYLAH. Thank God!
THE CHILD. I do not understand.
LAYLAH. Oh! will your father say, "I do not understand?" What am I? Yet I gave him my greatest gift --- and I have yet a greater gift to give him --- and I have a gift that he has always had and I have never lost.
THE CHILD. Are you an enchantress? You do not talk sense.
LAYLAH. Your are the child of an enchanter.
THE CHILD. My father burns enchanters alive when he catches them.
LEDMIYA ["at window"]. There is a great concourse without. The men are returning. They ride slowly, as in peace. {93} But one rides fast, for I can hear his hoofs ring the gallop above all the trampling.
LAYLAH. It is Sliman! His horse has silver shoes. Wait there, child! I have joy for you to come.
["A horse is heard galloping into the courtyard, and a battle-cry, La Allah
illa Allah, rings out in a boy's clear voice, a voice weary yet
supremely happy."
["Almost beside herself"] Sliman! to me! to your mother!
["Sliman enters, in his right hand his sword still dripping blood."
SLIMAN. Splendid fun, mother! We should have had the whole city, but those cursed Knights of Malta threatened our flank. And father told me I was a better leader for withdrawing than if I had gone on and taken the city. There! Aha! little one! you are caged safely, canary. Thanks, mother! Don't kiss me. I'm all blood.
["She smothers him with kisses."
LAYLAH. Oh, you're wounded. Ledmiya, the kerchief, quick. And the Arabian oil, and the balsam.
SLIMAN. Nonsense, mother, it's nothing. But think! I slew twenty knights --- they haven't the strength of babies. It was like cracking eggshells. All except one. He was as strong as I, but not so quick. So I cut him down, and took his crest for a brooch for you, mother dear.
["He holds out a golden crest."
LAYLAH. The scorpion!
THE CHILD. The scorpion! ["She retires and watches."
LAYLAH. Boy, you have killed your father.
["She stands thunderstuck."
SLIMAN. Oh, no, mother! Father and the boys all died in {94} the melee when we were thrown back on the reserve. The Knights of St John charged in line. It was rough-and-tumble for a few minutes, indeed it was. When I got out, their banners were swept far down the fighting line. There was a mess of varlets between us; before I could sweep them away the Knights had rolled over Sidi Omar and my brothers --- the whole wing was destroyed. I rallied the right on the centre, and --- why, mother, you are not listening!
LAYLAH ["taking his sword"]. This sword killed your father. Listen! Sidi Omar was not your father. Your father ravished me, a virgin and a princess, and left me only this for token. ["She takes the jewelled scorpion from her breast."] I took it for hate and revenge; wherein I lied, for I loved him, and I love him. God has punished my lie, making you --- the token of love --- the minister of revenge. So then --- be he avenged!
["She strikes the neck of" SLIMAN "and he falls dead. She stands stupefied."
THE CHILD ["coming forward and picking up the scorpion that" SLIMAN "had in his hand"]. I thank thee, lady. My brother is avenged.
["She dips the scorpion in his blood and fastens it in her dress."
LAYLAH ["shortly"]. Your brother lies there dead.
THE CHILD. I am sorry, if he was my brother. He was a brave boy. He picked me up and threw me to a servant just as if I had been an old tabard.
LAYLAH. Your father's trick!
THE CHILD. I do not understand.
LAYLAH. Understand this. I have slain my son because {95} he slew his father; and all I look for is for some one to slay me also!
THE CHILD. But you say his father is my father.
LAYLAH. Was! was!
THE CHILD. But is is my brother who was slain by Sliman. My father is in Rome; he is coming hither with the next fair wind.
LAYLAH. Fair wind! God! It is I than who have slain our son. The scorpion! My sole token.
["She falls on" SLIMAN'S "corpse."]
My son! only son of my love! one sole jewel of the world wert thou. And the accursed scorpion has betrayed me. Oh, let me from this hour throw off all womanhood, all kindness, all compassion --- all but my love that has made my heart a hell. From this hell spring forth fiery scorpions --- Eunuchs! Girls! let us be men! Take swords! take spears! Truce or no truce, night or no night, out to the field. Let us slay the dogs as they lie. God, hear me! Make me mightier than Semiramis! Hate and revenge! Battle and death! To arms! To arms! Out into the night!
"During this speech the eunuchs, girls, and slaves, catching her madness,
have all armed themselves from the trophies on the wall. They troop
out, running and jostling." LAYLAH "turns to the Name of God above the
throne, and waving her sabre, cries:"]
Hear me, hear me, thou God of Battles! ["Exit."
THE CHILD. God is love. And he has protected me. ["Alone among the corpses."]
CURTAIN.
{96}
PERSONS OF THE TRAGEDY
ACT III
SIR RINALDO DEL LA CHAPELLE, "Grand Master of the Temple"
A BISHOP
REPRESENTATIVE OF THE KING OF JERUSALEM
THE GRAND MASTER OF THE KNIGHTS OF ST JOHN
THE GRAND MASTER OF THE KNIGHTS OF MALTA
CLERKS, USHERS, ADVOCATES, "etc."
TORTURERS
A PHYSICIAN
THE KING OF JERUSALEM
MANY DIGNITARIES AND THEIR LADIES
THE CROWD
ISAAC, "a Jew"
AN URCHIN
LAYLAH, "now known as Princess Koureddin"
{97}
ACT III
SCENE I: "Twenty years later. Jerusalem. The Council Chamber of the Grand
Tribunal. A Bishop, as Grand Inquisitor. On his right, "RINALDO"; now
become Grand Master of the Temple; on his left the Grand Master of the
Knights of Malta. Beyond these, the Grand Master of the Knights of St
John and the representative of the King of Jerusalem. Clerks, Ushers,
etc. A military guard. Clerical functionaries of all sorts. Under
guard" LAYLAH, "unveiled, scarred with sword-cuts, a stern savage
virago."
BISHOP. Let the indictment be read.
THE CLERK OF THE COURT. Princess Kahar-ud-din or Koureddin, you are arraigned of witchcraft. Firstly that on the night of the victory to the Crusaders' arms, by God's grace, during a period of truce, you did sally forth with a horde of slaves and women, by many accounted devils, and did attack and destroy the armies of the Crusaders.
PROSECUTOR. We say this was by witchcraft. How else could a rabble of slaves and women defeat the heroes who, though barely two thousand strong, had that day destroyed four hundred thousand and above of your best warriors?
LAYLAH. On our side was the God of Battles.
BISHOP. My daughter, God is love. {98}
LAYLAH. Lord Bishop, I have heard that phrase thrice in three score years. The first time a man used it to destroy a child: the second time a child used it to murder her brother; this time you use it to torture and burn an honourable adversary.
BISHOP. Child of the devil, you blaspheme. Be silent! On the first count, guilty.
["Several" JUDGES, "but not" RINALDO, "echo "Guilty." Throughout this scene"
RINALDO "sits absolutely silent and motionless, except that now and then
he makes a gesture of weariness and impatience."
THE CLERK. Secondly, that you have in these twenty years past gathered a band of lawless ruffians, and constantly assailed the defenders of the sepulchre, with malice and deadly hatred.
PROSECUTOR. We say that no woman could do thus, unless aided by Satan.
LAYLAH. Dido, Queen of Carthage, was renowned as a warrior, and Semiramis, Queen of Nineveh.
BISHOP. Both pagans. On the second count, guilty.
[JUDGES "echo "Guilty."
CLERK. Thirdly, that you did discard the modesty of womanhood and put on armour enchanted.
PROSECUTOR. We say that, forasmuch as many good knights have ridden against it with sword and lance and not availed to pierce it, this was by magic and forbidden art.
LAYLAH ["contemptuously"]. It was good armour.
BISHOP. The prisoner mocks us. On the third count, guilty.
[JUDGES "echo "Guilty."
CLERK. Fourthly, that you did at midnight upon Martinmas, {99} eighteen years ago, in the valley of Hinnom, on the stone called Succoth, bind yourself in a diabolical pact with Satan, whereby he granted the power to change your sex at will, since which time you have become the father of an innumerable brood of devils, and in particular have travelled by night in the form of an owl to assault the virtue of many holy servants of the True Faith, notably at the Convent of St Anne in this city, whereby the bodies and souls of the nuns were possessed and destroyed.
PROSECUTOR. We say this is plain witchcraft.
[LAYLAH "takes no notice."
BISHOP. Silence under such a charge is contumacious, and equivalent to confession. On the fourth count, guilty.
[JUDGES "echo "Guilty."
CLERK. Fifthly, that you do take the form of a bat, and suck the blood of sleeping children, and moreover have bewitched divers cows to the prejudice of the Holy Orders of Knights Hospitaller and others, lawful owners of the aforesaid cows.
PROSECUTOR. All clear marks of a witch!
LAYLAH. Your Saviour sent devils into swine.
BISHOP. Blasphemy on blasphemy! ["crosses himself"]. Sure only the devil could speak thus. On the fifth count, guilty.
[JUDGES "echo "Guilty."
CLERK. Sixthly ---
BISHOP. Stay, gentle sir. Have we not heard enough? Must the ears of the Court be further polluted with a recital of these abominations?
G. M. OF ST J. We have heard enough.
G. M. OF ST MALTA. Enough, my lord Bishop. {100}
REP. OF K. OF JERUSALEM. Enough.
BISHOP ["to" RINALDO]. And you, Grand Master?
RINALDO. More than enough.
BISHOP. My beloved daughter! God is not willing that any should perish, but that all should repent and be saved. It is therefore the most merciful provision of our just and merciful law that none be condemned without confession. Let me urge you to make peace with God and man.
LAYLAH. Peace, peace! when there is no peace.
BISHOP. There spoke a lost soul. Confess, my dear daughter. Break the bonds of Satan at the last.
LAYLAH ["straining at her handcuffs"]. They hold fast.
BISHOP. We are not moved by insult from our most merciful purpose. Summon the executioners.
["A" CLERK "goes with the order. Enter torturers with their implements.
Also a Physician."
LAYLAH. Your steel against my will. It is a fair bout.
BISHOP. Apply the thumbscrews.
["The torturers bind" LAYLAH "and apply the torture."
["To G. M. of St John"]
My cook is a great knave, you must know. I bade him prepare me a pasty of quails toward to-night, and the varlet swears there are no quails on the market. Now this morning riding I saw quails with these eyes. The air was as thick with them as when the Children of Israel were miraculously fed.
G. M. OF ST J. A new miracle if the knave escape. But will not your lordship sup with me to-night?
BISHOP. Thanks, good Grand Master.
FIRST TORTURER. My lord, I think I heard a sigh.
PHYSICIAN. Only a natural motion of the body, by your {101} leave, my lord, I venture to opine. Her lip is bitten through.
BISHOP. What wickedness! Truly, my lords, Satan hath great power in these latter days, spoken of by St Paul in his Epistle to the Romans. Force the mouth open. ["A torturer obeys."
PHYSICIAN. Pardon, my lord, if she utters no sound. She hath swallowed her tongue, a notorious devilry of Arabian enchanters. By your leave, my lord, the tongue should be pulled forward. Her soul would be lost (begging your Lordship's pardon) should she choke now.
BISHOP. Rightly said. And on your head be it! Redouble the thumbscrews.
["A torturer pulls her tongue forward with pincers." LAYLAH "groans."
TORTURER. I certainly heard somewhat.
BISHOP. Articulate?
TORTURER. I dare hardly say, my lord.
BISHOP. The needles.
TORTURER. They are white-hot. How many, my lord?
BISHOP. Three behind each eyeball should suffice.
TORTURER. It is done. There is a sound like "wa."
PHYSICIAN ["in triumph"]. "Aiwa," my lord Bishop, "aiwa" without a doubt. It is "yes" in their heathen tongue.
BISHOP. I heard it. We all heard it. Glory to God! Release the prisoner.
[LAYLAH "is released. She is unconscious and falls limp."]
Sir Clerk, write down that the prisoner made full confession and repented of her crimes, desiring to be reconciled {102} with God and His holy church. My own chaplain shall baptize her and administer the sacrament. Glory to God in the Highest for one more soul torn from the grasp of Satan.
My beloved daughter, behold you now at peace with God and with His holy church. Your sins are forgiven you. But the secular arm is not yet satisfied; your crimes, the crimes to which you have confessed, must by expiated according to law. The sentence of the Court is that you be handed over to the secular arm; and I beg of you ["turning to the Representative of the King of Jerusalem"], the Court begs of you, that you will deal mercifully with the Prisoner, without shedding of blood.
REP. OF K. OF J. A stake shall be prepared. ["To the soldiers"] Remove the prisoner to the strongest dungeon, and let the guard be trebled. Witchcraft has many tricks.
