The Equinox I

EDITORIAL

WITH the publication of this REVIEW begins a completely
new adventure in the history of mankind. Whatever
knowledge may previously have been imputed to men, it has
always been fenced in with conditions and restrictions. The
time has come to speak plainly, and so far as may be in the
language of the multitude.
Thus, the Brothers of the A\ A\ announce themselves
without miracle or mystery. It is easy for every charlatan to
perform wonders, to bewilder and even to deceive not only
fools but all persons, however shrewd, untrained in
observation; nor does the trained observed always succeed
instantly in detecting the fraud. Again, what the A\ A\
propose to do is to enable such men as are capable of
advancement to a higher interpretation of manhood to do so;
and the proof of their ability lies in their success, and not in
any other irrelevant phenomenon. The argument from miracles is
a non sequitur.
Nor is there anything mysterious in the A\ A\; one must
not confuse the mysterious with the unknown. Some of the
contents of this REVIEW may be difficult or impossible to
understand at first, but only in the sense that Homer is
unintelligible to a person ignorant of Greek.

But the Brothers of the A\ A\ make no mystery; They
give you not only the Text, but the Comment; not only the
Comment, but the Dictionary, the Grammar, and the
Alphabet. It is necessary to be thoroughly grounded in the
language before you can appreciate its masterpieces; and if
while totally ignorant of the former you despise the latter, you
will forgive the more frivolous onlookers if their amusement
matches your indignation.
The Brothers of the A\ A\ have set their faces against all
charlatanism, whether of miracle-mongering or obscurantism;
and all those persons who have sought reputation or wealth by
such means may expect ruthless exposure, whether of their
vanity or their dishonesty; for by no gentler means can they be
taught.
The Brothers of the A\ A\ will advise simple
experiments, and will describe them, by the pens of their
chosen delegates, in the simplest available language. If you
fail to obtain good results, blame either yourself or Their
method, as you will; if you succeed, thank either yourself or
Them, as you will.
In this first number are published three little books; the
first an account of Their character and purpose, restored from
the writings of von Eckartshausen; the second an ethical essay
restored from the Cipher MSS. of the G\ D\ (of which MSS.
a complete account will later be given); these two books
chiefly for the benefit of those who will understand wrongly
or not at all the motto “THE METHOD OF SCIENCE — THE
AIM OF RELIGION,” in which (if rightly interpreted) all is
expressed; the third a series of scientific experiments,
designed to instruct beginners in the groundwork of Scientific

Illuminism, and to prevent them from falling into the selfdeception
which pride always prepares for the unwary.
From time to time further knowledge will be published, as
fast as the diligence of the persons employed to write it down
will permit.
It is the intention of the Brothers of the A\ A\ to
establish a laboratory in which students may be able to carry
out such experiments as require too much time and toil to suit
with their ordinary life; and Their further plans will be
explained fully as opportunity permits.
Any person desirous of entering into the communication
with the A\ A\ may do so by addressing a letter to the
Chancellor of the Order, at the offices of this paper.

AN ACCOUNT OF A\A\
FIRST WRITTEN IN THE LANGUAGE
OF HIS PERIOD
BY
THE COUNCILLOR VON ECKARTSHAUSEN
AND
NOW REVISED AND REWRITTEN
IN THE UNIVERSAL CIPHER
A\ A\
Official Publication in Class C.
Issued by Order :
D.D.S. 7° = 4°
O.S.V. 6° = 5°
N.S.F. 5° = 6°


7
AN ACCOUNT OF A\A\
[The Revisers wish to acknowledge gratefully
the translation of Madame de Steiger, which
they have freely quoted.]
IT is necessary, my dear brothers, to give you a clear idea of
the interior Order; of that illuminated community which is
scattered throughout the world, but which is governed by one
truth and united in one spirit.
This community possesses a School, in which all who
thirst for knowledge are instructed by the Spirit of Wisdom
itself; and all the mysteries of nature are preserved in this
school for the children of light. Perfect knowledge of nature
and of humanity is taught in this school. It is from her
that all truths penetrate into the world; she is the school of
all who search for wisdom, and it is in this community alone
that truth and the explantation of all mystery are to be found.
It is the most hidden of communities, yet it contains members
from many circles; nor is there any Centre of Thought whose
activity is not due to the presence of one of ourselves. From
all time there has been an exterior school based on the interior
one, of which it is but the outer expression. From all time,
therefore, there has been a hidden assembly, a society of the
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Elect, of those who sought for and had capacity for light, and
this interior society was the Axle of the R.O.T.A. All that any
external order possesses in symbol, ceremony, or rite is
the letter expressive outwardly of that spirit of truth which
dwelleth in the interior Sanctuary. Nor is the contradiction
of the exterior any bar to the harmony of the interior.
Hence this Sanctuary, composed of members widely
scattered indeed but united by the bonds of perfect love, has
been occupied from the earliest ages in building the grand
Temple (through the evolution of humanity) by which the
reign of L.V.X. will be manifest. This society is in the
communion of those who have most capacity for light; they
are united in truth, and their Chief is the Light of the World
himself, V.V.V.V.V., the One Anointed in Light, the single
teacher for the human race, the Way, the Truth, and the
Life.
The interior Order was formed immediately after the first
perception of man's wider heritage had dawned upon the first
of the adepts; it received from the Masters at first-hand the
revelation of the means by which humanity could be raised to
its rights and delivered from its misery. It received the
primitive charge of all revelation and mystery; it received
the key of true science, both divine and natural.
But as men multiplied, the frailty of man necessitated an
exterior society which veiled the interior one, and concealed
the spirit and the truth in the letter, because many people
were not capable of comprehending great interior truth.
Therefore, interior truths were wrapped in external and
perceptible ceremonies, so that men, by the perception of the
outer which is the symbol of the interior, might by degrees be
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9
enabled safely to approach the interior spiritual truths.
But the inner truth has always been confided to him who
in his day had the most capacity for illumination, and he
became the sole guardian of the original Trust, as High Priest
of the Sanctuary.
When it became necessary that interior truths should be
enfolded in exterior ceremony and symbol, on account of the
real weakness of men who were not capable of hearing the
Light of Light, then exterior worship began. It was, however,
always the type or symbol of the interior, that is to say, the
symbol of the true and Secret Sacrament.
The external worship would never have been separated
from interior revel but for the weakness of man, which tends
too easily to forget the spirit in the letter; but the Masters are
vigilant to note in every nation those who are able to receive
light, and such persons are employed as agents to spread the
light according to man's capacity and to revivify the dead
letter.
Through these instruments the interior truths of the
Sanctuary were taken into every nation, and modified
symbolically according to their customs, capacity for instruction,
climate, and receptiveness. So that the external
types of every religion, worship, ceremonies and Sacred Books
in general have more or less clearly, as their object of
instruction, the interior truths of the Sanctuary, by which man
will be conducted to the universal knowledge of the one
Absolute Truth.
The more the external worship of a people has remained
united with the spirit of esoteric truth, the purer its religion;
but the wider the difference between the symbolic letter and
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10
the invisible truth, the more imperfect has become the
religion. Finally, it may be, the external form has entirely
parted from its inner truth, so that ceremonial observances
without soul or life have remained alone.
In the midst of all this, truth reposes inviolable in the inner
Sanctuary.
Faithful to the spirit of truth, the members of the interior
Order live in silence, but in real activity.
Yet, besides their secret holy work, they have from time to
time decided upon political strategic action.
Thus, when the earth was night utterly corrupt by reason
of the Great Sorcery, the Brethren sent Mohammed to bring
freedom to mankind by the sword.
This being but partially a success, they raised up one
Luther to teach freedom of thought. Yet this freedom soon
turned into a heavier bondage than before.
Then the Brethren delivered unto man the knowledge of
nature, and the keys thereof; yet this also was prevented by
the Great Sorcery.
Now then finally in nameless ways, as one of our Brethren
hath it now in mind to declare, have they raised up One to
deliver unto men the keys of Spiritual Knowledge, and by His
work shall He be judged.
This interior community of light is the reunion of all those
capable of receiving light, and it is known as the Communion
of Saints, the primitive receptacle for all strength and truth,
confided to it from all time.
By it the agents of L.V.X. were formed in every age,
passing from the interior to the exterior, and communicating
spirit and life to the dead letter, as already said.
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11
This illuminated community is the true school of L.V.X.;
it has its Chair, its Doctors; it possesses a rule for students; it
has forms and objects for study.
It has also its degrees for successive development to
greater altitudes.
This school of wisdom has been for ever most secretly
hidden from the world, because it is invisible and submissive
solely to illuminated government.
It has never been exposed to the accidents of time and to
the weakness of man, because only the most capable were
chosen for it, and those who selected made no error.
Through this school were developed the germs of all the
sublime sciences, which were first received by external
schools, then clothed in other forms, and hence degenerated.
According to time and circumstances, the society of sages
communicated unto the exterior societies their symbolic
hieroglyphs, in order to attract man to the great truths of their
Sanctuary.
But all exterior societies subsist only by virtue of this
interior one. As soon as external societies wish to transform a
temple of wisdom into a political edifice, the interior society
retires and leaves only the letter without the spirit. It is thus
that secret external societies of wisdom were nothing but
hieroglyphic screens, the truth remaining inviolable in the
Sanctuary so that she might never be profaned.
In this interior society man finds wisdom and with her
All—not the wisdom of this world, which is but scientific
knowledge, which revolves round the outside but never
touches the centre (in which is contained all strength), but
true wisdom, understanding and knowledge, reflections of the
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supreme illumination.
All disputes, all controversies, all the things belonging to
the false cares of this world, fruitless discussions, useless
germs of opinions which spread the seeds of disunion, all
error, schisms, and systems are banished. Neither calumny nor
scandal is known. Every man is honoured. Love alone reigns.
We must not, however, imagine that this society resembles
any secret society, meeting at certain times, choosing leaders
and members, united by special objects. All societies, be what
they may, can but come after this interior illuminated circle.
This society knows none of the formalities which belong to
the outer rings, the work of man. In this kingdom of power all
outward forms cease.
L.V.X. is the Power always present. The greatest man of
his times, the chief himself, does not always know all the
members, but the moment when it is necessary that he should
accomplish any object he finds them in the world with
certainty ready to his hand.
This community has no outside barriers. He who may be
chosen is as the first; he presents himself among the others
without presumption, and he is received by the others without
jealousy.
It if be necessary that real members should meet together,
they find and recognize each other with perfect certainty.
No disguise can be used, neither hypocrisy nor
dissimulation could hide the characteristic qualities which
distinguish the members of this society. All illusion is gone,
and things appear in their true form.
No one member can choose another; unanimous choice is
required. Though not all men are called, many of the called
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13
are chosen, and that as soon as they become fit for entrance.
Any man can look for the entrance, and any man who is
within can teach another to seek for it; but only he who is fit
can arrive within.
Unprepared men occasion disorder in a community, and
disorder is not compatible with the Sanctuary. Thus it is
impossible to profane the Sanctuary, since admission is not
formal but real.
Worldly intelligence seeks this Sanctuary in vain; fruitless
also will be the efforts of malice to penetrate these great
mysteries; all is indecipherable to him who is not ripe; he can
see nothing, read nothing in the interior.
He who is fit is joined to the chain, perhaps often where he
though least likely, and at a point of which he knew nothing
himself.
To become fit should be the sole effort of him who seeks
wisdom.
But there are methods by which fitness is attained, for in
this holy communion is the primitive storehouse of the most
ancient and original science of the human race, with the
primitive mysteries also of all science. It is the unique and
really illuminated community which is absolutely in possession
of the key to all mystery, which knows the centre and
source of all nature. It is a society which unites superior
strength to its own, and counts its members from more than
one world. It is the society whose members form the republic
of Genius, the Regent Mother of the whole World.

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A\ A\ Publication in Class B.
Issued by Order :
D.D.S. 7° = 4° Præmonstrator
O.S.V. 6° = 5° Imperator
N.S.F. 5° = 6° Cancellarius
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0. Learn first—Oh thou who aspirest unto our ancient
Order!—that Equilibrium is the basis of the Work. If thou
thyself hast not a sure foundation, whereon wilt thou stand to
direct the forces of Nature?
1. Know then, that as man is born into this world amidst
the Darkness of Matter, and the strife of contending forces; so
must his first endeavour be to seek the Light through their
reconciliation.
2. Thou then, who has trials and troubles, rejoice because
of them, for in them is Strength, and by their means is a
pathway opened unto that Light.
3. How should it be otherwise, O man, whose life is but a
day in Eternity, a drop in the Ocean of time; how, were thy
trials not many, couldst thou purge thy soul from the dross of
earth?
Is it but now that the Higher Life is best with dangers and
difficulties; hath it not ever been so with the Sages and
Hierophants of the past? They have been persecuted and
reviled, they have been tormented of men; yet through this
also has their Glory increased.
4. Rejoice, therefore, O Initiate, for the greater thy trial
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the greater thy Triumph. When men shall revile thee, and
speak against thee falsely, hath not the Master said, “Blessed
art thou!” ?
5. Yet, oh aspirant, let thy victories bring thee not Vanity,
for with increase of Knowledge should come increase of
Wisdom. He who knoweth little, thinketh he knoweth much;
but he who knoweth much hath learned his own ignorance.
Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? There is more hope
of a fool, than of him.
6. Be not hasty to condemn others; how knowest thou that
in their place, thou couldest have resisted the temptation?
And even were it so, why shouldst thou despise one who is
weaker than thyself?
7. Thou therefore who desirest Magical Gifts, be sure that
thy soul is firm and steadfast; for it is by flattering thy
weaknesses that the Weak Ones will gain power over thee.
Humble thyself before thy Self, yet fear neither man not
spirit. Fear is failure, and the forerunner of failure: and
courage is the beginning of virtue.
8. Therefore fear not the Spirits, but be firm and
courteous with them; for thou hast no right to despise or revile
them; and this too may lead thee astray. Command and
banish them, curse them by the Great Names if need be; but
neither mock nor revile them, for so assuredly wilt thou be
lead into error.
9. A man is what he maketh himself within the limits
fixed by his inherited destiny; he is a part of mankind; his
actions affect not only what he calleth himself, but also the
whole universe.
10. Worship and neglect not, the physical body which is
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thy temporary connection with the outer and material world.
Therefore let thy mental Equilibrium be above disturbance
by material events; strengthen and control the animal
passions, discipline the emotions and the reason, nourish the
Higher Aspirations.
11. Do good unto others for its own sake, not for reward,
not for gratitude from them, not for sympathy. If thou art
generous, thou wilt not long for thine ears to be tickled by
expressions of gratitude.
12. Remember that unbalanced force is evil; that
unbalanced severity is but cruelty and oppression; but that
also unbalanced mercy is but weakness which would allow
and abet Evil. Act passionately; think rationally; be Thyself.
13. True ritual is as much action as word; it is Will.
14. Remember that this earth is but an atom in the
universe, and that thou thyself art but an atom thereon, and
that even couldst thou become the God of this earth whereon
thou crawlest and grovellest, that thou wouldest, even then,
be but an atom, and one amongst many.
15. Nevertheless have the greatest self-respect, and to that
end sin not against thyself. The sin which is unpardonable is
knowingly and wilfully to reject truth, to fear knowledge lest
that knowledge pander not to thy prejudices.
16. To obtain Magical Power, learn to control thought;
admit only those ideas that are in harmony with the end
desired, and not every stray and contradictory Idea that
presents itself.
17. Fixed thought is a means to an end. Therefore pay
attention to the power of silent thought and meditation. The
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material act is but the outward expression of thy thought, and
therefore hath it been said that “the thought of foolishness is
sin.” Thought is the commencement of action, and if a
chance thought can produce much effect, what cannot fixed
thought do?
18. Therefore, as hath already been said, Establish thyself
firmly in the equilibrium of forces, in the centre of the Cross
of the Elements, that Cross from whose centre the Creative
Word issued in the birth of the Dawning Universe.
19. Be thou therefore prompt and active as the Sylphs, but
avoid frivolity and caprice; be energetic and strong like the
Salamanders, but avoid irritability and ferocity; be flexible and
attentive to images like the Undines, but avoid idleness and
changeability; be laborious and patient like the Gnomes, but
avoid grossness and avarice.
20. So shalt thou gradually develop the powers of thy soul,
and fit thyself to command the Spirits of the elements. For
wert thou to summon the Gnomes to pander to thine avarice,
thou wouldst no longer command them, but they would
command thee. Wouldst thou abuse the pure beings of the
woods and mountains to fill thy coffers and satisfy thy hunger
of Gold? Wouldst thou debase the Spirits of Living Fire to
serve thy wrath and hatred? Wouldst thou violate the purity of
the Souls of the Waters to pander to thy lust of debauchery?
Wouldst thou force the Spirits of the Evening Breeze to
minister to thy folly and caprice? Know that with such desires
thou canst but attract the Weak, not the Strong, and in that
case the Weak will have power over thee.
21. In the true religion there is no sect, therefore take heed
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that thou blaspheme not the name by which another knoweth
his God; for if thou do this thing in Jupiter thou wilt
blaspheme hwhy and in Osiris hwchy. Ask and ye shall have!
Seek, and ye shall find! Knock, and it shall be opened unto
you!