BISHOP. The Court is dissolved. My lords, will you please breakfast with me? [JUDGES "murmur assent."
RINALDO. Thank you, my lord, but I have my bellyful.
["The others exchange glances and go out. "RINALDO "is left alone. He
goes to the place of torture."]
There is blood on the floor. It fell from her lip that she bit through. ... Pilate washed his hands in water. Had I power I would wash mine in blood, in the blood of these monsters of cruelty --- no, of stupidity. But I am too old. I gave all for power, and I used all my power to reconcile, to heal, to amend the matter. So at the end I find myself a toothless dog. Bigotry I could have beaten: it is this mountain of stupidity that crushes me. Shall I summon my {103} knights and join the Saracen army? That were only to change the balance, to change the cross, soaked in the blood of humanity, for the crescent, pale flame of madness. Oh could I destroy both! ... Forty years ago I strove to reconcile them by love, by sympathy. What came of it? A frolic crime, sterile as all my thoughts are. Nothing, nothing has ever come of anything that I have ever done. Yet that came nearest to success; for it was my one touch of love. I have never loved since, as most surely I had never loved before. She is dead long ago. ... Oh, these years of carnage! The Holy Sepulchre that hid the body of Him whose innocent blood was shed is not worth one drop of innocent blood --- like this. ["He bows, takes the blood on his finger and crosses his forehead with it."] The brand of Cain! Would it have saved her if I had thrust my poniard into that hypocrite's throat? I can do nothing but wait, binding chosen knights with an oath --- the oath of the Knights of the Royal Mystery ... that God is one; that to love God and man is enough. ... Peace, Tolerance, Truth. Paul may plant, and Apollos may water, but God giveth the increase. If I cry out "Down with tyranny! Down with superstition and imposture!" the first knight thinks me mad; the second that I have some politic baseness toward; the third that I mean Saracens; the fourth suspects the truth, and destroys me. Anon ... Anon ...
["He goes sorrowfully out."
CURTAIN.
{104}
"SCENE II. A few days later. A public place in Jerusalem. In the midst a
stake with faggots. Seats for the dignitaries, some thirty or forty of
whom are present, most with their ladies. There is present moreover a
motley crowd of all classes of society, Christian and Saracen. Note
especially" ISAAC, "a fat good-tempered Jew, and an" URCHIN "of some
twelve years old. In front are jugglers, tumblers, singers and
dancers, hucksters, etc., all of whom ply their trade merrily. The
Official Procession now enters, the guard clearing away these folk.
All take their seats, chatting. The bishop is enthroned, in full
canonicals. He is supported by three acolytes, bearing bell, book and
candle."
LAYLAH "brought in and bound to stake. The Bishop rises at a signal
from the King, and begins a long declamation in Latin. The general
confusion gradually subsides."
URCHIN. Uncle Isaac, take me on thy stout shoulder. I want to see the witch burnt.
ISAAC. All in good time. The holy Bishop is still cursing, I think.
BISHOP ["concluding, raises his voice to drown the general conversation"]. In Saecula Saeculorum. Amen!
ALL. Amen!
K. OF J. ["enthroned near the Bishop"]. Let the sentence be executed.
["The Executioner brings forward his torch, which he lights at the"
BISHOP'S "candle."
BISHOP ["blessing"]. Absolvo te.
["The Executioner thrusts his torch into the pyre. The" {105} "flames
spring up. At this moment the wind suddenly rises in a fury, and the
sky darkens. There is no light but the flicker of the straw."]
["All present are alarmed; many cry out."
BISHOP. Witchcraft! ["He cowers on his throne."]
["The people move confusedly about, some trying to escape, others to get
better places."
K. OF J. Keep order, guards!
["The guards restore order after a struggle."
URCHIN. O do lift me up, Uncle Isaac!
ISAAC. What do you want to see a witch burnt for, boy?
["He takes the boy on his shoulder."
URCHIN. O, it's jolly!
ISAAC. Well then, you're a fool for your pains. This woman isn't a witch at all. But she was a better and braver soldier than any of their knights, so when they caught her at last --- there you are!
URCHIN. She's a Saracen, isn't she?
ISAAC. Yes. If we only had a Jewess now-a-days like her! There was Deborah once, and Jael, and Judith. But the glory is departed, boy, the glory is departed.
URCHIN. I'm a Saracen, you know.
ISAAC. You're a heavy little old Man of the Sea!
URCHIN. The flames are creeping up her body now. Oh! I'm so angry; I'm so angry.
ISAAC. You mustn't be angry, or you'll never be fat.
URCHIN. I don't wan't to be fat. I wan't to kill all the people.
ISAAC. Well, well, you shall one day, if you're good.
URCHIN. Yes, I will. {106}
ISAAC. There, the wind has blown her robe open. What's that? Diamonds, by Abraham! What waste! What terrible waste!
RINALDO ["leaping from his seat"]. The scorpion!
["He rushes to the pure and clasps" LAYLAH "in his arms."]
Laylah! my one love!
LAYLAH. Rinaldo!
RINALDO. We might not live together. God is love; He lets us die together.
LAYLAH. Together at last!
RINALDO. You and I, love, you and I.
LAYLAH. You and I.
["The flames blaze to heaven with a roar." RINALDO "and" LAYLAH "are
blotted out."
URCHIN. What has he done?
ISAAC. He was trying to save his diamonds. That was the Grand Master of the Temple. It was his crest; she must have stolen it. A diamond scorpion! Oh dear! Oh dear!
URCHIN. I'll be a dragon, with wings. They shan't burn me; I'll burn them.
ISAAC. Of course, you will, you little fire-eater. What's your great name?
URCHIN. Saladin.
CURTAIN.
{107}
THE EARTH
THE child of miracle to the world, greeting.
I reach my hands to the leaves and dabble in the dew: I sprinkle dew on you for kisses. I kneel down and hold the grass of the black earth to my bosom; I crush the earth to my lips as if it were a grape. And the wine of Demeter flushes my cheeks; they burn with joy of youth.
Why should I greet the world? Because my heart is bursting with love for the world. Love, say I? Why not lust? Is not lust strength, and merriment, and the famine that only the infinite can stay?
And why do I call myself the child of miracle? Because I have entered a second time into my mother's womb and am born. Because to the knowledge of manhood has come the passion, even the folly, of adolescence; with all its pride and purity.
It is for this that you see me lying upon the thick wet grass, unquenchable; or rejoicing in the fat black loam.
Now the manner of the miracle was this. In the beginning is given to a youth the vision of his mate. This one must he henceforth seek blindly; and many are the enchantments and disenchantments. Through this his vision fades; even his hunger dies away unless he be indeed Elect. But in the end it may be that God shall send him the other half of that Token {108} of Paradise. Then, if he have kept the holy fire alight, perhaps with much false fuel, that fire shall instant blaze and fill the temple of his soul. By its insistent energy it shall destroy even the memory of all those marsh-lights that came to greet it; and the priest shall bow down in the glory, and grasp the altar with his hands, and strike it with his forehead seven times. Now this altar is the earthen altar of Demeter.
Then understanding all things by the light of that love, he shall know that this is love, that this is the soul of the earth, that this is fertility and understanding, the secret of Demeter. Nay, (even!) the Oracle may speak in his heart and foretell or foreshadow the greater mysteries of Persephone, of Death the daughter of Love.
Those, too, who are thus reborn will understand that I who write these words am stretched on the wet earth on the day of Spring. It is night, but only the sea whispers of Persephone, as the stars intimate Urania whose mystery is the third, and beyond. My body is absorbed in scent and touch; for the consuming fire of my sight has burnt itself out to blindness, and in my mouth is only the savour of an infinite kiss. The moist earth burns my lips; my fingers search down about the roots of the grass. The life of earth itself is my life: I shall be glad to be buried in the earth. Let my body dissolve into hers, putrefy in her reviving limbeck. He never loved who let them case him in a coffin from the supreme embrace.
It is from the earth, bride of the sun, that all bodily strength derives. It is no figure that Antaeus regained all his force when he touched earth. It is no pedantry and folly of the Hindus, who (fearing bodily lust) isolate their acolytes from earth, no futility their doctrine of Prana and the Tamo-Guna. {109} It is not mere faith healing, this hygiene of Father Kneipp, and his failures are those who retain decorum and melancholy, who follow the letter and not the spirit, cold-blooded treaders upon earth instead of passionate lovers of its strength.
It is no accident of mythology that the Titans made war upon the Gods, and in Prometheus overthrew them.
It was when Canute failed to drive back the sea that his dynasty was lost to that Norman William who caught hold of Mother Earth with both hands.
When I was a child I fell; and the scars of the earth are on my forehead at this hour.
When I was a boy I was hurt by the explosion of a buried jar of gunpowder; and the scars of the earth are on my face at this hour.<<WEH NOTE: The incidents recounted here are from Crowley's life. Francis Bendick, Martial Nay and some other names used in authorship of the "Equinox" are pseudo-names for Crowley, intended to conceal that it was largely the work of one person. There were other contributors, but after No. 6 most of the work was Crowley's.>>
Since then I have been the lover of the earth, that wooed me thus roughly. Many a night have I slept upon her naked breast, in forest and on glacier, upon great plains and upon lonely crags, in heat and cold, fair weather and foul; and my blood is the blood of the earth. My life is hers, and as she is a spark thrown off from the whirling brilliance of the sun, so do I know myself to be a spark of infinite God.
Seek earth, and heaven shall be added unto you! Back to our mother, drive the shining spade into her womb! Wrinkle her with your furrows, she will only smile more kindly!
Let your sweat, the sweat of your toil, which is your passion, drip like benediction from on High upon her; she will render corn and wine. Also your wife shall be desirable in your eyes all the days of your life, and your children shall {110} be strong and comely, and the blessing of the Most High shall be upon you.
Then let your grasp relax in the satiety of death, and your weight shall cumber the earth, and the little children of the earth shall make merry with you until the rose strike its root into your breast. Then shall your body be one again with the mother, and your soul one with the Father, as it is written in the Book of the Law.
All this have I been taught by her whose purity and strength are even as Earth's, chosen before the foundation of Time. Lioness with lion, may we walk by night among the ruins of great cities, when, weary with happiness too great even for our immortality, we turn from the fragrance and fertility of Earth. And at the sunrise return where the peopled valleys call us; where, bronzed and buoyant, our children sing aloud as they drive home the spade.
Glory be to the Earth and to the Sun and to the holy body and soul of Man; and glory be to Love and to the Father of Love, the secret Unity of things!
Glory be to the Shrine within the Temple, and to the God within the Shrine, to the Word and to the Silence that bore it unto Him that is beyond the Silence and the Speech!
Also thanksgiving in the Highest for the Gift of all these things, and for the maiden in whom all these things are found, for the holy body and soul of man, and for the sun, and for the earth. AMEN.
FRANCIS BENDICK.
{111}
SLEEP
Along the silver pathways of the moon,
(With lilies strewn to mark her passing hours)
A mighty goddess strays.
Her rapt eyes gaze in calm undying swoon,
Like stars in June that guard earth's sleeping flowers,
The guests of summer days.
Moving she plays some sweetly slumbrous tune,
As mothers croon; through faint AEolian showers,
Her mist-hung garment sways.
And in her shadow chaste as starlit snows,
A vestal goes, scattering sweet roses:
Roses deep-thorned and red ---
Whose leaves are shed in perfumed dreams, where glows
A world that blows and fairy-like discloses
The fields that Flora fled.
And some are sped where dream brings that repose
The thorn bestows --- (where naught that is, reposes) ---
Goring the sleeper's head.
ETHEL ARCHER.
{112}
THE ORDEAL OF IDA PENDRAGON
{113}
THE ORDEAL OF IDA PENDRAGON
"TO I, J, AND K"
I
THE RED HOUR
THERE was myrrh in the honey of the smile with which Edgar Rolles turned from the fasade of the Pantheon. "Aux grands hommes la patrie reconnaissante" --- he reflected that the grateful fatherland never gives her great men anything but a tomb.
Then the full blast of it struck him. The Gargantuan jest! The solemn ass that had devised the motto; the laborious ass that had put it up there; the admiring asses that had warmed their skinny souls at the false fire of its pompous sentimentality.
Perhaps he was the first to see the joke! He rocked and reeled with laughter --- to find himself caught, as he stumbled against a table, in the sturdy arms of a solidly built young woman, who --- he had in her a glance --- joined in Celtic harmony the robust brutality of the peasant to the decadent refinement of the latter Greek. The face of a Bacchanal, even of a satyr, perhaps; but a satyr of Raphael; the face of a madonna, perhaps; but a madonna of Rodin. Besides this, {115} she was seductive, alluring, a Messalina rather than an Aspasia. Chienne de race! She was young, and her lips rather sheered than smiled, rather gloated than sneered. One instinctively muttered the word "cannibal." She had a perfect and perverse enjoyment of life, a perfect and perverse contempt of life; the contempt of the philosopher, the enjoyment of the wallowing pig. Procus e grege Epicuri.
This much Edgar Rolles smelt rather than saw; for as he turned to her, he caught her eyes. They were the eyes of an enthusiast, of a saint, of an ascetic --- but of a saint who, strong in his agony through faith and hope and love, still endures the Dark Night of the Soul.
"You shall lunch with me, nice boy" (she said), "and beg my pardon for your stumble, and pay for your lunch by telling me what drives you mad with laughter at the sight of the Pantheon. Is it 'L'homme aux trois sous'?" For so the irreverent Frenchman, mindful of his daily need, calls Rodin's "Le Penseur."
"Mademoiselle," Said Rolles, "I accept your kind invitation; I abandon the Church for the Tavern." They turned into the Taverne du Pantheon, threading their way through the professors and their mistresses, a clever, incurious, domestic, fascinating crowd.
"I kiss your hands and your feet, and I will tell you the joke before lunch; so that you may repent in time if it is not amusing. In your ear, enchantress! The truth is --- I am a great man."
She saw it in a flash. "Then, my friend, I must bury you!"
"In your hair!" he cried. She had huge rolling masses of {116} brown-bronze hair, as if a great sculptor had wished to immortalise the sea in storm.
"Anoint me first," he added, with a low sob, suddenly clairvoyant of some vision of Christ and Magdalene.
"Need you die?" They were seated, and her hand fell on his lap. "Great men die never."
"Nor kind words," he retorted. "You have flattered me; tu veux me perdre." His English had no equivalent. She have a little shiver.
"What do you want?" he said, with the man's alarm when he at last meets the woman he may be able to love.
"Your body and soul," she answered solemnly; her eyes sank into his, like a dagger into the belly of a faithless Kabyle woman. "But beyond that, your secret! You know life, yet you can laugh from a mad heart!"
"It is easily said. I am going to London to-morrow. There they will make me bankrupt, because I love my neighbour better than myself, and prosecute me for blasphemy and indecency, because I uttered a few simple truths that everybody knows."
"Why, my friend, you will be famous!" she cried. "Aux grands hommes la patrie reconnaissante!"
"Probably," said he. "Already I run to a full page in the American papers, my name intimately coupled with that of a duke's daughter whom I have never seen."
"Good, good!" she agreed --- "so much for fame. But are you really great? Your laughter was better than Zarathoustra! What is your real secret? Why did you love your neighbour? Why did you speak the truth? How did you come to know anything at all well enough to be able to laugh as {117} you laughed! Such abandonment to mirth implies a standard of seriousness unshakable."
"You are a witch," said he. "It is sorcery to know that I have a secret. But to discover it you must be an adept."
"I know this," she answered, making a secret sign.
"This," he retorted, with the mano in fica.
"If you can laugh at me," she said, "you must indeed be a great man!"
"Know," said he pompously, "that you speak to an Absolute Grand Patriarch of the Rite of Mizraim.
"A button!" she laughed back. "I was born to undo them. So I always wear laced boots."
"True enough," said Edgar Rolles. "I will take you seriously then. If you really understand the sign you gave me, you know that the mano in fica is but a caricature of the answer to it. Why are you painted and perfumed?"
"Because I am ambitious, may I not be vicious?" she rimed. "If I see anyone that seems likely to amuse me, I try and amuse him --- or her," she laughed. "Is not that the Golden Rule?"
"Well," said Edgar hesitatingly, "well ... "
"I am so abstemious, so self-restrained, that I fear the reproach of the ascetic. Love is my balancing-pole." She threw her arm round his neck, and her mouth shuddered on his in a long, deliberate, skilful kiss.
"Art?" sighed he, fallen back half fainting in his seat.
"Art concealed;" she glowed, radiant, intoxicated with her own enthusiasm.
"Yes," he agreed, "consummate art!" {118}
"And to all arts there is but One summit!" continued the girl.
"You are a "nymphomane," he said; "your aspiration is the lie you tell yourself."
She struck him across the face. "Devil;!" she cried, so loud that even in the Taverne Pantheon folk looked up an laughed, "have I not heard that from conscience since I was sixteen? A blow is the one answer possible."
"A blow is but your male desire," he said, unmoved.
"How shall I prove my truth?" she sobbed, disquieted and angry.
"Live it down, little girl," he said kindly. "Trust me; I will prove you and justify you. Afterwards!"
"Do you think! --- now --- ?" she began indignantly.
"I know it," said he. "In the grey light, to-morrow, we will talk."
She suddenly felt chill and afraid. "I am not ready," she said; "I am not worthy ..."
"It is to prove you worthy," said he, "that I was sent to you."
"Well, God aid me," said the girl. She was serious and almost sobbing, her face drawn and white beneath its paint. Her emotion added piquancy to her voluptuousness, pathos to her brute appeal.
"At this moment, of all moments? How should I find you? It was one chance in a million million."
Edgar lifted the knife that lay by his side. There was a fly on the tablecloth. Adroit and salmon-swift, he cut it fairly in half. "Bad luck on the fly?" he laughed. "But I did it. Chance only means ignorance of causes." {119}
"Then you believe in the Brothers?"
"As I revel in the kisses of your mouth," said the boy, crushing her face against his.
A rich gladness filled her eyes, moist gladness; one might say the first gush of an artesian well amid the seas of sand.
"Well," quoth she, cheerful and brisk, to let the mask fall on her blushing soul, "we have got through six dozen oysters and a devil of a lot of Burgundy. ... I wonder if I am hungry!" She looked him between the eyes.
"Hors d'oeuvres!" said Edgar. "I have a box for the Sam Hall fight."
"Oh do take me," she panted. "Will he beat Joe Marie?" she added, with a touch of anxiety. "He has the weight, and the experience, and the record."
"Fools are betting he will. My money is on the man with three years younger, six inches taller, and twelve inches longer reach to his credit. And a twenty-four times harder skull."
"It's his skin I love."
"The only thing a woman ever can love."
"And his activity."
"Exactly. You cannot understand Being, which is Peace."
"Don't! You are near "my" secret, now."
"Wait till the grey hours!"
She dropped three napoleons on the plate, and disdaining to wait for the change, took Edgar's arm in hers. They hailed a fiacre.
"By the way, I don't know your name," he began, as they clattered down the Boul' Mich'. {120}
"Ida Pendragon. But call me Poppy, because my lips are red, because I give sleep, and death!"
A pause. "And you name, nice boy?"
"Edgar Rolles --- you may call me Monkshood."
"What --- "the" Edgar Rolles?"
"As ever is."
"Oh, they'll hang you! They'll certainly hang you! for that last book of yours. ... But you shall hang here first." Her long white fingers went to her neck, like a cuttle-fish feeling for its prey. Her eyes closed: her throat worked convulsively for a moment. Rolles too leaned back, pale with excitement. He drank the fresh air. Then, like a man shot, he lifted himself and fell forward, his head in the nest of her bosom.
"Please sit up and behave sensibly, Mr Rolles!" was the next word that fell on his ears. "We are crossing the Seine. Passion may not pass the gloomy river; here stalks Vice, and the Englishman on its heels. The very coffee sent son Anglais."
"Et les femmes," muttered Edgar.
She slapped his hand half fiercely.
"It's Poster Art of immorality."
"I remember going with an American girl to the Guignol once. They played a comedy one could have acted in a Sunday-school in Glasgow; but Verro-nika, as they called her, who didn't understand a word of French, said the atmosphere was one of the most awful lust. Poor girl! she had paid a lot to see Yurrup and its wickedness. I had not the heart to undeceive her."
"You sympathised, and offered to take her away?" {121}
"Of course."
"And she preferred to stay?'
"Of course."
"Here's the Cirque, anyhow."
"We'll hope for a clean fight."
The second round was just over as they took their seats. Sam Hall was solid and furious, looking an ounce or two overtrained; Joe Marie looked hardly human, his black skin gleaming, his arms so long as to seem almost disproportionate. He seemed apathetic; he reminded one of indiarubber.
It was not till the sixth round that any warm exchanges took palace. Then Ida sat up. Joe had sent a sharp upper cut to the Englishman's lip. She dug her nails into Rolles' hand, that lay idly on her knee. Sam Hall returned a blow on the heart that sent the negro staggering across the ring. He was after him like a flash, thinking to finish the fight; but the black countered unexpectedly hard, and the round finished in a clinch.
In the seventh round both men seemed cautious and afraid of punishment. Joe Marie, in particular, seemed half asleep. The lazy grace of his feints was admirable; he was tiring the Englishmen, and paying nothing for the advantage.
In the ninth round Sam Hall reached his eye; but he only laughed, and leapt at his opponent, rushing him to the ropes despite the extra stone and a half. In the furious exchanges both men gave and took a great deal of punishment. In a sense, it was bad boxing.
The tenth round showed Joe Marie awake at last. He led repeatedly, and thrice got home on the white man's face.
Ida was rubbing her body against Edgar's like a cat. {122} "He is like a black leopard," she purred. "Is anything in the world so beautiful as that lithe black body?"
"I have seen blood in the sunlight on a bull's shoulder," replied Rolles.
"I love to see the pure animal beat the mere brute. White men ought not to fight: they ought to think, and do lovely physical things, things gracious and of good report."
"Ida! my Ida! Could you see your nostrils twitching! I can imagine you fighting with all their fierceness, incapable of keeping to the rules of boxing."
"I hate you," she said. "In everything you see --- "
"Your lust of blood," he answered gravely.
"It is true," said Ida slowly. "There is no light of battle in your eye. You see it as a picture."
"It is a hieroglyph."
"But it is a fight!"
"I do not believe in fights. I only believe in beauty."
"Oh how true, how right your are! How noble!" She hid her face in her hands and began to cry to herself. "I see! I see! That is how God must see the universe, or He could never tolerate such cruelty, such idiotcy, ineptitude."
"Exactly. Suppose now that the world is only symbol --- I had rather say sacrament --- suppose for example that all these stars swimming in boundless aether are but corpuscles in the blood of some toy terrier of the Creator."
"You frighten me. I don't want to suppose."
"Think of the eternal battles of haemoglobin, oxyhaemoglobin, carboxyhaemoglobin in our blood. It is the same idea. Do we express sympathy for the fallen? Have we a stop-the-war party? On the contrary, we take good care that these {123} murderous conflicts shall go on. So when you call the God to whom you aspire 'The Compassionate,' 'The Merciful,' pray be very careful as to exactly what you mean!"
"I am cold. I am frightened. The world has fallen away from me. Take me away. Put me into the ordeal; I have nothing more to lose."
"In the grey hours of the morn."
But the crowd was already on its feet, cheering. Joe Marie had fallen on his opponent, now too weak to counter or to guard, and smashed him here, there, and everywhere. It was as one-sided as a man beating a carpet. Twice he knocked him through the ropes. The first time he rose unsteadily, only to fall instantly. The second time his friends, careless of the rules, helped him to rise. A mistaken kindness; the black rushed him round the ring under a hail of pitiless blows, and with a last smashing drive flung him clean through the ropes out of the ring before the referee had time to stop the fight.
Edgar Rolles drove Ida Pendragon back to his studio in Montparnasse. All the way she clung to him, sobbing like a child. He sat very still, save to caress her hair from which the turban had fallen. "It is the victory of Essence over Form," he mused, "of Matter over Motion. Woman is Form, and thinks Form is Being. Oh my God!" he started up. "I am a man. Suppose I, who am Being, think Being is Form! ... I cannot even attach a meaning to the phrase! I am blinder than shorn Samson. Both must be equal, equally true, equally false, in His eyes wherein all is false and true, He being beyond them. Only the brains of a child --- of The Child --- can grasp it. 'Except ye become as little children, ye {124} cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven!' I am blinder than shorn Samson! ... Well, I'm in charge of Delilah at present, and here's the House where we don't admit Philistines! Get up, little girl!"
He lifted her gently from the fiacre and paid the driver. "Stamp!" said he, "stamp like Dr Johnson! The ground is firm."
"E pur si muove," murmured she, and clung (O illogical sex!) still closer to his arm.
{125}
II
THE GREY HOUR
"TO resume," observed Rolles as he removed the tea-tray, "since you have done no prescribed practices (wicked little sister!) you cannot banish the body by bidding it keep silence. So it must be banished by exhaustion, and the spirit awakened by a sevenfold dose of the Elixir."