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E. VEL EXERCITIORVM
SVB FIGVRÂ
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A\ A\ Publication in Class B.
Issued by Order :
D.D.S. 7° = 4° Præmonstrator
O.S.V. 6° = 5° Imperator
N.S.F. 5° = 6° Cancellarius
25
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I
1. It is absolutely necessary that all experiments should be
recorded in detail during, or immediately after, their
performance.
2. It is highly important to note the physical and mental
condition of the experimenter or experimenters.
3. The time and place of all experiments must be noted;
also the state of the weather, and generally all conditions
which might conceivably have any result upon the experiment
either as adjuvants to or causes of the result, or as inhibiting it,
or as sources of error.
4. The A.'. A.'. will not take official notice of any
experiments which are not thus properly recorded.
5. It is not necessary at this stage for us to declare fully
the ultimate end of our researches; nor indeed would it be
understood by those who have not become proficient in these
elementary courses.
6. The experimenter is encouraged to use his own
intelligence, and not to rely upon any other person or persons,
however distinguished, even among ourselves.
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7. The written record should be intelligibly prepared so
that others may benefit from its study.
8. The book John St. John published in this first number
of the “Equinox” is an example of this kind of record by a
very advanced student. It is not as simply written as we could
wish, but will shew the method.
9. The more scientific the record is, the better.
Yet the emotions should be noted, as being some of the
conditions.
Let then the record be written with sincerity and care, and
with practice it will be found more and more to approximate
to the ideal.
II
Physical Clairvoyance
1. Take a pack of (78) Tarot playing cards. Shuffle; cut.
Draw one card. Without looking at it, try and name it. Write
down the card you name, and the actual card. Repeat, and
tabulate results.
2. This experiment is probably easier with an old genuine
pack of Tarot cards, preferably a pack used for divination by
some one who really understood the matter.
3. Remember that one should expect to name the right
card once in 78 times. Also be careful to exclude all
possibilities of obtaining the knowledge through the ordinary
senses of sight and touch, or even smell.
There was once a man whose finger-tips were so sensitive
that he could feel the shape and position of the pips, and so
judge the card correctly.
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4. It is better to try first, the easier form of the
experiment, by guessing only the suit.
5. Remember that in 78 experiments you should obtain 22
trumps and 14 of each other suit; so that, without any
clairvoyance at all, you can guess right twice in 7 times
(roughly) by calling trumps each time.
6. Note that some cards are harmonious.
Thus it would not be a bad error to call the five of Swords
(“The Lord of Defeat”) instead of the ten of Swords (“The
Lord of Ruin”). But to call the Lord of Love (2 Cups) for the
Lord of Strife (5 Wands) would show that you were getting
nothing right.
Similarly, a card ruled by Mars would be harmonious with
a 5, a card of Gemini with “The Lovers.”
7. These harmonies must be thoroughly learnt, according
to the numerous tables given in 777.
8. As you progress, you will find that you are able to
distinguish the suit correctly three times in four, and that very
few indeed inharmonious errors occur, while in 78
experiments you are able to name the card aright as many as
15 or 20 times.
9. When you have reached this stage, you may be
admitted for examination; and in the event of your passing,
you will be given more complex and difficult exercises.
III
Asana—Posture
1. You must learn to sit perfectly still with every muscle
tense for long periods.
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2. You must wear no garment that interferes with the
posture in any of these experiments.
3. The first position: (The God). Sit in a chair; head up,
back straight, knees together, hands on knees, eyes closed.
4. The second position: (The Dragon). Kneel; buttocks
resting on the heels, toes turned back, back and head straight,
hands on thighs.
5. The third position: (The Ibis). Stand; hold left ankle
with right hand (and alternately practise right ankle in left
hand, &c.) free forefinger on lips.
6. The fourth position: (The Thunderbolt). Sit: left heel
pressing up anus, right foot poised on its toes, the heel
covering the phallus; arms stretched out over the knees: head
and back straight.
7. Various things will happen to you while you are
practising these positions; they must be carefully analysed and
described.
8. Note down the duration of the pracitce, the severity of
the pain (if any) which accompanies it, the degree of rigidity
attained, and any other pertinent matters.
9. When you have progressed up to the point that a saucer
filled to the brim with water and poised upon the head does
not spill one drop during a whole hour, and when you can no
longer perceive the slightest tremor in any muscle; when, in
short, you are perfectly steady and easy, you will be admitted
for examination; and, should you pass, you will be instructed
in more complex and difficult practices.

THE IBIS THE GOD
THE THUNDERBOLT THE DRAGON
In the Ibis the head is tilted very slightly too far back.; in the Thunderbolt the right foot
might be a little higher and the right knee lower with advantage.
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IV
Pranayama—Regularisation of the Breathing
1. At rest in one of your positions, close the right
nostril with the thumb of the right hand and breath out slowly
and completely through the left nostril, while your watch
marks 20 seconds. Breathe in through the same nostril for 10
seconds. Changing hands, repeat with the other nostril. Let
this be continuous for one hour.
2. When this is quite easy to you, increase the periods to
30 and 15 seconds.
3. When this is quite easy to you, but not before, breathe
out for 15 seconds, in for 15 seconds, and hold the breath for 15
seconds.
4. When you can do this with perfect ease and comfort for
a whole hour, practise breathing out for 40, in for 20 seconds.
5. This being attained, practise breathing out for 20, in for
10, holding the breath for 30 seconds.
When this has become perfectly easy to you, you may be
admitted for examination, and should you pass, you will be
instructed in more complex and difficult practices.
6. You will find that the presence of food in the stomach,
even in small quantities, makes the practices very difficult.
7. Be very careful never to overstrain your powers;
especially never get so short of breath that you are compelled
to breathe out jerkily or rapidly.
8. Strive after depth, fulness, and regularity of breathing.
9. Various remarkable phenomena will very probably
occur during these practices. They must be carefully analysed
and recorded.
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V
Dharana—Control of Thought
1. Constrain the mind to concentrate itself upon a single
simple object imagined.
The five tatwas are useful for this purpose; they are: a
black oval; a blue disk; a silver crescent; a yellow square; a red
triangle.
2. Proceed to combinations of simple objects; e.g., a black
oval within a yellow square, and so on.
3. Proceed to simple moving objects, such as a pendulum
swinging, a wheel revolving, &c. Avoid living objects.
4. Proceed to combinations of moving objects, e.g., a
piston rising and falling while a pendulum is swinging. The
relation between the two movements should be varied in
different experiments.
Or even a system of fly-wheels, eccentrics, and governor.
5. During these practices the mind must be absolutely
confined to the object determined upon; no other thought
must be allowed to intrude upon the consciousness. The
moving systems must be regular and harmonious.
6. Note carefully the duration of the experiments, the
number and nature of the intruding thoughts, the tendency of
the object itself to depart from the course laid out for it, and
any other phenomena which may present themselves. Avoid
overstrain. This is very important.
7. Proceed to imagine living objects; as a man, preferably
some man known to, and respected by, yourself.
8. In the intervals of these experiments you may try to
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imagine the objects of the other senses, and to concentrate
upon them.
For example, try to imagine the taste of chocolate the
smell of roses, the feeling of velvet, the sound of a waterfall,
or the ticking of a watch.
9. Endeavour finally to shut out all objects of any of the
senses, and prevent all thoughts arising in your mind. When
you feel that you have attained some success in these
practices, apply for examination, and should you pass, more
complex and difficult practices will be prescribed for you.
VI
Physical Limitations
1. It is desirable that you should discover for yourself
your physical limiations.
2. To this end ascertain for how many hours you can
subsist without food or drink before your working capacity is
seriously interfered with.
3. Ascertain how much alcohol you can take, and what
forms of drunkenness assail you.
4. Ascertain how far you can walk without once stopping;
likewise with dancing, swimming, running, &c.
5. Ascertain for how many hours you can do without sleep.
6. Test your endurance with various gymnastic exercises,
club-swinging and so on.
7. Ascertain for how long you can keep silence.
8. Investigate any other capacities and aptitudes which
may occur to you.
THE EQUINOX
32
9. Let all these things be carefully and conscientiously
recorded; for according to your powers will it be demanded of
you.
VII
A Course of Reading
1. The object of most of the foregoing practices will not at
first be clear to you; but at least (who will deny it?) they will
have trained you in determination, accuracy, introspection,
and many other qualities which are valuable to all men in their
ordinary avocations, so that in no case will your time have
been wasted.
2. That you may gain some insight into the nature of the
Great Work which lies beyond these elementary trifles,
however, we should mention that an intelligent person may
gather more than a hint of its nature from the following books,
which are to be taken as serious and learned contributions to
the study of nature, though not necessarily to be implicitly
relied upon.
“The Yi King” [S.B.E. Series, Oxford University
Press].
“The Tao Teh King” [S.B.E. Series].
“Tannhäuser” by A. Crowley.
“The Upanishads.”
“The Bhagavad-Gita.”
“The Voice of the Silence.”
“Raja Yoga” by Swami Vivekƒnanda.
“The Shiva Sanhita.”
LIBER E
33
“The Aphorisms of Patanjali.”
“The Sword of Song.”
“The Book of the Dead.”
“Rituel et Dogme de la Haute Magie.”
“The Book of the Sacred Magic of Abramelin the
Mage.”
“The Goetia.”
“The Hathayoga Pradipika.”
Erdmann's “History of Philosophy.”
“The Spiritual Guide of Molinos.”
“The Star in the West” (Captain Fuller).
“The Dhammapada" [S.B.E. Series, Oxford University
Press].
“The Questions of King Milinda” [S.B.E. Series].
“777. vel Prolegomena, &c.”
“Varieties of Religious Experience” (James).
“Kabbala Denudata.”
“Konx Om Pax.”
3. Careful study of these books will enable the pupil to
speak in the language of his master and facilitate
communication with him.
4. The pupil should endeavour to discover the
fundamental harmony of these very varied works; for this
purpose he will find it best to study the most extreme
divergences side by side.
5. He may at any time that he wishes apply for
examination in this course of reading.
6. During the whole of this elementary study and
practice, he will do wisely to seek out, and attach himself to, a
master, one competent to correct him and advise him. Nor
THE EQUINOX
34
should he be discouraged by the difficulty of finding such a
person.
7. Let him further remember that he must in no wise rely
upon, or believe in, that master. He must rely entirely upon
himself, and credit nothing whatever but that which lies
within his own knowledge and experience.
8. As in the beginning, so at the end, we here insist upon
the vital importance of the written record as the only possible
check upon error derived from the various qualities of the
experimenter.
9. Thus let the work be accomplished duly; yea, let it be
accomplished duly.
[If any really important or remarkable results should
occur, or if any great difficulty presents itself, the A\ A\
should be at once informed of the circumstances.]
THE WIZARD WAY