"Have you the Elixir?" she asked, rather awed.
"It is entrusted to me," he answered simply. "To this laudable end I have appointed a sufficiency of Bisque Kadosh at the Cafe Riche, followed by Homard Cardinal and Truffes au champagne. With a savoury of my own invention. The truffes au champagne of the Cafe Riche are more to be desired than all the hashish dreams of all the wicked, and than all the divine dreams of all the good. We shall walk there, and drive back. This incense shall be kindled, and this lamp left burning."
He took a strange object from a locked cabinet. It had flowered chased pipes of gold, copper and platinum, coiling about an egg of crystal. The three snakes met just above the egg, as if to bite or to kiss. Rolles filled the egg with a pale blue liquid from a Venetian flask, then pressed the heads of the serpents just a little closer together. Instantly a coruscating flame leapt between them, minute, dazzling, radiant. It {126} continued to burn with a low hissing noise rarely interrupted by a dry crackle.
"It is well," said Rolles, "let us depart."
Ida Pendragon had not said a word. She put on her hat and followed to the door as fatalistically as the condemned man walks to the gallows. She had passed through anticipation; she was content to await what might be.
At the door she whispered, hushed in awe of the real silence of the room with its monotonous hiss, in his ear. "You have the Lamp. I almost begin to wonder if you have not the Ring!"
"'This is a secret sign,'" he quoted, "'and thou shalt not disclose it unto the profane.' To-night yours be the ring --- the Eternal Ring, the Serpent to twine about my heart."
"Ah! could I crush it!"
He closed the door. Like a priest celebrating his first high mass he led her through Paris. Neither spoke. Only as they mounted the steps of the Cafe he took her arm and said, sharply and sternly: "Attention! From this moment I am Edgar Rolles, and you are Ida Pendragon. No more: not a thought of our real relation. Man and woman, if you will; beasts in the jungle, if you will; flowers by the wayside, if you will; but nothing more. Else you will not only fail in the ordeal, but you will be swept aside out of the Path. You were in greater danger than you knew this afternoon; you will yet pay the price."
"I understand," she said. "You devil! I love you." "And I love every inch of your white body!"
They ran laughing arm in arm through the swing doors.
. . . . . . . . {127}
Edgar Rolles sat curled up Hindu fashion on his bed. The sacred lamp still hissed. At his side lay Ida, her arms stretched out cruciform. She hardly breathed; there was no colour in her face. One would have said the corpse of a martyred virgin. On her white body its own purity hovered like a veil.
Edgar Roles watched the lamp, erect, attentive. It went out. Hardly a hint of grey filtered through the blackness. In his hands he held two threads. "One is black, and one is white, he mused, and only God knows which is which. So only God knows what is sin. In our darkness we who presume to declare it are liars --- charlatans, groping quacks at the best. Will the sun never dawn? For us on whom the lightning of ecstasy hath flashed for a moment --- 'much may be seen by its light' --- the light of the tempest. But the Light of the Silver Star? Oh, my Brothers (he began to speak aloud) give me wisdom as you have given me understanding! Knowledge and grace and power? These are nothing and less than nothing. Is not this a precious think that you have given into my charge? Am not I too young among you to bear so wonderful a burden? It is the first time that I have dared so far. The Abyss! The Razor-Edge! Frail bridge and sharp! Yet is it not a ray of the Evening Star, a ray of Venus, of the Love Supernal! ... "
Can I tell black from white? It seems I can --- and then the certainty flickers, and I doubt. I doubt. I am always doubting. Perhaps a wise man grows angry, and declares his will. 'It shall be what o'cock I say it is,' or ... see ! I lay the threads on her white breast. No doubt remains."
Then clear and loud: "Ave Soror!" {128}
The girl, as it seemed mechanically, murmured the words "Rosae Rubeae."
"Et Aureae Crucis," he rejoined.
Then together, very slowly and distinctly: "Benedictus sit Dominus Deus Noster qui nobis dedit signum."
It seemed hardly possible that her voice joined his. The lips hardly moved; it was as if an interior voice spoke in her heart. Yet the room was suddenly filled with a pale green light --- or was it rosy? --- or was it golden? --- or was it like the moon? That was the strange thing about it. To every name one put to it an inward voice answered: No, not that; like that, but not quite that. Luminous, spectral, cloudy, shimmering --- it was all these, and something more.
He placed his hand upon the girl's forehead.
"Are you perfectly awake?"
"I am awake, frater."
"Can you give me the sign of your grade?"
"I must not move. But I am poised for diving, frater."
"The word?"
Haltingly came the answer: "Ar---ar---it---a."
"One is His beginning; one is His individuality; His permutation one. Do not forget it, little sister."
"Are you ready?"
"I am ready. Farewell --- farewell for ever!"
"Farewell."
He took his signet-ring, and pressed a spring. The bezel opened and disclosed a small jewelled wheel, divided into many compartments. He pressed a second spring. The wheel began to revolve, and in the silence sang a tiny tune. {129} It was a faint tinkle, like a distant cow-bell, or like a chime heard far off, heard from the snow. There was an icy quality in the note.
"Where are you?"
"I --- I ---" she broke off.
His eyes lit with joy.
"I am in the sand; I am buried to the wast in the sand. I see nothing but sand."
His face fell again.
"What is sand?" he asked.
"Oh --- just sand, you know. Leagues and leagues of sand; like a great bowl of sand."
"But what is sand?"
"Sand --- oh! sand is God, I suppose." There was a patience and weariness in her voice, as of one who has suffered long and is at rest, or convalescent.
"And who are you?"
She did not answer the question. "Now I see sky," she said. "Sky is God, too, I think."
"Then do you see God?"
"Oh no! I think I am God, somehow. It is all like it was before, long ago. I was once a spider in the sand. God is a spider; the Universe is flies. I am a fly, too. ... And now the desert is full of flies."
Rolles bit his lip; his face was drawn with pain. At that moment he looked an old man.
"Black flies," she went on. "Horrible white maggots. And now there are corpses. The maggots play about their mouths and eyes. There are three corpses that were God when they were alive. I killed Him. That was {130} when I was a camel in the sand. Now there are only my bones."
"It may be only a veil," he muttered, not wishing her to hear. But she heard.
"It is a veil," she said. "But is there anything behind veils?"
"Look!"
"Only the sand."
"Tear it down!"
"There might be Nothing behind."
"There is Nothing behind. It is through that that you must pass."
"This veil is God. I am a holy nun in the trance called Rampurana. I am canonised. My name is on every banner. My face is worshipped by every nation. I am a pure virgin; all the others are soiled. Thought is worse than deed. All my thoughts are holy. I think. I think. I think. By the power of my thought I created the Word; and by the Word came the Worlds. I am the creator. I will write my law upon tablets of jade and onyx."
Rolles bowed his head in silence.
"I am thought itself," she went on quietly. "And all thought is I. I am knowledge. All knowledge is in three. Three hundred and thirty-three. I am half the Master. I have cut him in two."
The adept shuddered.
"That was when I was an axe. I will not be an arrow. I will be an axe. ..." She gave a giggle.
"I am gleeful by reason of hate."
There was a pause. {131}
"And I am gleeful because I am reason. ..."
"All reason ends in two. I have cut the Master in two."
"Can she pass through?" wondered Edgar. "Is it a fault to be identified so well with that which she beholds?"
"There are devils," she cried. "Black, naked screaming devils. They touch, and at a touch each oozes back to his slime. This slime is Chaos."
"Ararita!" he breathed the word upon her brow.
"Don't touch me! don't touch me!" she screamed. "I am holy! I am God! I am I!" Her face was black and distorted with sudden passion.
"It's quite different to my own experience in many ways," thought the watcher. "Yet --- is it not the essence of all ordeal, all initiation, that it should be unexpected? Otherwise, the candidate would have passed through the gate before he approached it. Which is absurd."
The last word must have been audible.
"Absurd!" she cried. "Indeed, it is not absurd. It is all rational. It is you who are absurd."
"Do you understand what you are saying?"
"No! No! I hate all who understand. I will bite them. I will bite their waists." Dropping her voice suddenly: "That was when I was a mouse-trap."
"Dear God! this is like delirium."
"Oh! go on about God. I don't mind God. I could tell you wonderful things about what I have done to God. I was a Nonconformist preacher once: I had secret sins. They were mine! Mine! How proud I was of them! Every Sunday I used to preach against the sin that I had done most in the week. There are many butterflies in the desert; {132} ever so many more than one would think. This proves that God is good. And then, you see, there are beetles. Beetles and beetles. And scorpions. Dear little amber beasts. There! one has stung me. It is the sacrament of hate. I will sleep in a bed of scorpions and rose-leaves. Scorpions are better than thorns. Why do I wander about naked? And why do I thirst? And this torment of cold? It ought to be hot in the desert. And it isn't. Now that proves --- oh yes, my cat! you shall have milk. I will strike a rock for you. Milk and honey."
She started up suddenly, and put her hands to her face, then threw them round his neck.
"Edgar, darling!" she cried, "your pussy has had such a dreadful dream. Come and love his girl!"
He dared not tell her that she had tried and failed, that she had come come {sic} back as she set out. He flung his will into that act of mercy; his kisses ravished her into delight.
It was late morning when they woke, faint with rapture, fresh kisses blossoming on their young lips, as the sun himself lit their awakening with his love.
Only then came memory, and solemnity, and sorrow.
"I must catch the four o'clock," he said, as he left her; "one of these addresses always finds me. Telegraph if you need me. I would come from the ends of the earth, if I must: but you know the Brothers? When you need me really I shall be at your shoulder. O my darling! my darling!" he broke out, falling to tenderness, half human and half superhuman; "how I love you! how I love you! I hate going to England."
"Oh yes! your martyrdom! I wish I were worthy to share it." {133}
"God! God! why must we part? It's my fool vanity that makes me want the martyrdom. And all the time I only want you."
"But you're not only Edgar Rolles."
"And when I return, be more than Ida Pendragon. Keep a stout heart, wench!"
So, with a thousand tear and kisses, they parted. She would not come to see him off; her self-command was weakened alike by her new love and by the terrible ordeal that she had undergone. Her mind remembered nothing of it --- such is the merciful order of things; but her soul, beaten with rods, was sore.
So Edgar Rolles went to England to his martyrdom, with a lock of her hair in his pocket-book; and he turned martyrdom to battle, and battle to victory. Kingdoms have been won for an eyelash, before now.
{134}
III
THE BLACK HOUR
"DISGUSTING!" said Ida Pendragon. She was at the Luxembourg Gallery, regarding a too faithful portrait of an orator addressing his constituents. She spoke over her shoulder to the long negro, Joe Marie. His eyes rolled, and his hands twitched, and his thick mouth grinned. He seemed to sniff her hair. A pitiable creature --- a tamed leopard. All smiles and yes! yes! to a discourse of whose purport he had no idea.
"Realism!" she went on. "We want truth, but we want beauty too. We don't want what our silly eyes call truth. We want the beauty that is seen by artists' souls. A photograph is a lie because a camera is not a God. And we would rather the truth coloured by the artist's personality than the lie that his mere eyes tell him. The women of Bougereau and Gerome are more like what the eyes tell one of life than the women of Degas and Manet. I want the truth of Being, not the truth of Form. Do you hear?" she cried, "I want truth, I want Truth."
"I want you," said Joe Marie.
"We are both in trouble, then," she smiled back. "And perhaps if we had our wish, we should both be disappointed. Now I am going home to write letters, and if you are good you shall lunch with me to-morrow." {135}
"Then let me pay! I want to pay for your lunch."
"You shall have a great treat, Joe! I have a friend and his girl coming, too. You shall pay for all of us."
The negro beamed. "Ida Pendragon!" he spluttered. "I love you, Ida Pendragon."
"And Ida Pendragon loves her leopard. Now leave me." She glanced round. They were alone in the gallery.
"You may kiss the back of my neck, if you like."
The negro buried his head between her shoulders.
She shivered; her hair hissed under his kiss. She writhed round, and gave her mouth to his for one clinging moment. Then she pushed herself away, and he, poor troubled animal, went swiftly and sleekly from the room. At the corner he staggered. The girl saw it; her smile was like sheet lightning.
A quarter of a mile away, at that moment, Edgar Rolles was tearing the edges from a "petit bleu."
"I am paying the penalty," he read. "Lunch with me at Lavenue's at one to-morrow. Bring a girl."