37
THE WIZARD WAY
VELVET soft the night-star glowed
Over the untrodden road,
Through the giant glades of yew
Where its ray fell light as dew
Lighting up the shimmering veil
Maiden pure and aery frail
That the spiders wove to hide
Blushes of the sylvan bride
Earth, that trembled with delight
At the male caress of Night.
Velvet soft the wizard trod
To the Sabbath of his God.
With his naked feet he made
Starry blossoms in the glade,
Softly, softly, as he went
To the sombre sacrament,
Stealthy stepping to the tryst
In his gown of amethyst.
Earlier yet his soul had come
THE EQUINOX
38
To the Hill of Martyrdom,
Where the charred and crookèd stake
Like a black envenomed snake
By the hangman's hands is thrust
Through the wet and writhing dust,
Never black and never dried
Heart's blood of a suicide.
He had plucked the hazel rod
From the rude and goatish god,
Even as the curved moon's waning ray
Stolen from the King of Day.
He had learnt the elvish sign;
Given the Token of the Nine:
Once to rave, and once to revel,
Once to bow before the devil,
Once to swing the thurible,
Once to kiss the goat of hell,
Once to dance the aspen spring,
Once to croak, and once to sing,
Once to oil the savoury thighs
Of the witch with sea-green eyes
With the unguents magical.
Oh the honey and the gall
Of that black enchanter's lips
As he croons to the eclipse
Mingling that most puissant spell
Of the giant gods of hell
With the four ingredients
THE WIZARD WAY
39
Of the evil elements;
Ambergris from golden spar,
Musk of ox from Mongol jar,
Civet from a box of jade,
Mixed with fat of many a maid
Slain by the inchauntments cold
Of the witches wild and old.
He had crucified a toad
In the basilisk abode,
Muttering the Runes averse
Mad with many a mocking curse.
He had traced the serpent sigil
In his ghastly virgin vigil.
Sursum cor! the elfin hill,
Where the wind blows deadly chill
From the world that wails beneath
Death's black throat and lipless teeth.
There he had stood—his bosom bare—
Tracing Life upon the Air
With the crook and with the flail
Lashing forward on the gale,
Till its blade that wavereth
Like the flickering of Death
Sank before his subtle fence
To the starless sea of sense.
Now at last the man is come
THE EQUINOX
40
Haply to his halidom.
Surely as he waves his rod.
In a circle on the sod
Springs the emerald chaste and clean
From the duller paler green.
Surely in the circle millions
Of immaculate pavilions
Flash upon the trembling turf
Like the sea-stars in the surf—
Millions of bejewelled tents
For the warrior sacraments.
Vaster, vaster, vaster, vaster,
Grows the stature of the master;
All the ringed encampment vies
With the infinite galaxies.
In the midst a cubic stone
With the Devil set thereon;
Hath a lamb's virginal throat;
Hath the body of a stoat;
Hath the buttocks of a goat;
Hath the sanguine face and rod
Of a goddess and a god!
Spell by spell and pace by pace!
Mystic flashes swing and trace
Velvet soft the sigils stepped
By the silver-starred adept.
Back and front, and to and fro,
Soul and body sway and flow
In vertiginous caresses
THE WIZARD WAY
41
To imponderable recesses,
Till at last the spell is woven,
And the faery veil is cloven
That was Sequence, Space, and Stress
Of the soul-sick consciousness.
“Give thy body to the beasts!
Give thy spirit to the priests!
Break in twain the hazel rod
On the virgin lips of God!
Tear the Rosy Cross asunder!
Shatter the black bolt of thunder!
Such the swart ensanguine kiss
Of the resolute abyss!”
Wonder-weft the wizard heard
This intolerable word.
Smote the blasting hazel rod
On the scarlet lips of God;
Trampled Cross and rosy core;
Brake the thunder-tool of Thor;
Meek and holy acolyte
Of the priestly hells of spite,
Sleek and shameless catamite
Of the beasts that prowl by night!
Like a star that streams from heaven
Through the virgin airs light-riven,
From the lift there shot and fell
THE EQUINOX
42
An admirable miracle.
Carved minute and clean, a key
Of purest lapis-lazuli
More blue than the blind sky that aches
(Wreathed with the stars, her torturing snakes),
For the dead god's kiss that never wakes;
Shot with golden specks of fire
Like a virgin with desire.
Look, the levers! fern-frail fronds
Of fantastic diamonds,
Glimmering with ethereal azure
In each exquisite embrasure.
On the shaft the letters laced,
As if dryads lunar-chaste
With the satyrs were embraced,
Spelled the secret of the key:
Sic pervenias. And he
Went his wizard way, inweaving
Dreams of things beyond believing.
When he will, the weary world
Of the senses closely curled
Like a serpent round his heart
Shakes herself and stands apart.
So the heart's blood flames, expanding,
Strenuous, urgent, and commanding;
And the key unlocks the door
Where his love lives evermore.
She is of the faery blood;
THE WIZARD WAY
43
All smaragdine flows its flood.
Glowing in the amber sky
To ensorcelled porphyry.
She hath eyes of glittering flake
Like a cold grey water-snake.
She hath naked breasts of amber
Jetting wine in her bed-chanber,
Whereof whoso stoops and drinks
Rees the riddle of the Sphinx.
She hath naked limbs of amber
Whereupon her children clamber.
She hath five navels rosy-red
From the five wounds of God that bled;
Each wound that mothered her still bleeding,
And on that blood her babes are feeding.
Oh! like a rose-winged pelican
She hath bred blessed babes to Pan!
Oh! like a lion-hued nightingale
She hath torn her breast on thorns to avail
The barren rose-tree to renew
Her life with that disastrous dew,
Building the rose o' the world alight
With music out of the pale moonlight!
O She is like the river of blood
That broke from the lips of the bastard god,
When he saw the sacred mother smile
On the ibis that flew up the foam of Nile
THE EQUINOX
44
Bearing the limbs unblessed, unborn,
That the lurking beast of Nile had torn!
So (for the world is weary) I
These dreadful souls of sense lay by.
I sacrifice these impure shoon
To the cold ray of the waning moon.
I take the forkèd hazel staff,
And the rose of no terrene graff,
And the lamp of no olive oil
With heart's blood that alone may boil.
With naked breast and feet unshod
I follow the wizard way to God.
Wherever he leads my foot shall follow;
Over the height, into the hollow,
Up to the caves of pure cold breath,
Down to the deeps of foul hot death,
Across the seas, through the fires,
Past the palace of desires;
Where he will, whether he will or no,
If I go, I care not whither I go.
For in me is the taint of the faery blood.
Fast, fast, its emerald flood
Leaps within me, violent rude
Like a bestial faun's beatitude.
In me the faery blood runs hard:
My sires were a druid, a devil, a bard,
THE WIZARD WAY
45
A beast, a wizard, a snake and a satyr;
For—as my mother said—what does it matter?
She was a fay, pure of the faery;
Queen Morgan's daughter by an aery
Demon that came to Orkney once
To pay the Beetle his orisons.
So, it is I that writhe with the twitch
Of the faery blood, and the wizard itch
To attain a matter one may not utter
Rather than sink in the greasy splutter
Of Britons munching their bread and butter;
Ailing boys and coarse-grained girls
Grown to sloppy women and brutal churls.
So, I am off with staff in hand
To the endless light of the nameless land.
Darkness spreads its sombre streams,
Blotting out the elfin dreams.
I might haply be afraid,
Were it not the Feather-maid
Leads me softly by the hand,
Whispers me to understand.
Now (when through the world of weeping
Light at last starrily creeping
Steals upon my babe-new sight,
Light—O light that is not light!)
On my mouth the lips of her
Like a stone on my sepulchre
THE EQUINOX
46
Seal my speech with ecstasy,
Till a babe is born of me
That is silent more than I;
For its inarticulate cry
Hushes as its mouth is pressed
To the pearl, her honey breast;
While its breath divinely ripples
The rose-petals of her nipples,
And the jetted milk he laps
From the soft delicious paps,
Sweeter than the bee-sweet showers
In the chalice of the flowers,
More intoxicating than
All the purple grapes of Pan.
Ah! my proper lips are stilled.
Only, all the world is filled
With the Echo, that dips over
Like the honey from the clover.
Passion, penitence, and pain
Seek their mother's womb again,
And are born the triple treasure,
Peace and purity and pleasure.
—Hush, my child, and come aloft
Where the stars are velvet soft!
ALEISTER CROWLEY.
THE MAGIC GLASSES

49
THE MAGIC GLASSES
ONE raw November morning, I left my rooms near the British
Museum and turned down Regent street. It was cold and
misty: the air like shredded cotton-wool. Before I reached the
Quadrant, the mist thickened to fog, with the colour of
muddied water, and walking became difficult. As I had no
particular object in view, I got into talk with a policeman, and,
by his advice, went into the Vine Street Police Court, to pass
an hour or two before lunch. Inside the court, the atmosphere
was comparatively clear, and I took my seat on one of the oak
benches with a feeling of vague curiosity. There was a case
going on as I entered: an old man, who pretended to be an
optician, had been taken up by the police for obstructing the
traffic by selling glasses. His green tray, with leathern
shoulder-straps, was on the solicitor's table. The charge of
obstruction could not be sustained, the old man had moved on
as soon as the police told him to, and the inspector had
substituted a charge of fraud, on the complaint of a workman
and a shopkeeper. A constable had just finished his evidence
when I came into the court. He left the box with a selfsatisfied
air and the muttered remark that the culprit was “a
rare bad 'un.”
I glanced about for the supposed criminal and found that
he was seated near me on a cross-bench in the charge of a
THE EQUINOX
50
sturdy policeman. He did not look like a criminal: he was tall,
thin and badly dressed in a suit of rusty black, which seemed
to float about his meagre person; his complexion was tallowywhite,
like the sprouts of potatoes which have been kept a
long time in a dark cellar; he seemed about sixty years old.
But he had none of the furtive glances of the criminal; none of
the uneasiness: his eye rested on mine and passed aside with
calm indifference, contemplative and not alarmed.
The workman who was produced by the police in support
of the charge of fraud amused me. He was a young man,
about middle height, and dressed in corduroys, with a rough
jacket of dark tweed. He was a bad witness: he hesitated,
stopped and corrected himself, as if he didn't know the
meaning of any words except the commonest phrases of
everyday use. But he was evidently honest: his brown eyes
looked out on the world fairly enough. His faltering came
from the fact that he was only half articulate. Disentangled
from the mist of inappropriate words, his meaning was
sufficiently clear.
He had been asked by the accused, whom he persisted in
calling “the old gentleman,” to buy a pair of spectacles: they
would show him things truer-like than he could see 'em; and
so he “went a bob on 'em.” Questioned by the magistrate as
to whether he could see things more plainly through the
glasses, he shook his head:
“No; about the same.”
Then came the question: had he been deceived?
Apparently he didn't know the meaning of the word
“deceived.”
“Cheated,” the magistrate substituted.
THE MAGIC GLASSES
51
“No”; he hadn't been cheated.
“Well, disappointed then?”
“No”; he couldn't say that.
“Would he spend another shilling on a similar pair of
glasses?”
“No,” he would not; “one bob was enough to lose.”
When told he might go, he shuffled out of the witness-box,
and on his way to the door attempted more than once to nod
to the accused. Evidently there was no malice in him.
The second police witness had fluency and self-possession
enough for a lawyer: a middle-aged man, tall, florid and
inclined to be stout; he was over-dressed, like a spruce
shopman, in black frock-coat, grey trousers and light-coloured
tie. He talked volubly, with a hot indignation which seemed
to match his full red cheeks. If the workman was an undecided
and weak witness, Mr. Hallett, of High Holborn, was
a most convinced and determined witness. He had been
induced to buy the glasses, he declared, by the “old party,”
who told him that they would show him things exactly as they
were—the truth of everything. You'd only have to look
through 'em at a man to see whether he was trying to “do”
you or not. That was why he bought them. He was not asked
a shilling for them, but a sovereign and he gave it—
twenty shillings. When he put the glasses on, he could see
nothing with them, nothing at all; it was a “plant”: and so he
wanted the “old party” to take 'em back and return his
sovereign; that might have caused the obstruction that the
policeman had objected to. The “old man” refused to give
him his money back; said he had not cheated him; had the
impudence to pretend that he (Hallett) had no eyes for truth,
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52
and, therefore, could see nothing with the glasses. “A blamed
lie,” he called it, and a “do,” and the “old man” ought to get
six months for it.
Once or twice, the magistrate had to direct the stream of
emphatic words. But the accusation was formal and precise.
The question now was: How would the magistrate deal with
the case? At first sight, Mr. Brown, the magistrate, made a
good impression on me. He was getting on in life: the dark
hair was growing thin on top and a little grey at the sides. The
head was well-shaped; the forehead notably broad; the chin
and jaw firm. The only unpleasant feature in the face was the
hard line of mouth, with thin, unsympathetic lips. Mr. Brown
was reputed to be a great scholar, and was just the type of man
who would have made a pedant; a man of good intellect and
thin blood, who would find books and words more interesting
than men and deeds.
At first, Mr. Brown had seemed to be on the side of the
accused: he tried to soften Mr. Hallett's anger. One or two of
his questions, indeed, were pointed and sensible:
“You wouldn't take goods back after you had sold them,
would you, Mr. Hallett?” he asked.
“Of course I would,” replied Mr. Hallett, stoutly: “I'd take
any of my stock back at a twenty per cent. reduction; my
goods are honest goods: prices marked plain on 'em. But 'e
would not give me fifteen shillings back out of my sovereign;
not 'e; 'e meant sticking' to it all.”
The magistrate looked into the body of the court and
addressing the accused, said:
“Will you reserve your defence, Mr. Henry?”
“Penry, your worship: Matthew Penry,” corrected the
THE MAGIC GLASSES
53
old man in a quiet, low-pitched voice, as he rose to his feet.
“If I may say so: the charge of fraud is absurd. Mr. Hallett
seems to be angry because I sold one pair of glasses for a
shilling and another pair to him for a sovereign. But they were
not the same glasses and, if they had been, I am surely
allowed to ask for my wares what I please.”
“That is true,” interrupted the magistrate; “but he says
that you told him he would see the truth through them. I
suppose you meant that he would see more truly through
them than with his own eyes?”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Penry, with a certain hesitation.
“But he did not see more truly through them,” continued
the magistrate, “or he would not have wanted you to take
them back.”
“No,” Mr. Penry acknowledged; “but that is this fault, not
the fault of the glasses. They would show the truth, if he had
any faculty for seeing it: glasses are no good to the blind.”
“Come, come,” said the magistrate; “now you are
beginning to confuse me. You don't really pretend that your
glasses will show the truth of things, the reality; you mean that
they will improve one's sight, don't you?”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Penry, “One's sight for truth, for
reality.”
“Well,” retorted the magistrate smiling, “That seems
rather metaphysical than practical, doesn't it? If your
spectacles enabled one to discern the truth, I'd buy a pair
myself: they might be useful in this court sometimes,” and he
looked about him with a smile, as if expecting applause.
With eager haste, the old man took him at his word,
THE EQUINOX
54
threw open his case, selected a pair of glasses, and passed
them to the clerk, who handed them up to Mr. Brown.
The magistrate put the glasses on; looked round the court
for a minute or two, and then broke out:
“Dear me! Dear me! How extraordinary! These
glasses alter every one in the court. It's really astonishing.
They don't improve the looks of people; on the contrary, a
more villainous set of countenances it would be difficult to
imagine. If these glasses are to be trusted, men are more like
wild animals than human beings, and the worst of all are the
solicitors; really a terrible set of faces. But this may be the
truth of things; these spectacles do show one more than one's
ordinary eyes can perceive. Dear me! Dear me! It is most
astonishing; but I feel inclined to accept Mr. Penry's
statement about them,” and he peered over the spectacles at
the court.
“Would you like to look in a glass, your worship?” asked
one of the solicitors drily, rising, however, to his feet with an
attitude of respect at the same time; “perhaps that would be
the best test.”
Mr. Brown appeared to be a little surprised, but replied:
“If I had a glass I would willingly.”
Before the words were out of his mouth, his clerk had
tripped round the bench, gone into the magistrate's private
room and returned with a small looking-glass, which he
handed up to his worship.
As Mr. Brown looked in the glass, the smile of expectancy
left his face. In a moment or two, he put down the glass
gravely, took off the spectacles and handed them to the clerk,
THE MAGIC GLASSES
55
who returned them to Mr. Penry. After a pause, he said
shortly:
“It is well, perhaps, to leave all these matters of fact to a
jury. I will accept a small bail, Mr. Penry,” he went on; “but I
think you must be bound over to answer this charge at the
sessions.”
I caught the words, “£50 a-piece in two sureties and his
own recognisances in £100,” and then Mr. Penry was told by
the policeman to go and wait in the body of the court till the
required sureties were forthcoming. By chance, the old man
came and sat beside me and I was able to examine him
closely. His moustache and beard must have been auburn at
one time, but now the reddish tinge seemed only to discolour
the grey. The beard was thin and long and unkempt, and
added to the forlorn untidiness of his appearance. He carried
his head bent forward, as if the neck were too weak to support
it. He seemed feeble and old and neglected. He caught me
looking at him, and I noticed that his eyes were a clear blue,
as if he were younger than I had thought. His gentle,
scholarly manner and refined voice had won my sympathy;
and, when our eyes met, I introduced myself and told him I
should be glad to be one of his sureties, if that would save him
time or trouble. He thanked me with a sort of detached
courtesy: he would gladly accept my offer.
“You stated your case,” I remarked, “so that you
confused the magistrate. You almost said that you glasses
were—magic glasses,” I went on, smiling and hesitating,
because I did not wish to offend him, and yet hardly knew
how to convey the impression his words had left upon me.
THE EQUINOX
56
“Magic glasses,” he repeated gravely, as if weighing the
words; “yes, you might call them magic glasses.”
To say that I was astonished only gives a faint idea of my
surprise and wonder:
“Surely, you don't mean that they show things as they
are,” I asked: “the truth of things?”
“That is what I mean,” he replied quietly.
“Then they are not ordinary glasses?” I remarked inanely.
“No,” he repeated gravely; “not ordinary glasses.”
He had a curious trick, I noticed, of peering at one very
intently with narrowed eyes and then blinking rapidly several
times in succession as if the strain were too great to be borne.
He had made me extremely curious, and yet I did not like
to ask outright to be allowed to try a pair of his glasses; so I
went on with my questions:
“But, if they show truth, how was it that Mr. Hallett could
see nothing through them?”
“Simply because he has no sense of reality; he has killed
the innate faculty for truth. It was probably at not time very
great,” went on this strange merchant, smiling; “but his
trader's habits have utterly destroyed it; he has so steeped
himself in lies that he is now blind to the truth, incapable of
perceiving it. The workman, you remember, could see fairly
well through his spectacles.”
“Yes,” I replied laughing; “and the magistrate evidently
saw a good deal more through his than he cared to
acknowledge.”
The old man laughed too, in an ingenuous, youthful way
that I found charming.
At last I got to the Rubicon.
THE MAGIC GLASSES
57
“Would you let me buy a pair of your glasses?” I asked.
“I shall be delighted to give you a pair, if you will accept
them,” he replied, with eager courtesy; “my surety ought
certainly to have a pair”; and then he peered at me in his
curious, intent way. A moment later, he turned round, and
opening his tray, picked out a pair of spectacles and handed
them to me.
I put them on with trembling eagerness and stared about
me. The magistrate had told the truth; they altered
everything: the people were the same and yet not the same;
this face was coarsened past all description; that face
sharpened and made hideous with greed; and the other
brutalized with lust. One recognized, so to speak, the
dominant passion in each person. Something moved me to
turn my glasses on the merchant; if I was astounded before, I
was now lost in wonder: the glasses transfigured him. The
grey beard was tinged with gold, the blue eyes luminous with
intelligence; all the features ennobled; the countenance
irradiated sincerity and kindliness. I pulled off the glasses
hastily and the vision passed away. Mr. Penry was looking at
me with a curious little pleased smile of anticipation:
involuntarily, I put out my hand to him with a sort of
reverence:
“Wonderful,” I exclaimed; “your face is wonderful and all
the others grotesque and hideous. What does it mean? Tell
me! Won't you?”
“You must come with me to my room,” he said, “where we
can talk freely, and I think you will not regret having helped
me. I should like to explain everything to you. There are so
few men,” he added, “who proffer help to another
THE EQUINOX
58
man in difficulty. I should like to show you that I am
grateful.”
“There is no cause for gratitude,” I said hastily; “I have
done nothing.”
His voice now seemed to me to be curiously refined and
impressive, and recalled to me the vision of his face, made
beautiful by the strange glasses. . . .
I have been particular to put down how Mr. Penry first
appeared to me, because after I had once seen him through
his spectacles, I never saw him again as I had seen him at first.
Remembering my earliest impressions of him, I used to
wonder how I could have been so mistaken. His face had
refinement and gentleness in every line; a certain courage,
too, that was wholly spiritual. Already I was keenly interested
in Mr. Penry; eager to know more about him; to help him, if
that were possible, in any and every way.
Some time elapsed before the formalities for his bail were
arranged, and then I persuaded him to come out with me to
lunch. He got up quietly, put the leathern straps over his
shoulders, tucked the big case under his arm and walked into
the street with perfect self-possession; and I was not now in
any way ashamed of his appearance, as I should have been an
hour or two before: I was too excited even to feel pride; I was
simply glad and curious.
And this favourable impression grew with everything Mr.
Penry said and did, till at last nothing but service would
content me; so, after lunch, I put him into a cab and drove him
off to my own solicitor. I found Mr. Morris, of Messrs. Morris,
Coote and Co., quite willing to take up his case at the
sessions; willing, too, to believe that the charge was “trumped
THE MAGIC GLASSES
59
up” by the police and without serious foundation. But, when
I drew Mr. Morris aside and tried to persuade him that his
new client was a man of extraordinary powers, he smiled
incredulously.
“You are enthusiastic, Mr. Winter,” he said half
reproachfully; “but we solicitors are compelled to see things in
the cold light of reason. Why should you undertake to defend
this Mr. Penry? Of course if you have made up your mind,”
he went on, passing over my interruption, “I shall do my best
for him; but if I were you, I'd keep my eyes open and do
nothing rashly.”
In order to impress him, I put on a similar cold tone and
declared that Mr. Penry was a friend of mine and that he must
leave no stone unturned to vindicate his honesty. And with
this I went back to Mr. Penry, and we left the office together.
Mr. Penry's lodging disappointed me; my expectations, I
am afraid, were now tuned far above the ordinary. It was in
Chelsea, high up, in a rickety old house overlooking a dingy
road and barges drawn up on the slimy, fetid mud-banks. And
yet, even here, romance was present for the romantic; the fogwreaths
curling over the river clothed the houses opposite in
soft mystery, as if they had been draped in blue samite, and
through the water-laden air the sun glowed round and red as a
fiery wheel of Phaeton's chariot. The room was very bare; by
the broad low window stood a large deal table crowded with
instruments and glasses; strong electric lamps on the right and
left testified to the prolonged labours of the optician. The
roof of the garret ran up towards the centre, and by the wall
there was a low truckle-bed, fenced off by a cheap Japanese
paper-screen. The whole of the wall between
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the bed and the window was furnished with pine-shelves,
filled with books; everything was neat, but the room seemed
friendless and cold in the thick, damp air.
There we sat and talked together, till the sun slid out of
sight and the fog thickened and night came on: there our
acquaintance, so strangely begun, grew to friendship. Before
we went to dinner, the old man had shown me the portraits of
his two daughters and a little miniature of his wife, who had
died fifteen years before.
It was the first of many talks in that room, the first of many
confidences. Bit by bit, I heard the whole of Mr. Penry's
history. It was told to me piecemeal and inconsequently, as a
friend talks to a friend in growing intimacy; and, if I now let
Mr. Penry tell his tale in regular sequence and at one stretch,
it is mainly in order to spare the reader the tedium of
interrupted narration and needless repetitions.
* * * * *
“My father was an optician,” Mr. Penry began, “and a
maker of spectacles in Chelsea. We lived over the shop in the
King's Road, and my childhood was happy enough, but not in
any way peculiar. Like other healthy children, I liked play
much better than lessons; but my school-days were too
uneventful, too empty of love to be happy. My mother died
when I was too young to know or regret her, and my father
was kind, in spite of his precise, puritanical ways. I was the
only boy, which perhaps made him kinder to me, and very
much younger than my two sisters, who were grown up when
I was in short clothes and who married and left my father's
house before I had got to know them, or to feel much
affection for them.
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“When I was about sixteen, my father took me from school
and began teaching me his own trade. He had been an
admirable workman in his time, of the old English sort ---
careful and capable, though somewhat slow. The desire was
always present in him to grind and polish each glass as well as
he could, and this practice had given him a certain repute with
a circle of good customers. He taught me every part of his
craft as he had learnt it; and, in the next five or six years,
imbued me with his own wish to do each piece of work as
perfectly as possible. But this period of imitation did not last
long. Before I reached manhood, I began to draw apart from
my father, to live my own life and to show a love of reading
and thinking foreign to his habit. It was religion which
separated us. At school I had learnt some French and
German, and in both languages I came across sceptical
opinions which slowly grew in my mind, and in time led me to
discard and almost to dislike the religion of my father. I
mention this simply because any little originality in me
seemed to spring from this inquiry and from the mental
struggle that convulsed three or four years of my youth. For
months and months I read feverishly to conquer my doubts,
and then I read almost as eagerly to confirm my scepticism.
“I still remember the glow of surprise and hope which
came over me the first time I read that Spinoza, one of the
heroes of my thought, had also made his living by polishing
glasses. He was the best workman of his time, the book said,
and I determined to become the best workman of my time;
and, from that moment, I took to my trade seriously,
strenuously.
“I learned everything I could about glass, and began to
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make my own material, after the best recipes. I got books on
optics, too, and studied them, and so, bit by bit, mastered the
science of my craft.
“I was not more than nineteen or twenty when my father
found out that I was a much better workman than his assistant
Thompson. Some glasses had been sent to us from a great
oculist in Harley Street, with a multitude of minute directions.
They had been made by Thompson, and were brought back
to us one afternoon by a very fidgety old gentleman who
declared that they did not suit him at all. The letter which he
showed from Sir William Creighton, the oculist, hinted that
the glasses were not carefully made. My father was out, and
in his absence I opened the letter. As soon as I had looked at
the glasses, I saw that the complaint was justified, and I told
the old gentleman so. He turned out to be the famous
parliamentary speaker, Lord B. He said to me testily:
“All right, young man; you make my glasses correctly and I
shall be satisfied; but not till then; you understand, not till
then.”
“I smiled at him and told him I would do the work myself,
and he went out of the shop muttering, as if only half
reassured by my promises. Then I determined to show what I
could do. When my father returned, I told him what had
happened, and asked him to leave the work to me. He
consented, and I went off at once to the little workshop I had
made in our back-yard and settled down to the task. I made
my glass and polished it, and then ground the spectacles
according to the directions. When I had finished, I sent them
to Sir William Creighton with a note, and a few days
afterwards we had another visit from Lord B., who told my
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father that he had never had such glasses and that I was a
“perfect treasure.” Like many very crochety people, he was
hard to satisfy, but one satisfied he was as lavish in praise as in
blame. Lord B. made my reputation as a maker of spectacles,
and for years I was content with this little triumph. . . .
“I married when I was about two- or three-and-twenty, and
seven or eight years afterwards my father died. The gap
caused by his death, the void of loss and loneliness, was more
than filled up by my young children. I had two little girls
who, at this time, were a source of perpetual interest to me.
How one grows to love the little creatures, with their laughter
and tears, their hopes and questions and make-believe! And
how one's love for them is intensified by all the trouble one
takes to win their love and by all the plans one weaves for
their future! But all this is common human experience and
will only bore you. A man's happiness is not interesting to
other people, and I don't know that much happiness is good
for a man himself; at any rate, during the ten or fifteen years
in which I was happiest, I did least; made least progress, I
mean, as a workman and the least intellectual advantage as a
man. But when my girls began to grow up and detach
themselves from the home, my intellectual nature began to
stir again. One must have some interests in life, and, if the
heart is empty, the head becomes busier, I often think.
“One day I had a notable visit. A man came in to get a pair
of spectacles made: a remarkable man. He was young, gay and
enthusiastic, with an astonishing flow of words, an astonishing
brightness of speech and manner. He seemed to light up the
dingy old shop with his vivacity and happy frankness. He
wanted spectacles to correct a slight dissimilarity between his
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right eye and his left, and he had been advised to come to me
by Sir William Creighton, as the glasses would have to be
particularly well made. I promised to work at them myself,
and on that he burst out:
“ ‘I shall be very curious to see whether perfect eyes help
or hurt my art. You know I am a painter,’ he went on,
throwing his hair back from his forehead, ‘and each of us
painters sees life in his own way, and beauty with certain
peculiarities. It would be curious, wouldn't it? if talent came
from a difference between one's eyes!’
“I smiled at his eagerness, and took down his name, then
altogether unknown to me; but soon to become known and
memorable above all other names: Dante Gabriel Rossetti. I
made the glasses and he was enthusiastic about them, and
brought me a little painting of himself by way of gratitude.
“There it is,” said Penry, pointing to a little panel that
hung by his bedside; “the likeness of an extraordinary man—a
genius, if ever there was one. I don't know why he took to
me, except that I admired him intensely; my shop, too, was
near his house in Chelsea, and he used often to drop in and
pass an hour in my back parlour and talk—such talk as I had
never heard before and have never heard since. His words
were food and drink to me, and more than that. Either his
thoughts or the magic of his personality supplied my mind
with the essence of growth and vigour which had hitherto
been lacking to it; in a very real sense, Rossetti became my
spiritual father. He taught me things about art that I had
never imagined; opened to me a new heaven and a new earth
and, above all, showed me that my craft, too, had artistic
possibilities in it that I had never dreamed of before.
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65
“I shall never forget the moment when he first planted the
seed in me that has grown and grown till it has filled my life.
It was in my parlour behind the shop. He had been talking in
his eager, vivid way, pouring out truths and thoughts,
epigrams and poetry, as a great jeweller sometimes pours
gems from hand to hand. I had sat listening open-mouthed,
trying to remember as much as I could, to assimilate some
small part of all that word-wealth. He suddenly stopped, and
we smoked on for a few minutes in silence; then he broke out
again:
“ ‘Do you know, my solemn friend,' he said abruptly, ‘that
I struck an idea the other day which might suit you. I was
reading one of Walter Scott's novels: that romantic stuff of his
amuses me, you know, though it isn't as deep as the sea.
Well, I found out that, about a hundred years ago, a man like
you made what they call Claude-glasses. I suppose they were
merely rose-tinted,' he laughed, 'but at any rate, they were
supposed to make everything beautiful in a Claude-like way.
Now, why shouldn't you make such glasses? It would do
Englishmen a lot of good to see things rose-tinted for a while.
Then, too, you might make Rossetti-glasses,' he went on,
laughingly, ‘and, if these dull Saxons could only get a glimpse
of the passion that possesses him, it would wake them up, I
know. Why not go to work, my friend, at something worth
doing? Do you know,' he continued seriously, ‘there might be
something in it. I don't believe, if I had had your glasses at
the beginning, I should ever have been the artist I am. I
mean,' he said, talking half to himself, ‘if my eyes had been all
right from the beginning, I might perhaps have been
contented with what I saw. But as my eyes were imperfect I
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tried to see things as my soul saw them, and so invented looks
and gestures that the real world would never have given me.’
“I scarcely understood what he meant,” said Mr. Penry,
“but his words dwelt with me: the ground had been prepared
for them; he had prepared it; and at once they took root in me
and began to grow. I could not get the idea of the Claudeglasses
and the Rossetti-glasses out of my head, and at last I
advertised for a pair of those old Claude-glasses, and in a
month or so a pair turned up.
“You may imagine that while I was waiting, time hung
heavy on my hands. I longed to be at work; I wanted to
realize the idea that had come to me while Rossetti was
talking. During my acquaintance with him, I had been to his
studio a dozen times, and had got to know and admire that
type of woman's beauty which is now connected with his
name; the woman, I mean, with swanlike throat and languid
air and heavy-lidded eyes, who conveys to all of us now
something of Rosetti's insatiable passion. But, while I was
studying his work and going about steeped in the emotion of
it, I noticed one day half a dozen girls whom Rossetti could
have taken as models. I had begun, in fact, to see the world as
Rossetti saw it; and this talk of his about the Claude-glasses
put the idea into my head that I might, indeed, be able to
make a pair of spectacles which would enable people to see
the world as Rossetti saw it and as I saw it when Rossetti's
influence had entire possession of me. This would be a great
deal easier to do, I said to myself, than to make a pair of
Claude-glasses; for, after all, I did not know what Claude's
eyes were really like and I did know the peculiarity of
Rossetti's eyes. I accordingly began to study the disparate
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quality in Rossetti's eyes and, after making a pair of spectacles
that made my eyes see unequally to the same degree, I found
that the Rossettian vision of things was sharpened and
intensified to me. From that moment on, my task was easy. I
had only to study any given pair of eyes and then to alter them
so that they possessed the disparity of Rossetti's eyes and the
work was half done. I found, too, that I could increase this
disparity a little and, in proportion as I increased it, I increased
also the peculiarity of what I called the Rossettian view of
things; but, if I made the disparity too great, everything
became blurred again.
“My researches had reached this point, when the pair of
old Claude-glasses came into my hands. I saw at a glance that
the optician of the eighteenth century had no knowledge of
my work. He had contented himself, as Rossetti had guessed,
with colouring the glasses very delicately and in several tints;
in fact, he had studied the colour-peculiarities of the eye as I
had studied its form-peculiarities. With this hint, I completed
my work. It took me only a few days to learn that Rossetti's
view of colour was just as limited, or, I should say, just as
peculiar, as his view of form; and, when I once understood the
peculiarities of his colour-sight, I could reproduce them as
easily as I could reproduce the peculiarities of his vision of
form. I then set to work to get both these peculiarities into
half a dozen different sets of glasses.
“The work took me some six or eight months; and, when I
had done my best, I sent a little note round to Rossetti and
awaited his coming with painful eagerness, hope and fear
swaying me in turn. When he came, I gave him a pair of the
spectacles; and, when he put them on and looked out into the
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street, I watched him. He was surprised—that I could see—
and more than a little puzzled. While he sat thinking, I
explained to him what the old Claude-glasses were like and
how I had developed his suggestion into this present
discovery.
“ ‘You are an artist, my friend,' he cried at last, 'and a new
kind of artist. If you can make people see the world as Claude
saw it and as I see it, you can go on to make them see it as
Rembrandt saw it and Velasquez. You can make the dullards
understand life as the greatest have understood it. But that is
impossible,' he added, his face falling: 'that is only a dream.
You have got my real eyes, therefore you can force others to
see as I see; but you have not the real eyes of Rembrandt, or
Velasquez, or Titian; you have not the physical key to the
souls of the great masters of the past; and so your work can
only apply to the present and to the future. But that is
enough, and more than enough,' he added quickly. 'Go on:
there are Millais' eyes to get too; and Corot's in France, and
half a dozen others; and glad I shall be to put you on the scent.
You will do wonderful things, my friend, wonderful things.'
“I was mightily uplifted by his praise and heart-glad, too,
in my own way; but resolved at the same time not to give up
the idea of making Velasquez-glasses and Rembrandt-glasses;
for I had come to know and to admire these masters through
Rossetti's talk. He was always referring to them, quoting
them, so to say; and, for a long time past, I had accustomed
myself to spend a couple of afternoons each week in our
National Gallery, in order to get some knowledge of the men
who were the companions of his spirit.
“For nearly a year after this, I spent every hour of my spare
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69
time studying in the National; and at last it seemed to me that
I had got Titian's range of colour quite as exactly as the old
glasses had got Claude's. But it was extraordinarily difficult to
get his vision of form. However, I was determined to succeed;
and, with infinite patience and after numberless attempts,
success began slowly to come to me. To cut a long story short,
I was able, in eight or ten years, to construct these four or five
different sorts of glasses. Claude-glasses and Rossetti-glasses,
of course; and also Titian-glasses, Velasquez-glasses and
Rembrandt-glasses; and again my mind came to anchor in the
work accomplished. Not that I stopped thinking altogether;
but that for some time my thoughts took no new flight, but
hovered round and about the known. As soon as I had made
the first pair of Rossetti-glasses, I began to teach my assistant,
Williams, how to make them too, in order to put them before
the public. We soon got a large sale for them. Chelsea, you
know—old Chelsea, I mean—is almost peopled with artists,
and many of them came about me and began to make my
shop a rendezvous, where they met and brought their friends
and talked; for Rossetti had a certain following, even in his
own lifetime. But my real success came with the Titianglasses.
The great Venetian's romantic view of life and
beauty seemed to exercise an irresistible seduction upon
every one, and the trade in his glasses soon became important.
“My home life at this time was not as happy as it had been.
In those long years of endless experiment, my daughters had
grown up and married, and my wife, I suppose, widowed of
her children, wanted more of my time and attention, just
when I was taken away by my new work and began to give her
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less. She used to complain at first; but, when she saw that
complaints did not alter me, she retired into herself, as it were;
and I saw less and less of her. And then, when my work was
done and my new trade established, my shop, as I have told
you, became the rendezvous for artists, and I grew interested
in the frank, bright faces and the youthful, eager voice, and
renewed my youth in the company of the young painters and
writers who used to seek me out. Suddenly, I awoke to the
fact that my wife was ill, very ill, and, almost before I had fully
realised how weak she was, she died. The loss was greater
than I would have believed possible. She was gentle and
kind, and I missed her every day and every hour. I think that
was the beginning of my dislike for the shop, the shop that
had made me neglect her. The associations of it reminded me
of my fault; the daily requirements of it grew irksome to me.
“About this time, too, I began to miss Rossetti and the
vivifying influences of his mind and talk. He went into the
country a great deal and for long periods I did not see him,
and, when at length we met, I found that the virtue was going
out of him: he had become moody and irritable, a neuropath.
Of course, the intellectual richness in him could not be
hidden altogether: now and then, he would break out and talk
in the old magical way:
And conjure wonder out of emptiness,
Till mean things put on beauty like a dress
And all the world was an enchanted place.
But, more often, he was gloomy and harassed, and it saddened
and oppressed me to meet him. The young artists who came
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to my shop did not fill his place; they chattered gaily enough,
but none of them was a magician as he had been, and I began
to realise that genius such as his is one of the rarest gifts in the
world.
“I am trying, with all brevity, to explain to you the causes
of my melancholy and my dissatisfaction: but I don't think
I have done it very convincingly; and yet, about this time,
I had grown dissatisfied, ill at ease, restless. And once
again my heart-emptiness drove me to work and think. The
next step forward came inevitably from the last one I had
taken.
“While studying the great painters, I had begun to notice
that there was a certain quality common to all of them, a
certain power they all possessed when working at highest
pressure: the power of seeing things as they are—the vital and
essential truth of things. I don't mean to say that all of them
possessed this faculty to the same degree. Far from it. The
truth of things to Titian is overlaid with romance: he is
memorable mainly for his magic of colour and beauty; while
Holbein is just as memorable for his grasp of reality. But
compare Titian with Giorgione or Tintoretto, and you will see
that his apprehension of the reality of things is much greater
than theirs. It is that which distinguishes him from the other
great colourists of Venice. And, as my own view of life grew
sadder and clearer, it came to me gradually as a purpose that I
should try to make glasses that would show the reality, the
essential truth of things, as all the great masters had seen it;
and so I set to work again on a new quest.
“About this time, I found out that, though I had many
more customers in my shop, I had not made money out of my
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artistic enterprises. My old trade as a spectacle-maker was
really the most profitable branch of my business. The sale of
the Rossetti-glasses and the Titian-glasses, which at first had
been very great, fell off quickly as the novelty passed away,
and it was soon apparent that I had lost more than I had
gained by my artistic inventions. But whether I made £1500 a
year, or £1000 a year, was a matter of indifference to me. I had
doubled that cape of forty which to me marks the end of
youth in a man, and my desires were shrinking as my years
increased. As long as I had enough to satisfy my wants, I was
not greedy of money.
“This new-born desire of mine to make glasses which
would show the vital truth of things soon began to possess me;
and, gradually, I left the shop to take care of itself, left it in
the hands of my assistant, Williams, and spent more and more
time in the little workshop at the back, which had been the
theatre of all my achievements. I could not tell you how long I
worked at the problem; I only know that it cost me years and
years, and that, as I gave more time and labour to it and more
and more of the passion of my soul, so I came to love it more
intensely and to think less of the ordinary business of life. At
length, I began to live in a sort of dream, possessed by the one
purpose. I used to get up at night and go on with the work
and rest in the day. For months together, I scarcely ate
anything, in the hope that hunger might sharpen my faculties;
at another time, I lived almost wholly on coffee, hoping that
this would have the same effect; and, at length, bit by bit, and
slowly, I got nearer to the goal of my desire. But, when I
reached it, when I had constructed glasses that would reveal
the naked truth, show things as they were and men and
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women as they were, I found that circumstances about me had
changed lamentably.
“In the midst of my work, I had known without realising it
that Williams had left me and started a shop opposite, with
the object of selling the artistic glasses, of which he declared
himself the inventor; but I paid no attention to this at the
time, and when, two or three years afterwards, I awoke again
to the ordinary facts of life, I found that my business had
almost deserted me. I am not sure, but I think it was a notice
to pay some debts which I hadn't the money to pay, that first
recalled me completely to the realities of everyday life. What
irony there is in the world! Here was I, who had been
labouring for years and years with the one object of making
men see things as they are and men and women as they are,
persecuted now and undone by the same reality which I was
trying to reveal.
“My latest invention, too, was a commercial failure: the
new glasses did not not sell at all. Nine people out of ten in
England are truthblind, and could make nothing of the
glasses; and the small minority, who have the sense of real
things, kept complaining that the view of life which my
glasses showed them, was not pleasant: as if that were any
fault of mine. Williams, too, my assistant, did me a great deal
of harm. He devoted himself merely to selling my spectacles;
and the tradesman succeeded where the artist and thinker
starved. As soon as he found out what my new glasses were,
he began to treat me contemptuously; talked of me at times as
a sort of half-madman, whose brain was turned by the
importance given to his inventions; and at other times
declared that I had never invented anything at all, for the idea
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of the artistic glasses had been suggested by Rossetti. The
young painters who frequented his shop took pleasure in
spreading this legend and attributing to Rossetti what Rossetti
would have been the first to disclaim. I found myself
abandoned, and hours used to pass without any one coming
into my shop. The worst of it was that, when chance gave me
a customer, I soon lost him: the new glasses pleased no one.
“At this point, I suppose, if I had been gifted with ordinary
prudence, I should have begun to retrace my steps; but either
we grow more obstinate as we grow older, or else the soul's
passion grows by the sacrifices we make for it. Whatever the
motives of my obstinacy may have been, the disappointment,
the humiliation I went through seemed only to nerve me to a
higher resolution. I knew I had done good work, and the
disdain shown to me drove me in upon myself and my own
thoughts.”
* * * * *
So much I learned from Mr. Penry in the first few days of
our acquaintance, and then for weeks and weeks he did not
tell me any more. He seemed to regard the rest of his story as
too fantastic and improbable for belief, and he was nervously
apprehensive lest he should turn me against him by telling it.
Again and again, however, he hinted at further knowledge,
more difficult experiments, a more arduous seeking, till my
curiosity was all aflame, and I pressed him, perhaps unduly,
for the whole truth.
In those weeks of constant companionship, our friendship
had grown with almost every meeting. It was impossible to
escape the charm of Penry's personality! He was so absorbed
in his work, so heedless of the ordinary vanities and greeds of
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men, so simple and kindly and sympathetic, that I grew to
love him. He had his little faults, of course, his little
peculiarities; surface irritabilities of temper; moments of
undue depression, in which he depreciated himself and his
work; moments of undue elation, in which he over-estimated
the importance of what he had done. He would have struck
most people as a little flighty and uncertain, I think; but his
passionate devotion to his work lifted the soul, and his faults
were, after all, insignificant in comparison with his noble and
rare qualities. I had met no one in life who aroused the higher
impulses in me as he did. It seemed probable that his latest
experiments would be the most daring and the most
instructive, and, accordingly, I pressed him to tell me about
them with some insistence, and, after a time, he consented:
“I don't know how it came about,” he began, “but the
contempt of men for my researches exercised a certain
influence on me, and at length I took myself seriously to task:
was there any reason for their disdain and dislike? Did these
glasses of mine really show things as they are, or was I offering
but a new caricature of truth, which people were justified in
rejecting as unpleasant? I took up again my books on optics
and studied the whole subject anew from the beginning.
Even as I worked, a fear grew upon me: I felt that there was
another height before me to climb, and that the last bit of the
road would probably be the steepest of all. . . . In the
Gospels,” he went on, in a low, reverent voice, “many things
are symbolic and of universal application, and it alway seemed
to me significant that the Hill of Calvary came at the end of
the long journey. But I shrank from another prolonged effort;
I said to myself that I couldn't face another task like the last.
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But, all the while, I had a sort of uncomfortable prescience
that the hardest part of my life's work lay before me.
“One day, a casual statement stirred me profoundly. The
primary colours, you know, are red, yellow and blue. The
colours shown in the rainbow vary from red to blue and violet;
and the vibrations, or lengths, of the light-waves that give us
violet grow shorter and shorter and, at length, give us red.
“These vibrations can be measured. One day, quite by
chance, I came across the statement that there were
innumerable light-waves longer than those which give violet.
At once the question sprang: were these longer waves
represented by colours which we don't see, colours for which
we have no name, colours of which we can form no
conception? And was the same thing true of the waves which,
growing shorter and shorter, give us the sensation of red?
There is room, of course, for myriads of colours beyond this
other extremity of our vision. A little study convinced me that
my guess was right; for all the colours which we see are
represented to our sense of feeling in degrees of heat: that is,
blue shows one reading on the thermometer and red a higher
reading; and by means of this new standard, I discovered that
man's range of vision is not even placed in the middle of the
register of heat, but occupies a little space far up towards the
warmer extremity of it. There are thousands of degrees of
cold lower than blue and hundreds of degrees of heat above
red. All these gradations are doubtless represented by colours
which no human eye can perceive, no human mind can
imagine. It is with sight as with sound. We know now that
there are noises louder than thunder which we cannot hear,
the roar that lies on the other side of silence. We men are
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77
poor restless prisoners, hemmed in by our senses as by the
walls of a cell, hearing only a part of nature's orchestra and
that part imperfectly; seeing only a thousandth part of the
colour-marvels about us and seeing that infinitesimal part
incorrectly and partially. Here was new knowledge with a
vengeance! Knowledge that altered all my work! How was I
to make glasses to show all this? Glasses that would reveal
things as they are and must be to higher beings—the ultimate
reality. At once, the new quest became the object of my life
and, somehow or other I knew before I began the work that
the little scraps of comfort or of happiness which I had
preserved up to this time, I should now forfeit. I realised with
shrinking and fear, that this new inquiry would still further
remove me from the sympathy of my fellows.
“My prevision was justified. I had hardly got well to
work—that is, I had only spent a couple of years in vain and
torturing experiments—when I was one day arrested for debt.
I had paid no attention to the writ; the day of trial came and
went without my knowing anything about it; and there was a
man in possession of my few belongings before I understood
what was going on. Then I was taught by experience that to
owe money is the one unforgivable sin in the nation of
shopkeepers. My goods were sold up and I was brought to
utter destitution”—the old man paused—“and then sent to
prison because I could not pay.”
“But,” I asked, “did your daughters do nothing? Surely,
they could have come to your help?”
“Oh! they were more than kind,” he replied simply, “the
eldest especially, perhaps because she was childless herself. I
called her Gabrielle,” he added, lingering over the name; “she
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78
was very good to me. As soon as she heard the news, she paid
my debt and set me free. She bought things, too, and fitted
out two nice rooms for me and arranged everything again
quite comfortably; but you see,” he went on with a timid,
depreciating smile, “I tired out even her patience: I could not
work at anything that brought in money and I was continually
spending money for my researches. The nice furniture went
first; the pretty tables and chairs and then the bed. I should
have wearied an angel. Again and again, Gabrielle bought me
furniture and made me tidy and comfortable, as she said, and
again and again, like a spendthrift boy, I threw it all away.
How could I think of tables and chairs, when I was giving my
life to my work? Besides, I always felt that the more I was
plagued and punished, the more certain I was to get out the
best in me: solitude and want are the twin nurses of the soul.”
“But didn't you wish to get any recognition, any praise?” I
broke in.
“I knew by this time,” he answered, “that, in proportion as
my work was excellent, I should find fewer to understand it.
How many had I seen come to praise and honour while
Rossetti fell to nerve-disease and madness; and yet his work
endures and will endure, while theirs is already forgotten.
The tree that grows to a great height wins to solitude even in
a forest: its highest outshoots find no companions save the
winds and stars. I tried to console myself with such similes as
this,” he went on, with a deprecatory smile, “for the years
passed and I seemed to come no nearer to success. At last,
the way opened for me a little, and, after eight or ten years of
incessant experiment, I found that partial success was all I
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79
should ever accomplish. Listen! There is not one pair of eyes
in a million that could ever see what I had taught myself to
see, for the passion of the soul brings with it its own reward.
After caring for nothing but truth for twenty years, thinking of
nothing but truth, and wearying after it, I could see it more
clearly than other men: get closer to it than they could. So the
best part of my labour—I mean the highest result of it—
became personal, entirely personal, and this disappointed me.
If I could do no good to others by it, what was my labour but a
personal gratification? And what was that to me—at my age!
I seemed to lose heart, to lose zest. . . . Perhaps it was that old
age had come upon me, that the original sum of energy in me
had been spent, that my bolt was shot. It may be so.
“The fact remains that I lost the desire to go on, and, when
I had lost that, I woke up, of course, to the ordinary facts of
life once again. I had no money: I was weak from semistarvation
and long vigils, prematurely old and decrepit. Once
more, Gabrielle came to my assistance. She fitted up this
room, and then I went out to sell my glass, as a pedlar. I
bought the tray and made specimens of all the spectacles I
had made, and hawked them about the streets. Why
shouldn't I? No work is degrading to the spirit, none, and I
could not be a burden to the one I loved, now I knew that my
best efforts would not benefit others. I did not get along very
well: the world seemed strange to me, and men a little rough
and hard. Besides, the police seemed to hate me; I don't
know why. Perhaps, because I was poor, and yet unlike the
poor they knew. They persecuted me, and the magistrates
before whom they brought me always believed them and
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never believed me. I have been punished times without
number for obstruction, though I never annoyed any one.
The police never pretended that I had cheated or stolen from
any one before; but, after all, this latest charge of theirs
brought me to know you and gave me your friendship; and so
I feel that all the shame has been more than made up to me.”
My heart burned within me as he spoke so gently of his
unmerited sufferings. I told him I was proud of being able to
help him. He put his hand on mine with a little smile of
comprehension.
A day or two later curiosity awoke in me again, and I asked
him to let me see a pair of the new glasses, those that show
the ultimate truth of things.
“Perhaps, some day,” he answered quietly. I suppose my
face fell, for, after a while, he went on meditatively: “There
are faults in them, you see, shortcomings and faults in you,
too, my friend. Believe me, if I were sure that they would
cheer or help you in life, I would let you use them quickly
enough; but I am beginning to doubt their efficacy. Perhaps
the truth of things is not for man.”
* * * * *
When we entered the court on the day of Penry's trial,
Morris and myself were of opinion that the case would not last
long and that it would certainly be decided in our favour. The
only person who seemed at all doubtful of the issue was Penry
himself. He smiled at me, half pityingly, when I told him that
in an hour we should be on our way home. The waiting
seemed interminable, but at length the case was called. The
counsel for the prosecution got up and talked perfunctorily for
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81
five minutes, with a sort of careless unconcern that seemed to
me callous and unfeeling. Then he began to call his
witnesses. The workman, I noticed, was not in the court. His
evidence had been rather in favour of the accused, and the
prosecution, on that account, left it out. But Mr. 'Allett, as he
called himself, of 'Igh 'Olborn, was even more voluble and
vindictive than he had been at the police-court. He had had
time to strengthen his evidence, too, to make it more bitter
and more telling, and he had used his leisure malignantly. It
seemed to me that every one should have seen his spite and
understood the vileness of his motives. But no; again and
again, the judge emphasised those parts of his story which
seemed to tell most against the accused. The judge was
evidently determined that the jury should not miss any detail
of the accusation, and his own bias appeared to me iniquitous.
But there was a worse surprise in store for us. After Hallett,
the prosecution called a canon of Westminster, a stout man,
with heavy jowl and loose, suasive lips, Canon Bayton. He
told us how he had grown interested in Penry and in his work,
and how he had bought all his earlier glasses, the Rossettiglasses,
as he called them. The cannon declared that these
artistic glasses threw a very valuable light on things, redeemed
the coarseness and commonness of life and made reality
beautiful and charming. He was not afraid to say that he
regarded them as instruments for good; but the truthrevealing
glasses seemed to excite his utmost hatred and
indignation. He could not find a good word to say for them:
they only showed, he said, what was terrible and brutal in life.
When looking through them, all beauty vanished, the
charming flesh-covering fell away and you saw the death'shead
grinning at you. Instead of parental affection, you found
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personal vanity; instead of the tenderness of the husband for
the wife, gross and common sensuality. All high motives
withered, and, instead of the flowers of life, you were
compelled to look at the wormlike roots and the clinging dirt.
He concluded his evidence by assuring the jury that they
would be doing a good thing if they put an end to the sale of
such glasses. The commerce was worse than fraudulent, he
declared; it was a blasphemy against God and an outrage on
human nature. The unctuous canon seemed to me worse than
all the rest; but the effect he had on the jury was
unmistakable, and our barrister, Symonds, refused to crossexamine
him. To do so, he said, would only strengthen the
case for the prosecution, and I have no doubt that he was
right, for Morris agreed with him.
But even the prosecuting witnesses did not hurt us more
than the witnesses for the defence. Mr. Penry had been
advised by Mr. Morris to call witnesses to his character, and he
had called half a dozen of the most respectable tradesmen of
his acquaintance. One and all did him harm rather than good;
they all spoke of having known him twenty years before,
when he was well-to-do and respectable. They laid stress
upon what they called “his fall in life.” They all seemed to
think that he had neglected his business and come to ruin by
his own fault. No one of them had the faintest understanding
of the man, or of his work. It was manifest from the beginning
that these witnesses damaged our case, and this was
apparently the view of the prosecuting barrister, for he
scarcely took the trouble to cross-examine them.
It was with a sigh of relief that I saw Mr. Penry go into the
box to give evidence on his own behalf. Now, I thought, the
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83
truth will come to light. He stated everything with the utmost
clearness and precision; but no one seemed to believe him.
The wish to understand him was manifestly wanting in the
jury, and from the beginning the judge took sides against him.
From time to time, he interrupted him just to bring out what
he regarded as the manifest falseness of his testimony.
“You say that these glasses show truth,” he said. “Who
wants to see truth?”
“Very few,” was Penry's reply.
“Why, then, did you make the glasses,” went on the judge,
“if you knew that they would disappoint people?”
“I thought it my duty to,” replied Penry.
“Your duty to disappoint and anger people?” retorted the
judge, “a strange view to take of duty. And you got money for
this unpleasant duty, didn't you?”
“A little,” was Penry's reply.
“Yes; but still you got money,” persisted the judge. “You
persuaded people to buy your glasses, knowing that they
would be disappointed in them, and you induced them to give
you money for the disappointment. Have you anything else
to urge in your defence?”
I was at my wit's end; I scarcely knew how to keep quiet
in my seat. It seemed to me so easy to see the truth. But
even Penry seemed indifferent to the result, indifferent to a
degree that I could scarcely explain or excuse. This last
question, however, of the judge aroused him. As the harsh,
contemptuous words fell upon the ear, he leaned forward, and,
selecting a pair of spectacles, put them on and peered round
the court. I noticed that he was slightly flushed. In a
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84
moment or two, he took the glasses off and turned to the
judge:
“My lord,” he said, “you seem determined to condemn
me, but, if you do condemn me, I want you to do it with some
understanding of the facts. I have told you that there are very
few persons in this country who have any faculty for truth, and
that the few who have, usually have ruined their power before
they reach manhood. You scoff and sneer at what I say, but
still it remains the simple truth. I looked round the court just
now to see if there was any one here young enough,
ingenuous enough, pure enough, to give evidence on my
behalf. I find that there is no one in the court to whom I can
appeal with any hope of success. But, my lord, in the room
behind this court there is a child sitting, a girl with fair hair,
probably your lordship's daughter. Allow me to call her as a
witness, allow her to test the glasses and say what she sees
through them, and then you will find that these glasses do
alter and change things in a surprising way to those who can
use them.”
“I don't know how you knew it,” broke in the judge, “but
my daughter is in my room waiting for me, and what you say
seems to have some sense in it. But it is entirely unusual to
call a child, and I don't know that I have any right to allow it.
Still, I don't want you to feel that you have not had every
opportunity of clearing yourself; so, if the jury consent, I am
quite willing that they should hear what this new witness may
have to say.”
“We are willing to hear the witness,” said the foreman,
“but really, your lordship, our minds are made up about the
case.”
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85
The next moment, the child came into the court—a girl of
thirteen or fourteen, with a bright, intelligent face, a sort of
shy fear troubling the directness of her approach.
“I want you to look through a pair of spectacles, my child,”
said Penry to her, “and tell us just what you see through
them,” and, as he spoke, he peered at her in his strange way,
as if judging her eyes.
He then selected a pair of glasses and handed them to her.
The child put them on and looked round the court, and then
cried out suddenly:
“Oh, what strange people; and how ugly they all are.
All ugly, except you who gave me the glasses; you are
beautiful.” Turning hastily round, she looked at her father
and added, “Oh, papa, you are—Oh!” and she took off the
glasses quickly while a burning flush spread over her face.
“I don't like these glasses,” she said indignantly, laying
them down. “They are horrid! My father doesn't look like
that.”
“My child,” said Penry, very gently, “will you look through
another pair of glasses? You see so much that perhaps you can
see what is to be, as well as what is. Perhaps you can catch
some glimpse even of the future.”
He selected another pair and handed them to the child.
There was a hush of expectancy in the court; people who had
scoffed at Penry before and smiled contempt, now leaned
forward to hear, as if something extraordinary were about to
happen. All eyes were riveted on the little girl's face; every
ear strained to hear what she would say. Round and round the
court she looked through the strange glasses and then began
to speak in a sort of frightened monotone:
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“I see nothing,” she said. “I mean there is no court and no
people, only great white blocks, a sort of bluey-white. Is it
ice? There are no trees, no animals; all is cold and white. It is
ice. There is no living creature, no grass, no flowers, nothing
moves. It is all cold, all dead.” In a frightened voice she
added: “Is that the future?”
Penry leaned towards her eagerly:
“Look at the light, child,” he said; “follow the light up and
tell us what you see.”
Again a strange hush; I heard my heart thumping while the
child looked about her. Then, pulling off the glasses, she said
peevishly:
“I can't see anything more: it hurts my eyes.”
* * * * *
DEATH IN PRISON.
“Matthew Penry, whose trial for fraud and condemnation
will probably still be remembered by our readers because of
the very impressive evidence for the prosectuion given by
Canon Bayton, of Westminster, died, we understand, in
Wandsworth Prison yesterday morning from syncope.”—
Extract from the Times, January 3, 1900.
FRANK HARRIS.
THE CHYMICAL JOUSTING OF
BROTHER PERARDUA
WITH THE SEVEN LANCES
THAT HE BRAKE