"Right," said he. "But I wonder what she means." And he strolled out to the Dome to find good-hearted Ninon, "la grande hysterique" of the Quarter, half-mad and wholly amorous, half gamine and half great lady, satiated and unsatisfied indeed, but innocent withal. La Dame de Montparno they called her; she dominated her surroundings without effort. Yet none could analyse or explain the fascination to which all surrendered. She had more friends than lovers, and no one ever told a lie about her, or let her want for anything.
She welcomed the invitation with joy. "Ida Pendragon!" {136} she said, "oh! I know the type. Name of a tigress ..." and she rattled off a story of a stag-hunt at Fontainebleau in which the Cornish girl had played the principal, an incredible part.
The cafe pricked up its ears, and dissolved in laughter at the culminating impossibility.
But Edgar Rolles only frowned. "I am sorry for Ida," he said slowly. "If your story were true I should be glad; but she is only the painter with his palette mixing paints: she never gives her soul up to the canvas. Tigress? yes: but not the Bodhi-sattva who let the tigress eat him. She always wins; she cannot lose. As the proverb says: 'Lucky at play, unlucky in love --- and 'God is love.'"
"Listen! he is saying the Black Mass again," cried Ninon, and springing on a table began the Dance of the Postman's Knock, just then the rage of Montparnasse before the infection spread to Paris and London. A Polish youth jumped on to the table opposite and joined her; in a minute the whole cafe was aflame with it.
But Edgar Rolles, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, and the threat of tears in his eyes, was walking back to his studio.
"If only life were folly!" he sighed. "But the silliest things we do are wisdom --- somehow, somewhere ----"
And he let himself in.
* * * * *
The lunch in the private room at Lavenue's was secretly amusing. Joe Marie had only dog's eyes for Ida; Ninon amused herself by trying to distract him. Edgar held forth at length upon Art, passionlessly expository. {137}
"Art," said he, "and do not imagine that Art or anything else is other than High Magic! --- is a system of holy hieroglyph. The artist, the initiate, thus frames his mysteries. The rest of the world scoff, or seek to understand, or pretend to understand; some few obtain the truth. The technical ability of the artist is the lucidity of his language; it has nothing to do with the degree of his illumination. Bougereau is better technically than Manet; he explains more clearly what he sees. But what does he see? He is the priest of a false God. Form has no importance except in this sense; we must not be revolted by the extravagance of new symbolic systems. Gauguin and Matisse may live to be understood. We acquiesce in the eccentricities of Raphael."
Ida gave a little laugh of pleased scorn of him.
"My good girl, perspective is an eccentricity, a symbol; no more. How can one ever represent a three-dimensional world in two dimensions? Only by symbolism. We have acquiesced in the method of the primitives --- do you think men and women are really like Fra Angelico's pictures look to the eye of the untaught? We may one day acquiesce in all the noughts and crosses of Nadelmann! It's the same everywhere. I draw a curve and a circle and a waggle up and down; and everybody who can read English is perfectly satisfied that I mean that placid ruminant, female, herbivorous, and lactiferous, to which we compare our more domesticated courtesans and our less domesticated policemen. So Being is not in Form; it is however only to be understood through Form. Hence incarnations. The Universe is only a picture in the Mind of the Father, by which He wishes to convey --- what? It is our Magnum Opus to discover what He means! Hence 'the eye {138} of faith.' Mere eyesight tells us that a plaster mould is truer to nature than the greatest masterpiece of Phidias; so does science, with her gross calipers. Sensible men prefer a good photograph of nature to a bad landscape. The photograph shows them the view of their own normal eye through the medium of an accepted symbolism; the picture shows the view of an indifferent bad soul through a medium of mud. But Corot! But Whistler! But Morrice! Corot sees a wood, and paints Pan; Bougereau sees a pretty model, and paints a pretty model. He doesn't paint Woman. Morrice paints the Venice of Byron, of our historic and voluptuous dreams; not the Venice of the Yankee and the churning steamers. Raphael found Madonna in his mistress; Rembrandt a queen of sombre passion and seduction in his wife. In one way or another we must get to God's meaning through a medium that itself is meaningless."
"Just as through dejeuner we get to the dessert!" laughed Ida, who had something more to say than her face showed. All through lunch she had allured the big black savage, until beneath her glances he was in agony. All the primitive passions fought one another in his heart. He could have killed Rolles for the very nonchalance of his small-talk. It hurt him that anyone should speak to Ida save in words of love. Equally, he could have killed him for a trace of inflection in his voice.
Edgar Rolles understood his torture, understood the suppressed intensity of Ida's purpose, though he could not guess its nature. Somehow he distrusted the event.
"Take literature!" he went on, in that even vigilant voice of his. "Take Zola with his million marshalled facts. What {139} do they matter? Nothing. We get the truth about the Second Empire --- and if Zola's facts were all false, it would not alter the truth he came to tell, poor, provincial, time-serving truth as it is."
"Take Ibsen! It is no accusation to say that Norwegians never act as his characters do; no defence to prove that Norwegians always do act so. It has nothing to do with the question. Romeo and Juliet make love in English --- nobody minds! Macbeth is not obliged to say, 'Hoots! ma leddy!' every time he addresses his wife. The fool who bothers with local colour misses the sunshine. The man with the burette misses the sea. Some pious Dutchman of yore, who wanted to paint Abraham and Isaac, gave the old man a blunderbuss. Why not? You can shoot your soon with a blunderbuss! I tell you it's all symbolism, all hieroglyphics. Take Wagner!"
"Take a cigarette," said Ida.
He shrugged his shoulders, and surrendered to the event.
"Mr Rolles," she said, "it is your advice on life that we are asking. Let us talk seriously. This dear boy (she took the negro's lips in her slim fingers and pinched them) likes me."
"I love her! I would die for her!" broke in the black, crying with pleasure and pain, utterly unable to hold himself in. He caught the table to draw himself to it, so violently that two glasses fell. "I love her! I love her! I want her."
"Hush, Joe! Well, you see, Mr Rolles, I love him too. ..." Rolles flashed one glance at her. She would not see it. --- "I love him passionately, indeed I do. Oh, I love him, I love him!"
She threw herself on the broad chest of the boxer and hid {140} her face. His long arms wound convulsively round her. His eyes seemed to start from his head; foam gathered on his dry lips; he could not speak. The breath came through his dilated nostrils hot and fierce; one would have said a bull in the arena. She disengaged herself.
"You see, he wants to marry me. I love him! I want to be with him for ever. But ---" the great fighter was limp in his chair. "It is difficult," she went on. "There are complications. My mother ..."
Edgar Rolles detected the false note in her voice. He understood. He was angry, angry at his implication in such an affair. His teeth snapped.
"Yes?" he said, though he wanted to shout, to break the furniture.
"We cannot marry," she went on, and this time the mordant malice almost tore her silky pathos with a rending shriek. "So, Joe ..." She turned her great eyes on him, lustrous, pleading.
"I want you!" was all he said. But his voice was like the low and terrible cry of an elephant.
"You would not make me" --- she hesitated a moment --- "you would not make me --- "impure?" Her inflection was low and tremulous; but the Caucasions understood. It was like the scream of the typhoon, ripping the sails.
Ninon broke into a high hysterical sob of utmost laughter. She had not seen such a comedy since --- she had never seen such a comedy. What a dull brute that black creature was!
Edgar Rolles rose with a jerk. He did not know what was coming.
And then light dawned in the dense brain of the African. {141} The thousand meshes of her spider web were torn. He understood. He understood that she cared nothing, had never cared, would never have given a hair of her head or all his body and soul. Understanding was to his brain a momentary death.
Then with a silent snarl he sprang at her. She and her chair crashed backwards to the floor, and the black leopard was upon her, his teeth sunk in her throat.
Edgar Rolles was only just in time. His boot caught the murderer behind the ear --- and Edgar Rolles had played football.
The beast was dead.
Edgar stooped and caught her up, blood leaping from her throat, while Ninon, shriek upon shriek rising in torment, rushed to rouse the people of the restaurant.
"Oh, my brother," gasped the girl. "Could you not understand? I wanted to die, so."
There were her last words for long.
Lavenue's was a storm of chattering and gesticulating fools. The police pushed them aside. The corpse to the mortuary; the girl to the hospital; the man to the Poste. Ninon, wringing her hands and crying and laughing, had run like a Bacchante up the Boulevard to the Dome.
{142}
IV
THE HOUR OF GOLD
IT was easy to satisfy French justice. Ida Pendragon was compared to several early Christian martyrs whose names I have forgotten; Edgar Rolles was asked to sit for a picture of St George by Follat, the success of the year's salon. Humanitarian papers urged the law to suppress boxing and its brutalities. Texans in Paris argued and rejoiced; Parisians in Texas went with a clear conscience to such lynchings as occurred.
Ida was convalescent. She would never lose the awful scars that jagged her throat; but would her face ever lose its mysterious exaltation? When Edgar saw her, he was almost afraid to understand. Leaving her, he went through the heart of Paris to a certain house. He wished to be certain; he wished to consult a Brother of the Silver Star.
Now it is very easy to find a Brother, when you know the password. But it is not always easy to get that Brother to tell you what you want. He is almost certain to be exceedingly rude; he is extremely likely to insist on talking common sense, which is annoying when you go for exalted mysticism; and quite possibly he may just nod, and continue his labours, which is maddening when your business is of the highest importance to you, and to him, and to the Brotherhood {143} itself, not to mention humanity --- while he is occupied in playing spillikins, and further insults you by explaining that he is trying to prove that, if you only do it carefully enough, you can detach planets from the solar system without hurting it.
On this occasion, however, Rolles was fortunate enough to find the Brother whom he knew at leisure --- even for him. His feet were on the mantlepiece; a long pipe was in his mouth, and he was twiddling his thumbs.
"Ave, Frate!" said he, as Rolles entered. "Also Vale. How you young brothers manage to find trouble!"
"Miss Pendragon will be out of the hospital in four days," began Edgar in explanation.
"Lucky dog!" said the great man. "But the funny thing is that I am in trouble too."
"Oh! I am sorry."
"I wonder if you could help. It's this way. Sometimes I twiddle my thumbs so --- we call that the plus direction: and sometimes "so" --- the minus direction. Now I lost count years and years ago; and so whichever way I twiddle, I may be getting further and further from equality. Then how --- I ask you! --- may man attain to the Universal Equilibrium?"
"Wouldn't it be safer not to twiddle at all?" suggested Rolles meekly.
"Inglorious youth!" retorted the Brother. "Base Buddhist! So you could never equalize the count! No! My plan is --- always to widdle one way. It is an even chance that my way is right."
"But if you should be wrong?"
"I shall be damned, I suppose." {144}
"And if you should succeed, and equalise the count?"
"I have no idea."
"But ----"
"Ungenerous, unsympathetic youth! I wager you have not divined my difficulty?"
"It "all" seems very difficult."
"But my supreme, my crushing doubt?"
"I cannot guess, sir."
"This! In your ear, my young friend. This! I cannot remember which way always to twiddle."
Rolles drew back dazed.
"Read Nietzsche!" snapped the Brother.
"But --- but ---" he stammered. "Oh! this is it. Miss Pendragon comes out in four days' time ..."
"I wish you'd learnt twiddling," said the Brother sadly.
"But what am I to do, sir?"
"Twiddle, you damned fool!"
"I know you always mean something ..."
"Never. There is Nothing to mean!"
"Oh!"
"Be off, I can't be bothered with you --- be off! I send you packing. Is that" clear?"
"You have nothing to say to me?"
"What have I been saying this priceless past fourteen minutes twenty-seven seconds? Ape! Goat! Imbecile! Dullard! Poopstick! Do you think one can recover lost time? One must talk English to you --- English, you hotel blotting-paper, you unabsorbent wad of pulp! English, you Englishman!"
Rolles nearly lost his temper at the final insult. {145}
"Well, then, I send you packing. Go and pack, dolt! Pack! Trunks, portmanteaux, bags, boxes, and for the Lord's sake pack some brains! Take the girl to Jericho or Johannesburg, and get some sense, and triplets, if you can!"
"Twiddle so --- Being! Twiddle "so" --- Form! Balance them, cheating grocer! Nation of shopkeepers! Twiddle! Twiddle! Twiddle! Isn't the Balance in the Babe? Teach her to understand children!" The Brother paused to re-light his pipe, thrusting the bowl into the glowing carbon of the grate.
"To understand children? It is hard. But we love children, sir."
"And what the devil is the difference between love and understanding? If you have one, you have the other. Oh, twiddle, twiddle! --- You can send me one of those rotten paper knives from Jericho, added the adept more peaceably. With the rotten Sephardi pointing --- blasphemers! And here! don't "you" blaspheme, young feller my lad. You've got a good woman: make the most of her."
"A great woman, perhaps."
"A good woman. In the next siege of Paris I hope I shall not have to boil your head; I prefer thick soup. A good woman. A sister of the Silver Star, my good goat!"
"I do not understand, master!"
"You never will, I think. O generation of vipers! O prosy princox! O coxcomb of Kafoozelum!"
"I beg your pardon, sir! You know she failed in the abyss?"
"I? You? This is intolerable. Give me mere Hafiz! Here, thickhead! she was your mistress, I suppose? Most women in Paris seem to be." {146}
"Sir!"
"Yes or no? Well, silence gives consent --- No! she wasn't! You lie! she never gave herself but once --- go and look at the mark on her throat!"
Rolles reeled back, stunned by the bludgeon truth.
"I am no Fool!"
"Not by a long chalk! Keep your end up, and you'll be a Magus in this life yet, though. In the meantime --- oh, be a Devil!"
The younger man divined the infinite love and wisdom beneath the brusquerie of the Brother.
His eyes filled with tears.
"I'll win her, sir, by God!" he said enthusiastically.
"Lose yourself to her. Only so. Off now, boy! I am busy. I must twiddle--- twiddle---twiddle."
Edgar bowed and went. He could not trust himself to speak: the Love that was the whole being of the Brother melted the snow of his soul. He loved. Not Ida, not the world, not anything. It was pure love; love without object, love as love is in itself. He did not love; he was Love.
But he strode straight back to Ida Pendragon. Before she left her bed, they were married. A week later they drove through the cool swift air to the South; and there, among the vines, they lernt how --- once in a century --- the phoenix Passion may rise from the fire of Vice, and how in the beak of the phoenix proved by the fire is the ring of Love.
* * * * *
A year later. They were in a villa at Mustapha. The sea and sky strove enviously which should best answer the sun's question with the word blue. {147}
But Ida Pendragon, pale and fragile as rare porcelain, twisted herself and found no peace. Edgar bent over her, as vigilant as on the night of her first ordeal. In the shadow stood a physician; at the bedside sat a nurse, and in her arms a child.
"Brother!" she said faintly, "the number of the grade is Three, and I have given myself three times. Once to the brute, once to the man --- my man! (her hand pressed his, oh! too feebly!) and now --- to God!" The tears sprang to his eyes.
"It is for you," she whispered, "to understand the child."
She fell back. The physician ran forward. He knew that he had no useful purpose there: but he motioned Edgar away. Too late. Edgar had understood the Event.
He fell upon the dead girl's breast, crash!
The nurse shook herself, half angrily, as a retriever shakes off water. Then she put the child into his arms.
MARITAL NAY
{148}
THE AUTUMN WOODS.
The eye of Fate is closed; the olden doom
Lies in the wrack of things. There is no sigh;
Only the wind cries through the lonely woods,
And the barren motherhood of the world is manifest
Shamelessly; in the dank, pale Autumn woods
The fallen leaves lie squelching under the feet
Of the desolate gnomes; and now the birds are silent,
And the streams flow sluggishly through the veins of the
world.
Dark gray and cloudy, the skies no more are blue,
And grayness reigning solitary makes music
Drearily through the wind-harp. The dripping rain
Soddens the earth, and the stones lie thick and wet
Among the leaves; and the trees wave naked arms
In despair to the sky. The light is quickly dying,
And there is no more day; the dull red sun ---
A sore and aching eye in a face of gray ---
Droops down to slumber. All the world is dead.
Rose! Rose! Where art thou? O my Rose, my Rose!
My secret Rose, art lost among the gray?
There is no voice in the silence; in the woods
The brownness glistens under the weeping rain, {149}
And I am in despair of Thee and Time.
Weeping the trees, and all the streams grown sullen
Under the lowering skies, and the bitter winds.
There is no living thing in the temple of Summer,
And the ashes of Spring lie cold on the hearth of day.
Gray dreams again! And all my hope is fled.
Gray dreams, gray dreams, and the day is tired and dead.
The bitter aftermath of Summer brings
Time's memory back to the world: there are no stings,
In the world's pain, but only bitterness
Of the memory of Time; no sore distress,
Save for the thought of Summer waned and dead,
And faded with the gold skies overhead,
And the young green beneath; ah! secret Rose,
Here in the heart of the woods I pluck thee forth,
Fraught with the swell of Summer, crimson-bright!
And for the world under the stars to-night ---
It shall be thine, and thine the star that draws
The world to worship thee: the days are fled
Under the heavens; there is no more sun,
And no more love; the world is hushed and dead.
Slim-passing dryad through the lonely woods!
I will follow thee in the paths of dank decay;
Decadent Autumn, with thy lonely broods
Of active gnomes, and little red-capped Fays,
Feasting in the Summer dead under the trees
Dripping with Autumn rains --- ah! take me too,
Me too into the silence of the past, {150}
The grave of desolation! I am weary
Of all things; let me sleep my life away!
The breast of Fate is pregnant with despair
Got on her by the piercing shaft of Time.
Ah! Unborn child of Fate and Time, I am weary
Of them that gave thee birth. Shall I love thee?
O darling, wilt thou come to me in the silence,
Saying: I hear the mystery of Time,
And the secret of Fate? I know not yet, but surely
Thou shalt know of the Rose, the rose, the Rose of the
world;
With thee shall I bear the chalice of blood-tipped lilies,
The chalice of red, sweet lilies under the moon?
But now there is no moon, nor any sun;
The world's gray noon only is for thee and me;
There is no sound in the nerveless silences
Of the fading world; there is a quiver of light
On the river of life; we are unwed, my Rose,
Nor knoweth each the other; we are undone,
My Rose, my secret Rose, my unknown Rose!
And still the Autumn woods are rustling dumbly
With sodden leaves made brown by wind and rain;
And the satyrs are fled under the earth to hide
From the sunless world, and the nymphs are faded to air,
To be reborn in the sun-light: there is no more joy,
For mournfulness is fallen on the world,
And decadence and decay and the odour of eld. {151}
The spirit sleeps; the Rose of the world is buried
Under the soil of every star that glows,
A hanging lamp, under the firmament.
There shall be no more roses, no more roses,
Until the spring of the stars shall fall on the world.
Then shall be light again, O secret Rose,
And thou shalt be born anew, with radiant star-light
For dew, and all thy petals shall be dreams
Crystallised of the gods who swing the chains
Of the worlds in space; and at the heart of thee
Shall be the secret knowledge, the sacred word,
The logos of the throbbing universe.
And the years shall pass in myriads over the tree
Whereon thou bloomest, O my Rose of the worlds!
And one shall pluck thee forth, and love and death
Shall lie together, and there shall be born
He who shall bear for ever into life
The rose-tipped lilies under the silent stars,
The silent stars, and the red-blushing roses.
O Rose, my Rose of the world, my Rose of Roses,
Thou shalt be born anew, and live for ever!
VICTOR J. I. NEUBURG.
{152}
THE DANGERS OF MYSTICISM
"AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO
ARTHUR EDWARD WAITE"
A CURIOUS idea is being sedulously disseminated, and appears to be gaining ground, that mysticism is the "Safe" Path to the Highest, and magic the dangerous Path to the lowest.
There are several comments to be made on this assertion. One may doubt whether anything worth doing at all is free from danger, and one may wonder what danger can threaten the man whose object is his own utter ruin. One may also smile a little grimly at the integrity of those who try to include all Magic under Black Magic, as is the present trick of the Mystic Militant here on earth.
Now, as one who may claim to a slight acquaintance with the literature of both paths, and to have been honoured by personal exposition from the adepts of both paths, I believe that I may be able to bring them fairly into the balance.
This is the magical theory, that the first departure from the Infinite must be equilibrated and so corrected. So the "great Magician," Mayan, the maker of Illusion, the Creator, must be met in combat. Then "if Satan be divided against Satan, how can his kingdom stand?" Both vanish: the illusion is no more. Mathematically, 1 + (-1) = 0. And this path is symbolised in the Taro under the figure of the {153} Magus, the card numbered 1, the first departure from 0, but referred to Beth, 2, Mercury, the god of Wisdom, Magic and Truth.
And this Magus has the twofold aspect of the Magician himself and also of the "Great Magician" described in Liber 418 (EQUINOX, No. V., Special Supplement, p. 144).
Now the formula of the mystic is much simpler. Mathematically, it is 1 - 1 = 0. He is like a grain of salt cast into the sea; the process of dissolution is obviously easier than the shock of worlds which the magician contemplates. "Sit down, and feel yourself as dust in the presence of God; nay, as less than dust, as nothing," is the all-sufficient simplicity of his method. Unfortunately, many people cannot do this. And when you urge your inability, the mystic is only too likely to shrug his shoulders and be done with you.
This path is symbolised by the "Fool" of the Tarot, who is alike the Mystic and the Infinite.
But apart from this question, it is by no means certain that the formula is as simple as it seems. How is the mystic to assure himself that "God" is really "God" and not some demon masquerading in His image? We find Gerson sacrificing Huss to his "God"; we find a modern journalist who has done more than dabble in mysticism writing, "This mystic life at its highest is undeniably selfish"; we find another writing like the old lady who ended her criticism of the Universe, "There's only Jock an' me'll be saved; an' I'm no that sure o' Jock"; we find another who at the age of ninety-nine foams at the mouth over an alleged breach of her {154} alleged copyright; we find another so sensitive that the mention of his name by the present writer induces an attack of epileptic mania; if such are really "united with" or "absorbed in" God, what of God?
We are told in Galatians that the fruits of the Spirit are peace, love, joy, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance; and somewhere else, "By their fruits ye shall know them."
Of these evil-doers then we must either think that they are dishonest, and have never attained at all, or that they have united themselves with a devil.
Such are "Brethren of the Left Hand Path," described so thoroughly in Liber 418 (EQUINOX, No. V., Special Supplement, pp. 119 "sqq.").
Of these the most characteristic sign is their exclusiveness. "We are the men." "Ours is the only Way." "All Buddhists are wicked," the insanity of spiritual pride.
The Magician is not nearly so liable to fall into this fearful mire of pride as the mystic; he is occupied with things outside himself, and can correct his pride. Indeed, he is constantly being corrected by Nature. He, the Great One, cannot run a mile in four minutes! The mystic is solitary and shut up, lacks wholesome combat. We are all schoolboys, and the football field is a perfect prophylactic of swelled head. When the mystic meets an obstacle, he "makes believe" about it. He says it is "only illusion." He has the morphino-maniac's feeling of bien-etre, the delusions of the general paralytic. He loses the power of looking any fact in the face; he feeds himself on his own imagination; he {155} persuades himself of his own attainment. If contradicted on the subject, he is cross and spiteful and cattish. If I criticise Mr X, he screams, and tries to injure me behind my back; if I say that Madam Y is not exactly St. Teresa, she writes a book to prove that she is.
Such persons "swollen with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread," as Milton wrote of a less dangerous set of spiritual guides.
For their unhappy followers and imitators, no words of pity suffice. The whole universe is for them but "the glass of their fool's face"; only, unlike Sir Palamedes, they admire it. Moral and spiritual Narcissi, they perish in the waters of illusion. A friend of mine, a solicitor in Naples, has told me strange tales of where such self-adoration ends.
And the subtlety of the devil is shown particularly in the method by which such neophytes are caught by the Black Brothers. There is an exaggerated awe, a solemnity of diction, a vanity of archaic phrases, a false veil of holiness upon the unclean shrine. Stilted affectation masquerades as dignity; a rag-bag of mediaevalism apes profundity; jargon passes for literature; phylacteries increase about the hem of the perfect prig, prude, and Pharisee.
Corollary to this attitude is the lack of all human virtue. The greatest magician, when he acts in his human capacity, acts as a man should. In particular, he has learnt kindheartedness and sympathy. Unselfishness is very often his long suit. Just this the mystic lacks. Trying to absorb the lower planes into the higher, he neglects the lower, a mistake no magician could make. {156}
The Nun Gertrude, when it came to her turn to wash up the dishes, used to explain that she was very sorry, but at that particular moment she was being married, with full choral service, to the Saviour.
Hundreds of mystics shut themselves up completely and for ever. Not only is their wealth-producing capacity lost to society, but so is their love and good-will, and worst of all, so is their example and precept. Christ, at the height of his career, found time to wash the feet of his disciples; any Master who does not do this on every plane is a Black Brother. The Hindus honour no man who becomes "Sannyasi" (nearly our "hermit") until he has faithfully fulfilled all his duties as a man and a citizen. Celibacy is immoral, and the celibate shirks one of the greatest difficulties of the Path.