CARL HENTSCHEL, LTD. ENG., LONDON, E.C.
89
THE CHYMICAL JOUSTING OF
BROTHER PERARDUA
WITH THE SEVEN LANCES
THAT HE BRAKE
He slayeth Sir Argon le Paresseux.
Now Brother Perardua, though he was but a Zelator of our
ancient Order, had determined in himself to perform the
Magnum Opus, and to procure for himself one grain of the
Powder, one minim of the Elixir, and the Tincture of Double
Efficacy. Not fully did he yet comprehend the Mysterium of
our Art, therefore impose he upon himsef the sevenfold
regimen. For without the Bell of Electrum Magicum of
Paracelsus how should the adept even give warning to the
Powers of the Work of his entry thereunto?
Yet our brother, being of stout heart—for he had been a
soldier in many distant lands—began right cheerfully. His
head that was hoary with eld he crowned with five petals of
white lotus, as if to signify the purity of his bodyt, and went
forth into that place where is no field, nor any furrow therein;
and there he sowed a scroll that had two and twenty seeds
diverse.
He slayeth Sir Abjad the Saracen.
Nor for all his care and labour could he gather therefrom
more than seven plants, that shone in the blackness; and each
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90
plant beareth a single blossom that hath seven petals—one
would have thought them stars; for though they were not of a
verity in themselves brilliant and flashing, yet so black was
that wherein they grew that they seemed brighter than suns.
And these were placed one above the other in a single line
and straight, even according unto the seven centres of his
intention that he bare about him in the hollow tube that hath
thirty and two joints.
He slayeth Sir Amorex le Desirous.
These plants did our brother Perardua pluck, as the mystic
rites ordain; and these did he heat furiously in his alembic, yet
with vegetable heat alone, while he kept them ever moist,
dropping upon them of his lunar water, whereof he had three
and seventy minims left of the eight and seventy that his
Father had given him; and these he had borne upon a camel
through the desert unto this place where he now was, which is
called the Oasis of the Lion, even as the whole Regimen that
in the end he accomplished is in the form of a Lion.
Thus then his Lion waxed exceeding thirsty, and licked
up all that dew. But the fire being equal thereunto, he was
not discomforted.
He slayeth Sir Lionel the Warder of the Marches.
So now indeed he had wrought the first Matter to a pitch
of excellence beyond the human; for without trouble was his
tincture thus beautiful. First, it had the crown and horns of
Alexander the mighty king; also it had wings of fine sapphire;
its fore part was like the Lion, whereby indeed it partook of
the highest Virtue, and its hinder quarters were as a bull's.
BROTHER PERARDUA
91
Moreover it stood upon the White Sphere and the Red Cube;
and it is not possible for any Elixir to exceed this, unless it be
by Our path and working.
He slayeth Sir Merlin the Wizard.
Yet our brother Perardua—and by now he was right skilful
at the athanor!—determined to attain to that higher
Projection. Therefore he subtly prepared a Red Dragon, or as
some alchemists will have it, a Fiery Flying Serpent, whereby
he should eat up that Sphinx of his, that he had nourished
with such ingenium and care.
Now this Red Dragon hath seven fiery coils, proper to the
seven silver stars. Also was his head right venemous and
greedy, and eight flames were about it; for that Sphinx had
two wings and four feet and two horns; but the Serpent is one,
even as the King is one.
He slayeth the Great Dragon called Stooping or Twisted.
Now then is this work utterly burnt up and abolished in
that tremendous heat that is in the mouth and belly of the
Dragon; and that which cometh forth therefrom is in no wise
that which went in. Yet are these twelve the children of those
two-and-twenty. So when he had broken the cucurbirte, he
find therein no trace of the seven, but a button of fused
gold—as we say, for it is not gold. . . .
Now this button hath twelve faces, and angles twenty-four
salient and reentrant; and Our Egyptian brethren have called
it the Pavement of the Firmament of Nu.
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He slayeth King Astur of the Arms Argent.
Now this metal is not in any wise like unto earthly metal;
let the brethren well beware, for many false knaves be
abroad. Three things be golden: the mineral gold of the
merchant that is dross; the vegetable gold that groweth from
the seed of the scroll by virture of the Lion; and the animal
gold that cometh forth from the regimen of the Dragon, and
this last is the sole marketable gold of the Philosopher. For,
behold, an Arcanum! I charge you, keep secret this matter; for
the vile brothers, could they divine it, would pervert it.
This mineral Gold cannot be changed into any other
substance by any means.
This Vegetable Gold is fluidic; it must increase
wonderfully and be fixed in the Perfection of the Sphinx.
But this our Animal Gold is to this mighty pitch unstable,
that it can neither increase nor decrease, nor can it remain that
which it is, or seemeth to be. For even as a drop of glass
unequally cooled flieth at a touch into a myriad fine particles,
so also at a touch this gold philosophical dissolveth his being,
ofttimes with a great and terrible explosion, ofttimes so softly
and subtly that no man may perceive it, be he never so acute,
nay, as a needle for sharpness or for fineness as a spyglass of
the necromancer!
Yet herein lieth the core of the matter that in this
explosion aforesaid naught whatever is left either of the seven
or the twelve or of the three Mother seeds that lie concealed
therein. But in a certain mystical way the Other Ten are
shadowed forth, though dimly, as if the Brazen Serpent had
become a Sword of Lightning. Yet this is but a glyph; for in
truth there is no link or bond between them.
BROTHER PERARDUA
93
For this Animal Gold is passed utterly away; there is not
any button thereof, nor any feather of the Wings of the
Sphinx, nor any mark of the Sower or of the Seed. But at that
Lightning Flash all did entirely disappear, and the Cucurbite
and the Alembic and the Athanor were shattered utterly . . .
and there arose That which he had set himself to seek; yea,
more! a grain of the Powder, and three minims of the Elixir,
and Six drachms of the Tincture of Double Efficacy.
. . . Yet the brethren mocked him; for he had imperilled
himself sore; so that unto this hour hath the name of Perardua
been forgotten, and they that have need to speak of him say in
right joyaunce Non Sine Fulmine.