Beware of all those who shirk the lower difficulties: it's a good bet that they shirk the higher difficulties too.
Of the special dangers of the path there is here no space to write; each student finds at each step temptations reflecting his own special weaknesses. I have therefore dealt solely with the dangers inseparable from the path itself, dangers inherent in its nature. Not for one moment would I ask the weakest to turn back or turn aside from that path, but I would ask even the strongest to apply these correctives: first, the sceptical or scientific attitude, both in outlook and method; second, a healthy life, meaning by that what the athlete and the explorer mean; third, hearty human companionship, and devotion to life, work, and duty.
Let him remember that an ounce of honest pride is better than a ton of false humility, although an once of true {157} humility is worth an ounce of honest pride; the man who works has no time too bother with either. And let him remember Christ's statement of the Law "to love God with all thy heart, and thy neighbour as thyself."
ALEISTER CROWLEY.
{158}
REVIEWS
THE BIG STICK
THE DWELLER ON THE THRESHOLD. ROBERT HICHENS. Methuen. 6"s."
Mr Hichens once wrote "Flames." This was a pretty powerful book. To-day (tempted, as I suppose, by a heavy bribe, for he is an artist in his way) he gives us this book with a title borrowed, not from Lytton, whom he has obviously not read, but from some eighteenth-hand source, and contents borrowed from his own "Flames." Hence a tedious novel,
dull novel unconvincing novel,
stupid novel, futile novel,
pseudo-occult novel, banal novel,
pot-boiling novel, senseless novel,
tired novel, ground-out novel,
pointless novel, unreal novel,
fatuous novel, sorry novel,
etc., etc., etc.
The above method of filling space I took from Rabelais. Mr Hichens' method is just as obvious. PANURGE.
MYSTICIAM. EVELYN UNDERHILL. Methuen. 15"s." net.
This lengthy treatise upon the simplest of subjects is more free from pedantry and theological bias than was perhaps to be expected. It is very complete in its way as regards Christian mysticism; but the attempt to restrict the term mysticism to Christian mysticism must fail. It is indeed self-destructive. To exclude the authors of the Bhagavadgita, the Voice of the Silence, Knox Om Pax, and the Tao Teh King is to exclude by implication St. Teresa. To deny Crowley is to deny Christ. Similarly, the attempt to define Magic in terms contrary to its tradition, is sectarian folly. I may disagree with Huxley, but I shall not confute him by saying that he was a bigoted opponent of Evolution.
Roosevelt, in calling Thomas Paine a dirty little Atheist, when he was demonstrably a clean tall Deist, established only the record for falsehood. Mr {160} (or Mrs or Miss?) Evelyn Underhill does the same thing when he abuses the Magi by attributing to them the doctrines and practices of sorcerers. And we think that his sense of awe misleads him in one respect. The Buddha, the Christ, and He whom some of us know as Frater Perdurabo, were all men before they became lost in the Infinity of what some call the One, others the All, others the Naught; and their documents are accessible. These documents are of immeasurably greater value than the lesser writings of the mediaeval saints. In fact, this word mediaeval is of use to us in describing Evelyn Underhill's state of mind. He, she, or it is rather narrow, vastly learned and curiously ignorant, capable of seeing far from within, utterly incapable of seeing an inch from without, a bit of a heresy-hunter and so on. It is clear that the mystic vision even is not his, or how could he remain sectarian? Had he only enough imagination to think of the earth as seen from Cor Scorpionis, all such diatribes would seem infinitely petty. We may splutter about with our little verbal fireworks, as I am doing now; but to take it seriously! "There's nothing serious in mortality;" God is All in All. The Universe is but a mote playing in that sunbeam; why bother to fill 600 dull pages? Nothing is worth writing but literature. Art is the expression of divine Truth; Mr. Underhill, being no artist, expresses only human error. CANDLESTICK.
DEATH. HEREWARD CARRINGTON and JOHN R. MEADER. Wm. Rider
& Son, 8"s." 6"d." net.
A most interesting and fairly able book. Mr Carrington's hysteria is thoroughly diluted by Mr Meader, or else he has taken a little nourishment and feels better. The Vitality book was the scream of a schoolgirl.
The "theories" of these writers are, however, too comic to discuss seriously. One believes in "Life," a mystical entity flowing through one like a grease-spot through a greenback; the other believes that Death is caused by a man's hypnotising himself into the belief that it must come!
Big as is the present volume, it is necessarily far from complete. Yet I am compelled to admit much against my will that he makes out a very strong case for the persistence of personality after death, and its manifestation through certain mediums. Yet I think that the "coincidence" argument is a little better than is supposed.
The point is that the failures are unrecorded. Take "pure chance" roulette for example. Scientifically, any given run (say 500 on the red) is no more and no less remarkable than any other given run, say R B B R R B B B R R R B B B B, etc., to 500 coups. But the one is acclaimed as a miracle, the other goes unremarked. {161}
Now in the millions of seances of the last sixty years the "evidential" records can be counted in the fingers of one hand.
And it is not antecedently so very improbable that pure chance might dictate correct answers in so small a proportion of cases.
Further, the spiritists have thrown upon science the task of proving a universal negative.
If Sir Oliver Lodge, or Professor Munsterberg, or Lord Cholly Cauliflower, or Mr Upthe Pole comes to me with a tale of unicorns in Piccadilly, I merely humour him. Munsterberg, at least, might be dangerous.
But I should not investigate his statement, and I certainly should not claim to be able to disprove it on "a priori" grounds.
Even in the evidential cases, there is so much room for a mixture of fraud, telepathy, chance, and hysteria, and humanity is so cleaver at stopping chinks with putty and then leaving the door open, that we must continue to suspend judgment.
An amusing case occurred some years ago at Cambridge. I offered to reproduce roughly the performance of the Zancigs (which was then puzzling the foolish in London) without preparation. A stranger to me offered to act as my "medium."
The conditions were these. The ten small cards of a suit were laid on the floor; one was to be touched in the medium's absence and in my presence. The medium was to return and say which it was. The rest of the company were to prevent us from communicating if they could.
Well, they tried everything. In a minute's interview I arranged a button-touching code with my medium, and as each new restriction was put on me I managed to invent a new code. Shifting my pipe, coughing, arranging books, winking, altering the position of my fingers, etc., etc., all were provided against. Then I obtained a confederate. Ultimately the grand sceptic of all devised the following test just as I had passed the note to my medium, "If I can't manage any of the old ways, I'll try and write down the number and put it on the mantelpiece."
And this was the test.
The medium was to be taken from Whewell's Court (were we were) over to the Great Court of Trinity --- well out of all hearing. I was to be left alone with the sceptic, who by this time suspected everybody of being a confederate. He was to touch the card in my presence and then take me away in the opposite direction. The medium was then (at a given time) to return, and tell the card. Now it happened that in the course of general argument about fairness, which I encouraged to enable myself to plot unnoticed in the confusion of talk, that I had stipulated for my sceptic to write down the number that he had {162) touched, to avoid dispute. This he agreed to; he was allowed to hide it as he chose.
I gave up all hope but in bringing off the 9 to 1 chance of my medium's being right. The sceptic kept both eyes on me all the time; if I stirred a finger, he was up in arms. I did keep my back to the mantelpiece, but there was no way of writing down the number.
But it was just at that point that my sceptic's magnificent brain broke down. He had correctly argued everything so far; but then his brain said, "It is important that Crowley shall not know where I hide the paper with the number on it: I must hide it somewhere where he cannot see."
So instead of slipping it into one of the hundreds of books on the shelves, the hid it behind my back, "i.e." on the mantlepiece, where it was duly found!
I must tell just one other story to the point. It throws possibly some light on one or two of the "miracles" which Blavatzsky performed in order to disgust the more foolish of her followers.
In June 1906 I was at Margate (God help me!), and asked my friend J_____ to lend me his copy of Abramelin.
"Sorry!" said he. "I lent it to So-and-so, and it has not been returned."
He forgot this conversation: I remembered it.
Staying at his house six months later, I was alone one morning and found the book, which he "knew for a fact" to be in London sixty miles away. It was hidden by the panel of a glass-fronted bookcase.
I hid it in the stuffing of a music-stool, led the conversation at lunch-time to "apports," got my host to suggest my doing this very thing which he was sure I could not do, and, in the evening, did it.
If I had been a cheat, could I have produced better evidence? My host would have sworn that the book was in London in a house unknown to me, whose occupants were unknown to me. He is a man of science and of most accurate and balanced judgment. One little lapse of memory: he forgot that he had told me that the book was not in his shelves; another little lapse of memory: he forgot where the book was; and there is your miracle!
Now for my constructive policy. I suggest that a "spirit" be cultivated on the lines laid down by Eliphaz Levi, "Dogma and Ritual," Chap. XIII., so that he may manifest more wholly. Then let him dictate to two or three segregated mediums a long passage, or a long set of meaningless figures, and get so high a degree of agreement that hardly any doubt remains.
Or if anybody wants a really high evidential proof, let him get the proof of Fermat's Last Theorem, which Fermat died without revealing, and which the united efforts of mathematicians have hitherto failed to discover.
ALEISTER CROWLEY. {163}
THE PORCH. Vol. I., No. 8. 3"d." J. M. WATKINS. THE MIRROR OF SIMPLE SOULS.
Of all this admirable series this is the best. Such prose I have rarely found in all my reading. I am beggared of wit to review it; but I implore all who seek the pure Light mirrored in flawless imagery to obtain it.
ALEISTER CROWLEY.
THE APOCALYPSE UNSEALED. "Being an Estoeric Interpretation" of THE INITIATION
OF IOANNES. By JAMES M. PRYSE. New York; John M. Pryse, 9-15 Murray
Street, 1910. London: J. M. Watkins. 8"s." 6"d." net
It is possible to write upon this book in a freer manner, without offence, than upon any other book in the Canon of Scripture, for there is no other book which has caused so much disquiet to theologians, in all ages, as has the "Revelation of St John the Divine," and it is but in comparatively recent times that it has been generally accepted as Canonical, and this even by those who admit that they do not understand it; and to such as these the "Apocalypse Unsealed" will be a veritable "Revelation" indeed. Mr James M. Pryse accepts it unreservedly as the work of the Apostle John, but we ought to mention that there is a long string of authorities against this view. Dionysius, who was surnamed the Great, of Alexandria, was a pupil of Origen, and he of Clement of Alexandria, all catechists of the "Arcane Discipline" which taught a Christianised version of the older Gnosis, which Clement and others had brought into the Church from the older secret, or occult, societies of which they were, or had been members. This Dionysius makes a certain John the Presbyter, as of note in Asia Minor in the 1st century, and distinct from the Apostle, to be the author of the book. Presbyter Cajus, or Gaius, of Rome, and the Alogi, attributed it to Cerinthus, a Gnostic of the independent sect of these, and Eusebius quotes both Dionysius and these Alogi; Nicephorus Callistus uses the same as saying that some who had preceded them had manipulated the book in such way, in every chapter, that the original could not be recognised. This may be an exaggeration, but amongst the eminent critics who have denied the authenticity of the book may be mentioned these, and what else can we expect when none to the present time could understand it? Against it are De Wett, Bleek, Ewald, Credner, Schott, Lucke, Neander, Michaelis, who treat the style as utterly foreign to that of John the Apostle. The first-named observes that "Revelation" is characterised by strong Hebraisms, ruggedness, and exhibits the absence of pure Greek words, whilst in the Gospel of John is to be found a calm, deep feeling, but in the Apocalypse we have great creative power of fancy; --- the two minds are at variance with each other. St Jerome had an {164} exalted opinion of the book, and says that it has much of mystery therein; possibly he saw it with the same eyes as Mr Pryse. Even both Luther and Erasmus were doubtful as to its acceptance. The "Encyclopaedia Britannica" argues that its allusions are of the 4th or 5th century. It may be mentioned here, that Dom John Chapman, D.O.S., has made an examination of the question this year, and argues, with doubtful success, that John the Presbyter and John the Apostle were the same person, and accepts both the Gospel and the Apocalypse as the works of Apostle John, and accounts for the difference in style as that of the amanuensis whom the Apostle John employed.
Two noticable, but irreconcilable, attempts have in recent years been made to interpret the book, theologically and historically. The learned Dr E. V. Kenealy made sense out of it, but overdid the subject. He believed it to represent the Apocalyptic church of Adam, and found in its addresses to the "Seven Churches" the existence of a great Asian hierarchy of the seven temples of the "twenty-four Ancients," and further, in its various characters, the acts of the twelve divine incarnations, or messengers, who follow each other at periods of 600 years, as taught in regard to the manifestations of Vishnu.