95
THE LONELY BRIDE
“BLEST among women,” they say: I stand
Here in the market-place,
And the crowd throngs by in this lonely land,
Nor stays to heed my face.
My head is bowed down with the shame of my thought:
Mine eyes grow hot with disgrace.
Oh the evil that men have wrought!
I was once a King's daughter,
Back in the olden time,
They called me the Bride of Water:
I went to the sea for her rhyme;
I went to the stars for their song of life,
For then I was in my prime.
Now I am filled with strife.
I stare all day at the men that pass,
And all that I see I crave;
There are simple-gatherers fresh from the grass,
There are mariners brown from the wave,
There are merchants stout with tablets wide;
There is many a fair young slave;
They call me The Lonely Bride.
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I was men's wonder the day I came;
I was ruddy and gold and pale:
My eyes were light with a smouldering flame,
On my lips was the untold tale,
And men, as they passed, gazed hard and long,
And women looked scorn and bale.
Yea! I was fair and strong.
How should they know the thing I sought?
I was rich and lovely and young,
Not young with the flame that the spring had wrought,
But with fire from the summer sprung.
No man dared speak, but they longed to speak:
Aye! Many a glance they flung.
But I stood with an unflushed cheek.
And only the strangers heed me now;
I am but a statue cold.
Ah! could they see the pain in my brow,
My heart that is growing old.
I may not summon them to my side,
Or move my lips' stern fold.
I am The Lonely Bride.
But never a man doth dare to speak,
And with burning heart I stand,
Till I feel the hot blood mount to my cheek,
And a trembling shake my hand.
If they but knew of my need, my need,
As I wait in love's barren land,
To me, to me would they speed.
THE LONELY BRIDE
97
Here in the market place they pass,
Merchant and slave and thrall;
The dewy herb-gatherer from the grass,
The steward from out the hall.
Ah! the weary waiting till one shall speak,
Oh! then the spell will fall,
And I shall find what I seek.
VICTOR B. NEUBURG.