Then, in 1906, we have a book of the astronomer, Nicholas Marazoff, verified by the astronomers Ramin and Lanin, who attempt an astrological view, grounded on the state of the heavens at Patmos on the 30th September 395, at 5 o'clock at night. Jupiter --- the white horse --- was then in Sagittarius; whilst Saturn --- the pale horse --- was in Scorpio; the sun in Virgo, and the moon under her feet. John Chrysostom was then in Patmos, and immediately after 395 was called to Rome to become a presbyter; but Rome finding that the "Second Coming" did not take place, it is argued that he was deprived and banished as a "false prophet." Against this we have the fact that Chrysostom does not mention the book, but the date assigned agrees with criticisms as the book now stands.
We must defer to the superior knowledge of this modern "Unveiler," though personally I am inclined to accept the views of those early Fathers who assign the authorship to Cerinthus, and also the later German critics, who believe that the first three chapters and the last have been added by a later hand, and other portions altered to agree with the Scriptures held to be orthodox. Of course this, if it were so, does not effect in any way the views of Mr Pryse, but rather strengthens them, as I look upon the imagery of the book as essentially that of the earlier and pre-Christian Gnostics. Though we may not have absolute proof of the great antiquity of the Gnosis, such as Mr Pryse unveils, yet it is clearly Aryan, dating from the time of Momu --- the thinker; then again the development of the Kundalini --- serpent fire --- world's mother, also termed rousing the Brahm --- is said to be shown as issuing from the foreheads of early {165} Egyptian kings; Apollonius of Tyana, a contemporary of our Jesus, visited the Gymnosophists of the Upper Nile, but said that they were not equal to those of India. The British Druids must have had a knowledge of the "Serpent fire" in their secret instruction, or why exclaim, "I am a serpent." The Mythraic Mysteries, and all the Eranoi Societies, were equally protected by the laws of Solon seven centuries B.C., and Mr Pryse observes that only once does the word Halleluiah occur in the Bible, yet we know that it formed the close of a chant in the "Rites of Purification" in a call to the slain god for deliverance, in pre-Christian centuries, and further there are Mythraic traces in Revelation. We also know from a large mass of inscriptions found in recent times, that the early Christians made use of the very ancient societies, and by that course spread their doctrine. Before the issue of the "Unsealing," the same translator published the "Magical Message of Ioannes," a translation of great value which receives much additional light from the later work, and the more so as it supplies, in a knowledge of Hermetic Greek, much meaning which escapes us in the authorised version.
In the "Unsealing," Mr. Pryse goes solid for the book, the whole book, and nothing but the book, as the veritable work of the Apostle John, hence the clergy may extend a welcome hand to it. He quite believes it is a work of the Apostle John, and defends the style; amongst these there are some doubtless who are narrow-minded, but here, and still more prominently in America, there are broad-minded clergy who will welcome the Unsealing.
The Freemasons too in their higher grades, which have more or less reached us through the Rosicrucians, have very strong allusions to the Apocalypse, and may profit by it, and this refers to several systems practised throughout the world. Thus the Order of Heredom (Harodim) Rosy Cross, which has an unchanged Ritual from 1740, at least, draws upon Dionysius the Areopagite, a disciple of St Paul, and it has also a rhythmetical description of the New Jerusalem. Again, two entire degrees of the Scottish Rite of 33 Degree are drawn from the Apocalypse, and certainly entered the Rite before 1758, and seem as if they were drawn bodily from the Rosicrucian Militia of the Cross: I allude to the 17 Degree Knight of the East and West, and the 19 Degree of Grand Pontiff, which treat upon the Heavenly Jerusalem, and the opening scene of the Revelations. It was rather a pity that when the late Albert Pike was revising the Rituals, he did not consolidate the Rite by changing the places of the 17 Degree with the 20 Degree, which latter treats of Zerubbabel. His predecessor Morin, in 1767, did a like thing by the Amalgamation of Prince Adept, which he had in his patent of 1762, with Knight of the Sun, and supplying the blank thus created with Patriarch Noachite. There is also the Royal Oriental Order of the Sat Bhai which was founded 1743-5 by a Brahmin Pundit at Prag, for certain Anglo-Indian officers, and which is now well established in America. {166}
The idea that Revelation is a book of Initiation is not altogether new to Freemasons, as the late Dr Geo. Oliver elaborated that view at considerable length, but Mr Pryse's view is quite a different sort of Initiation; it is the development of the semi-miraculous powers of the Gnosis of Clement, Origen, and the early Christian Church, the birth of the divine three principles, the Crestos, in the human soul. The key to this "Unsealing" is the text itself, in which is found the Nos. 333, 444, 666, 777, 888, 999, 1000, as applied to the seven principal "chakras" of the human body, as taught by Greek Yogis. Apart altogether from the possession of a reliable literal translation of the book, there are seventy-five pages upon the development of the "Kundalini," and each subject is followed in the text by a commentary in application. Mr Pryse expresses the view that the book is necessarily incomprehensible to the conventional theologian, yet easily comprehended by the esoteric Initiate, "i.e." by him who possesses the Gnosis, and that the drama is perfect in all its parts. I may add that most of this class of Initiative books had a double interpretation, and hence that the same may be equally found in the Apocalypse, but into this Mr Pryse does not enter. JOHN YARKER.
Mr Pryse has undoubtedly found the key of the Apocalypse, and many of his interpretations are profound and accurate. But he is afflicted by sexual mania to an extent positively shocking, and does not understand the harmony of the principles. Adeptship is balanced growth, not lopping. A rose dies if you remove the root and stalk, Mr Pryse!
He is unfortunately a poor scholar, and has developed the American literary sense to an incredible point. He translates
GR:alpha-kappa-rho-alpha-sigma-iota-alpha, "impotence, lack of control," as "sensuality," GR:alpha-gamma-gamma-epsilon-lambda-omicron-sigma as "divinity," and gives us "saucers" for "vials"!
Unfortunately, too, he has studied Eastern Mysticism at second-hand, through Theosophical spectacles. Nor has he kept even to Blavatsky the genius, but relied upon her commentators, who had neither her learning nor her experience.
But he has the key, and it opens the way for a real study of "St John" by a person of greater ability.
It is a very remarkable fact, however, that Akrasia (333) and Akolasia (333) should so accurately describe Choronzon (333). No higher test of the truth of "The Vision and the Voice" could be desired.
Again, 666 is GR:'Eta Phi-rho-eta-nu, not the Lower Mind, as Mr Pryse unhellenically says, but Tiphereth, the Lion that lieth down with the Lamb. Nor, by the way, is Iacchos a phallic God except as 'Omicron Nu-iota-kappa-omega-nu himself is phallic, and has his mystic {167} name written upon that organ, according to Mr Pryse! Iacchus = IAO = Jehovah, and concentrates I.N.R.I.
We recommend the book for its suggestion and insight; it is one of the best of the kind. NICK LAMB.
SALAMAN ET ABSAL, POEME ALLEGORIQUE PERSIAN DE DJAMI. Traduit par AUGUSTE
BRICTEUX, Ph.D., Litt.D., etc. etc., avec une Introduction sur le
Mysticisme persan, etc. Bruxelles, 10 rue de la Tribune (Librairie Ch.
Carrington). 10 "francs."
A magnificent volume without and within. This, with the single exception of the "Bagh-i-muattar" (Probsthain & Co., 1910, 3 "gs.", and therefore difficult of access), is the greatest of Persian mystic treatises, though it is rather elementary. But we can recommend no better volume for those who know but a little. Dr Bricteux has no experience of mysticism, and so makes mistakes. This was to be expected, but I am surprised at the scholar's error of asserting that the Hindu system lacks the method of love. As ninety-five Hindus practise Bhakti-Yoga for five that practise any other kind, we advise Dr Bricteux to be more careful. But this is a small blemish on a very fine essay. ABHAVANANDA.
RUBAIYAT D'OMAR KHAYYAMI. Mis en Rimes fransaises par JULES DE BARTHOLD.
Bruxelles, 10 rue de la Tribune (Librairie Ch. Carrington). 5 "francs."
Since the "loathsome and abominable" disclosures with regard to Edward Fitzgerald and "Posh," I suppose every decent Englishman has burnt his copy of the Quatrains. It is consequently very pleasant to find a new translation, accurately representing the original, in beautiful and lucid French. The verses flow with the sound of wine poured in a thirsty country. We can recommend this book to all lovers of whom the "Daily Telegraph" would call "the astronomer-poet of Persia," and then "the tent-maker of Naishapur." A.L.
MAURICE MAETERLINCK. Par GERARD HARVEY. Bruxelles, Ch. Carrington.
2.50 "francs."
I hope I shall find a Gerard Harvy at the Day of Judgment. There is none of that nasty carping spirit which spoils so many sunny natures. When the great Maurice dines alone, it is his almost monachal asceticism; when he has company, it is his genial bonhomie. He smokes --- how brave of him; but of course it is denicotinised tobacco --- how prudent of him! He sometimes sleeps alone --- the modern Galahad; and sometimes with somebody else --- "even his {168} Heinesque moods are steeled through with a strong man's virility." In short, Dr Pangloss was indeed the greatest of philosophers --- until Gerard Harvey wiped the floor with him. A.L.
THE LIMIT. By ADA LEVERSON. 6"s."
Mrs Leverson is easily the dantiest and wittiest of our younger feminine writers; but she does well to call her latest masterpiece "the limit." Mrs Leverson offers us a picture of an aged, wrinkled, and bedizened Jewess with false hair and teeth, painted and whitewashed with kohl, rouge, and chalk, until there seems hardly any woman there at all. Yet not content with addiction to indiscriminate adultery and morphine, she finds pleasure in seducing young men and picking their pockets.
Fie! you can surely show us a prettier picture than that. Why not return to your earlier manner? Not necessarily the manner of "An Idyll in Bloomsbury," but you might advantageously find material in Brixton or in Bayswater. FELIX.
THE SOUL OF THE MOOR. William Rider & Son. 2"s." net.
"Success meant life! Failure --- worse than death, for there would be the everlasting self-reproach! Dare I attempt the experiment?"
This sounds familiar, but, if memory serves me right, Mr Dion Clayton Calthorpe's drama continues in this strain, --- "He carefully surveyed his ashen face in the tiny glass suspended over his washhand stand, then, with hasty, trembling fingers, he dipped his leaky shaving-brush into the icy water, and proceeded, at the ghastly hour of 6 a.m., TO SHAVE!"
Perhaps the fact that "My wife was very ill" accounts for the variation.
Mr Stratford D. Jolly is much too busy a man to devote much time to the "Serious study of the occult," and it is a pity he should have spent so much time upon the forty-five chapters which comprise this work, instead of upon some other subjects with which he might be more conversant.
In short, it is a flabby, gentlemanly book, which should find a ready sale among the more "goody" portion of Suburbia, the only place where the Hero could be appreciated!
Despite the author's obvious endeavour, there is absolutely nothing immoral in this book, and I can recommend it to great-grandchildren as a suitable Christmas present for their grandmother's aunt.
My congratulations to the illustrator for so thoroughly seizing the spirit of the book. BUNCO {169}
CHRONICLES OF PHARMACY. By A. C. WOOTTON. Macmillan & Co. 2 vols. 21"s."
The title of this work justifies itself as the reader reaches the end of the second volume. To the pharmacist it is an extremely useful book, and in a great many instances furnishes information of an interesting character, which the busy man would have difficulty in finding in pharmaceutical history. To the student of the occult it ought to appeal strongly, as the author gives a long list of drugs used in religious ceremonies in different ages, and although the present century is so much in advance, we find that the incenses and sweet odours used in ceremonial magic to-day are the same as those used in Egypt, in the worship of Isis, and in the services held in the Temple of Solomon. Mention is also made of the preparations made by the ancient alchemists which were thought to have magic power. Short biographical sketches of some of the old masters of pharmacy appear, but after Liebig we have no special mention of the pharmacists of the last century.
A interesting chapter on Poisons in History, introducing the stories of poisoners and the drugs employed, furnishes material for the budding novelist, to whom in fact the whole of this excellent work may be recommended. To the occult reader the concluding chapter on names and symbols would be of considerable service, and might be useful for reference.
The book, which is published in two volumes, is profusely illustrated, and well printed and bound. Had the author not been known as the popular editor of a pharmaceutical newspaper and an authority on all matters connecting with pharmacy, "The Chronicles" would have proved an excellent monument to his memory; unfortunately Mr Wootton died before his book left the publisher's hands. E. WHINERAY, M.P.S.