AT THE FORK OF THE ROADS

101
AT THE FORK OF THE ROADS
HYPATIA GAY knocked timidly at the door of Count Swanoff's
flat. Hers was a curious mission, to serve the envy of the long
lank melancholy unwashed poet whom she loved. Will Bute
was not only a poetaster but a dabbler in magic, and black
jealousy of a younger man and a far finer poet gnawed at his
petty heart. He had gained a subtle hypnotic influence over
Hypatia, who helped him in his ceremonies, and he had now
commissioned her to seek out his rival and pick up some
magical link through which he might be destroyed.
The door opened, and the girl passed from the cold stone
dusk of the stairs to a palace of rose and gold. The poet's
rooms were austere in their elegance. A plain gold-black
paper of Japan covered the walls; in the midst hung an ancient
silver lamp within which glowed the deep ruby of an electric
lamp. The floor was covered with black and gold of leopards'
skins; on the walls hung a great crucifix in ivory and ebony.
Before the blazing fire lay the poet (who had concealed his
royal Celtic descent beneath the pseudonym of Swanoff)
reading in a great volume bound with vellum.
He rose to greet her.
“Many days have I expected you,” he exclaimed, “many
days have I wept over you. I see your destiny—how thin a
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102
thread links you to that mighty Brotherhood of the Silver Star
whose trembling neophyte I am—how twisted and thick are
the tentacles of the Black Octopus whom you now serve. Ah!
wrench yourself away while you are yet linked with us: I
would not that you sank into the Ineffable Slime. Blind and
bestial are the worms of the Slime: come to me, and by the
Faith of the Star, I will save you.”
The girl put him by with a light laugh. “I came,” she said,
“but to chatter about clairvoyance—why do you threat me
with these strange and awful words?”
“Because I see that to-day may decide all for you. Will you
come with me into the White Temple, while I administer the
Vows? Or will you enter the Black Temple, and swear away
your soul?”
“Oh really,” she said, “you are too silly—but I'll do what
you like next time I come here.”
“To-day your choice—to-morrow your fate,” answered the
young poet.
And the conversation drifted to lighter subjects.
But as she left she managed to scratch his hand with a
brooch, and this tiny blood-stain on the pin she bore back in
triumph to her master; he would work a strange working
therewith!
* * * * *
Swanoff closed his books and went to bed. The streets
were deadly silent; he turned his thoughts to the Infinite
Silence of the Divine Presence, and fell into a peaceful sleep.
No dreams disturbed him; later than usual he awoke.
How strange! The healthy flush of his cheek had faded:
the hands were white and thin and wrinkled: he was so weak
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103
that he could hardly stagger to the bath. Breakfast refreshed
him somewhat; but more than this the expectation of a visit
from his master.
The master came. “Little brother!” he cried aloud as he
entered, “you have disobeyed me. You have been meddling
again with the Goetia!”
“I swear to you, master!” He did reverence to the adept.
The new comer was a dark man with a powerful cleanshaven
face almost masked in a mass of jet-black hair.
“Little brother,” he said, “if that be so, then the Goetia has
been meddling with you.”
He lifted up his head and sniffed. “I smell evil;” he said,
“I smell the dark brothers of iniquity. Have you duly
performed the Ritual of the Flaming Star?”
“Thrice daily, according to your word.”
“Then evil has entered in a body of flesh. Who has been
here?”
The young poet told him. His eyes flashed. “Aha!” he
said, “now let us Work!”
The neophyte brought writing materials to his master: the
quill of a young gander, snow-white; virgin vellum of a young
male lamb; ink of the gall of a certain rare fish; and a
mysterious Book.
The master drew a number of incomprehensible signs and
letters upon the vellum.
“Sleep with this beneath the pillow,” he said, “you will
awake if you are attacked; and whatever it is that attacks
you, kill it! Kill it! Kill it! Then instantly go into
your temple and assume the shape and dignity of the god
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104
Horus, send back the Thing to its sender by the might of the
god that is in you! Come! I will discover unto you the words
and the signs and the spells for this working of magic art.”
They disappeared into the little white room lined with
mirrors which Swanoff used for a temple.
* * * * *
Hypatia Gay, that same afternoon, took some drawings to a
publisher in Bond Street. This man was bloated with disease
and drink; his loose lips hung in an eternal leer; his fat eyes
shed venom; his cheeks seemed ever on the point of bursting
into nameless sores and ulcers.
He bought the young girl's drawings. “Not so much for
their value,” he explained, “as that I like to help promising
young artists—like you, my dear!”
Her steely virginal eyes met his fearlessly and
unsuspiciously. The beast cowered, and covered his foulness
with a hideous smile of shame.
* * * * *
The night came, and young Swanoff went to his rest
without alarm. Yet with that strange wonder that denotes
those who expect the unknown and terrible, but have faith to
win through.
This night he dreamt—deliciously.
A thousand years he strayed in gardens of spice, by darling
streams, beneath delightful trees, in the blue rapture of the
wonderful weather. At the end of a long glade of ilex that
reached up to a marble palace stood a woman, fairer than all
the women of the earth. Imperceptibly they drew together—
she was in his arms. He awoke with a start. A woman
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105
indeed lay in his arms and showered a rain of burning kisses
on his face. She clothed him about with ecstasy; her touch
waked the serpent of essential madness in him.
Then, like a flash of lightning, came his master's word to
his memory—Kill it! In the dim twilight he could see the
lovely face that kissed him with lips of infinite splendour, hear
the cooing words of love.
“Kill it! My God! Adonai! Adonai!” He cried aloud, and
took her by the throat. Ah God! Her flesh was not the flesh
of woman. It was hard as india-rubber to the touch, and his
strong young fingers slipped. Also he loved her—loved, as he
had never dreamt that love could be.
But he knew now, he knew! And a great loathing mingled
with his lust. Long did they struggle; at last he got the upper,
and with all his weight above her drove down his fingers in
her neck. She gave one gasping cry—a cry of many devils in
hell—and died. He was alone.
He had slain the succubus, and absorbed it. Ah! With
what force and fire his veins roared! Ah! How he leapt from
the bed, and donned the holy robes. How he invoked the
God of Vengeance, Horus the mighty, and turned loose the
Avengers upon the black soul that had sought his life!
At the end he was calm and happy as a babe; he returned
to bed, slept easy, and woke strong and splendid.
* * * * *
Night after night for ten nights this scene was acted and
re-acted: always identical. On the eleventh day he received a
postcard from Hypatia Gay that she was coming to see him
that afternoon.
“It means that the material basis of their working is
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106
exhausted,” explained his master. “She wants another drop of
blood. But we must put an end to this.”
They went out into the city, and purchased a certain drug
of which the master knew. At the very time that she was
calling at the flat, they were at the boarding-house where she
lodged, and secretly distributing the drug about the house. Its
function was a strange one: hardly had they left the house
when from a thousand quarter came a lamentable company of
cats, and made the winter hideous with their cries.
“That” (chuckled the master) “will give her mind
something to occupy itself with. She will do no black magic
for our friend awhile!”
Indeed the link was broken; Swanoff had peace. “If she
comes again,” ordered the master, “I leave it to you to punish
her.”
* * * * *
A month passed by; then, unannounced, once more
Hypatia Gay knocked at the flat. Her virginal eyes still
smiled; her purpose was yet deadlier than before.
Swanoff fenced with her awhile. Then she began to tempt
him.
“Stay!” he said, “first you must keep your promise and
enter the temple!”
Strong in the trust of her black master, she agreed. The
poet opened the little door, and closed it quickly after her,
turning the key.
As she passed into the utter darkness that hid behind
curtains of black velvet, she caught one glimpse of the
presiding god.
It was a skeleton that sat there, and blood stained all its
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107
bones. Below it was the evil altar, a round table supported by
an ebony figure of a negro standing upon his hands. Upon the
altar smouldered a sickening perfume, and the stench of the
slain victims of the god defiled the air. It was a tiny room, and
the girl, staggering, came against the skeleton. The bones
were not clean; they were hidden by a greasy slime mingling
with the blood, as though the hideous worship were about to
endow it with a new body of flesh. She wrenched herself
back in disgust. Then suddenly she felt it was alive! It was
coming towards her! She shrieked once the blasphemy which
her vile master had chosen as his mystic name; only a hollow
laugh echoed back.
Then she knew all. She knew that to seek the left-hand
path may lead one to the power of the blind worms of the
Slime—and she resisted. Even then she might have called to
the White Brothers; but she did not. A hideous fascination
seized her.
And then she felt the horror.
Something—something against which nor clothes nor
struggles were any protection—was taking possession of her,
eating its way into her . . .
And its embrace was deadly cold. . . . Yet the hell-clutch at
her heart filled her with a fearful joy. She ran forward; she put
her arms round the skeleton; she put her young lips to its
bony teeth, and kissed it. Instantly, as at a signal, a drench of
the waters of death washed all the human life out of her
being, while a rod as of steel smote her even from the base of
the spine to the brain. She had passed the gates of the abyss.
Shriek after shriek of ineffable agony burst from her tortured
mouth; she writhed and howled in that ghastly celebration of
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108
the nuptials of the Pit.
Exhaustion took her; she fell with a heavy sob.
* * * * *
When she came to herself she was at home. Still that
lamentable crew of cats miauled about the house. She awoke
and shuddered. On the table lay two notes.
The first: “You fool! They are after me; my life is not safe.
You have ruined me—Curse you!” This from the loved
master, for whom she had sacrificed her soul.
The second a polite note from the publisher, asking for
more drawings. Dazed and desperate, she picked up her
portfolio, and went round to his office in Bond Street.
He saw the leprous light of utter degradation in her eyes; a
dull flush came to his face; he licked his lips.
109
THE MAGICIAN
[TRANSLATED FROM ELIPHAZ LEVI’S VERSION OF THE
FAMOUS HYMN]
O LORD, deliver me from hell’s dark fear and gloom !
Loose thou my spirit from the larvæ of the tomb !
I seek them in their dread abodes without affright :
On them will I impose my will, the law of light.
I bid the night conceive the glittering hemisphere.
Arise, O sun, arise! O moon, shine white and clear !
I seek them in their dread abodes without affright:
On them will I impose my will, the law of light.
Their faces and their shapes are terrible and strange.
These devils by my might to angels I will change.
These nameless horrors I address without affright:
On them will I impose my will, the law of light.
These are the phantoms pales of mine astonied view
Yet none but I their blasted beauty can renew;
For to the abyss of hell I plunge without affright:
On them will I impose my will, the law of light.

THE SOLDIER AND THE
HUNCHBACK
! AND ?

113
THE SOLDIER AND THE
HUNCHBACK
! AND ?
“Expect seven misfortunes from the cripple, and forty-two
from the one-eyed man; but when the hunchback comes, say
‘Allah our aid.’ ”
ARAB PROVERB.
I
INQUIRY. Let us inquire in the first place: What is
Scepticism? The word means looking, questioning,
investigating. One must pass by contemptuously the
Christian liar’s gloss which interprets “sceptic” as “mocker”;
though in a sense it is true for him, since to inquire into
Christianity is assuredly to mock at it; but I am concerned to
intensify the etymological connotation in several respects.
First, I do not regard mere incredulity as necessary to the idea,
though credulity is incompatible with it. Incredulity implies a
prejudice in favour of a negative conclusion; and the true
sceptic should be perfectly unbiassed.
Second, I exclude “vital scepticism.” What’s the good of
anyfink? Expects (as we used to learn about “nonne?”) the
answer, “Why, nuffink!” and again is prejudice. Indolence is
no virtue in a questioner. Eagerness, intentness, conce-
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114
ntration, vigilance—all these I include in the connotation of
“sceptic.” Such questioning as has been called “vital
scepticism” is but a device to avoid true questioning, and
therefore its very antithesis, the devil disguised as an angel of
light.
[Or vice versâ, friend, if you are a Satanist; ’is a matter of
words—words—words. You may write x for y in your
equations, so long as you consistently write y for x. They
remain unchanged—and unsolved. Is not all our
“knowledge” an example of this fallacy of writing one
unknown for another, and then crowing like Peter’s cock?]
I picture the true sceptic as a man eager and alert, his deep
eyes glittering like sharp swords, his hands tense with effort as
he asks, “What does it matter?”
I picture the false sceptic as a dude or popinjay, yawning,
with dull eyes, his muscles limp, his purpose in asking the
question but the expression of his slackness and stupidity.
This true sceptic is indeed the man of science; as Wells’
“Moreau” tells us. He has devised some means of answering
his first question, and its answer is another question. It is
difficult to conceive of any question, indeed, whose answer
does not imply a thousand further questions. So simple an
inquiry as “Why is sugar sweet?” involves an infinity of
chemical researches, each leading ultimately to the blank
wall—what is matter? and an infinity of physiological
researches, each (similarly) leading to the blank wall—what is
mind?
Even so, the relation between the two ideas is unthinkable;
causality is itself unthinkable; it depends, for one thing,
upon experience—and what, in God’s name, is experience?
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115
Experience is impossible without memory. What is memory?
The mortar of the temple of the ego, whose bricks are the
impressions. And the ego? The sum of our experience, may
be. (I doubt it!) Anyhow, we have got values of y and z for x,
and values of x and z for y—all our equations are
indeterminate; all our knowledge is relative, even in a
narrower sense than is usually implied by the statement.
Under the whip of the clown God, our performing donkeys
the philosophers and men of science run round and round in
the ring; they have amusing tricks: they are cleverly trained;
but they get nowhere.
I don’t seem to be getting anywhere myself.
II
A fresh attempt. Let us look into the simplest and most
certain of all possible statements. Thought exists, or if you will,
Cogitatur.
Descartes supposed himself to have touched bed-rock with
his Cogito, ergo Sum.
Huxley pointed out the complex nature of this proposition,
and that it was an enthymeme with the premiss Omnes sunt, qui
cogitant suppressed. He reduced it to Cogito; or, to avoid the
assumption of an ego, Cogitatur.
Examining more closely this statement, we may still cavil
at its form. We cannot translate it into English without the
use of the verb to be, so, that, after all, existence is implied.
Nor to we readily conceive that contemptuous silence is
sufficient answer to the further query, “By whom is it
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thought?” The Buddhist may find it easy to image an act
without an agent; I am not so clever. It may be possible for a
sane man; but I should like to know more about his mind
before I give a final opinion.
But apart from purely formal objections, we may still
inquire: Is this Cogitatur true?
Yes; reply the sages; for to deny it implies thought. Negatur
is only a sub-section of Cogitatur.
This involves, however, an axiom that the part is of the
same nature as the whole; or (at the very least) an axiom that A
is A.
Now, I do not wish to deny that A is A, or may occasionally
be A. But certainly A is A is a very different statement to our
original Cogitatur.
The proof of Cogitatur, in short, rests not upon itself but
upon the validity of our logic; and if by logic we mean (as we
should mean) the Code of the Laws of Thought, the irritating
sceptic will have many more remarks to make: for it now
appears that the proof that thought exists depends upon the
truth of that which is thought, to say no more.
We have taken Cogitatur, to try and avoid the use of esse,
but A is A involves that very idea, and the proof is fatally
flawed.
Cogitatur depends on Est; and there’s no avoiding it.
III
Shall we get on any better if we investigate this Est—
Something is—Existence is—hyha rca hyha?
What is Existence? The question is so fundamental that it
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117
finds no answer. The most profound meditation only leads to
an exasperating sense of impotence. There is, it seems, no
simple rational idea in the mind which corresponds to the
word.
It is easy of course to drown the question in definitions,
leading us to further complexity—but
“Existence is the gift of Divine Providence,”
“Existence is the opposite of Non-Existence,”
do not help us much!
The plain Existence is Existence of the Hebrews goes
further. It is the most sceptical of statements, in spite of its
form. Existence is just existence, and there’s no more to be
said about it; don’t worry! Ah, but there is more to be said
about it! Though we search ourselves for a thought to match
the word, and fail, yet we have Berkeley’s perfectly
convincing argument that (so far as we know it) existence
must mean thinking existence or spiritual existence.
Here then we find our Est to imply Cogitatur; and
Berkeley’s arguments are “irrefragable, yet fail to produce
conviction” (Hume) because the Cogitatur, as we have shown,
implies Est.
Neither of these ideas is simple; each involves the other.
Is the division between them in our brain a proof of the total
incapacity of that organ, or is there some flaw in our logic?
For all depends on our logic; not upon the simple identity A is
A only, but upon its whole structure from the question of
simple propositions, enormously difficult from the moment
when it occurred to the detestable genius that invented
“existential import” to consider the matter, to that further
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118
complexity and contradiction, the syllogism.
IV
Thought is appears then (in the worst case possible, denial)
as the conclusion of the premisses:
There is denial of thought.
(All) Denial of thought is thought.
Even formally, ’tis a clumsy monster. Essentially, it seems
to involve a great deal beyond our original statement. We
compass heaven and earth to make one syllogism; and when
we have made it, it is tenfold more the child of mystery than
ourselves.
We cannot here discuss the whole problem of the validity
(the surface-question of the logical validity) of the syllogism;
though one may throw out the hint that the doctrine of
distributed middle seems to assume a knowledge of a
Calculus of Infinites which is certainly beyond my own poor
attainments, and hardly impregnable to the simple reflection
that all mathematics is conventional, and not essential;
relative, and not absolute.
We go deeper and deeper, then, it seems, from the One
into the Many. Our primary proposition depends no longer
upon itself, but upon the whole complex being of man, poor,
disputing, muddle-headed man! Man with all his limitations
and ignorance; man—man!
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119
V
We are of course no happier when we examine the Many,
separately or together. They converge and diverge, each fresh
hill-top of knowledge disclosing a vast land unexplored; each
gain of power in our telescopes opening out new galaxies;
each improvement in our microscopes showing us life minuter
and more incomprehensible. A mystery of the mighty spaces
between molecules; a mystery of the ether-cushions that fend
off the stars from collision! A mystery of the fulness of things;
a mystery of the emptiness of things! Yet, as we go, there
grows a sense, an instinct, a premonition—what shall I call
it?—that Being is One, and Thought is One, and Law is
One—until we ask What is that One?
Then again we spin words—words—words. And we have
got no single question answered in any ultimate sense.
What is the moon made of?
Science replies “Green Cheese.”
For our one moon we now have two ideas.
Greenness, and Cheese.
Greenness depends on the sunlight, and the eye, and a
thousand other things.
Cheese depends on bacteria and fermentation and the
nature of the cow.
“Deeper, ever deeper, into the mire of things!”
Shall we cut the Gordian knot? shall we say “There is
God”?
What, in the devil’s name, is God?
If (with Moses) we picture Him as an old man showing us
His back parts, who shall blame us? The great Question—any
question is the great question—does indeed treat us thus
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120
cavalierly, the disenchanted Sceptic is too prone to think!
Well, shall we define Him as a loving Father, as a jealous
priest, as a gleam of light upon the holy Ark? What does is
matter? All these images are of wood and stone, the wood and
stone of our own stupid brains! The Fatherhood of God is but
a human type; the idea of a human father conjoined with the
idea of immensity. Two for One again!
No combination of thoughts can be greater than the
thinking brain itself; all we can think of God or say of Him, so
long as our words represent thoughts, is less than the whole
brain which thinks, and orders speech.
Very good: shall we proceed by denying Him all thinkable
qualities, as do the heathen? All we obtain is mere negation of
thought.
Either He is unknowable, or He is less than we are. Then,
too, that which is unknowable is unknown; and “God” or
“There is God” as an answer to our question becomes as
meaningless as any other.
Who are we, then?
We are Spencerian Agnostics, poor silly, damned
Spencerian Agnostics!
And there is an end of the matter.
VI
It is surely time that we began to question the validity of
some of our data. So far our scepticism has not only knocked
to pieces our tower of thought, but rooted up the foundation-
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121
stone and ground it into finer and more poisonous powder
than that into which Moses ground the calf. These golden
Elohim! Our calf-heads that brought us not out of Egypt, but
into a darkness deeper and more tangible than any darkness of
the double Empire of Asar.
Hume put his little ? to Berkeley’s God-! ; Buddha his ? to
the Vedic Atman-!—and neither Hume nor Buddha was
baulked of his reward. Ourselves may put ? to our own ? since
we have found no ! to put it to; and wouldn’t it be jolly if our
own second ? suddenly straightened its back and threw its
chest out and marched off as ! ?
Suppose then we accept our scepticism as having
destroyed our knowledge root and branch—is there no limit to
its action? Does it not in a sense stultify itself? Having
destroyed logic by logic—if Satan cast out Satan, how shall his
kingdom stand?
Let us stand on the Mount, Saviours of the World that we
are, and answer “Get thee behind me, Satan!” though
refraining from quoting texts or giving reasons.
Oho! says somebody; is Aleister Crowley here?—Samson
blinded and bound, grinding corn for the Philistines?
Not at all, dear boy!
We shall put all the questions that we can put—but we
may find a tower built upon a rock, against which the winds
beat in vain.
Not what Christians call faith, be sure! But what (possibly)
the forgers of the Epistles—those eminent mystics!—
meant by faith. What I call Samadhi!—and as “faith with-
out works is dead,” so, good friends, Samadhi is all humbug
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122
unless the practitioner shows the glint of its gold in his work
in the world. If your mystic becomes Dante, well; if
Tennyson, a fig for his trances!
But how does this tower of Samadhi stand the assault of
Question-time?
Is not the idea of Samadhi just as dependent on all the
other ideas—man, time, being, thought, logic? If I seek to
explain Samadhi by analogy, am I not often found talking as if
we knew all about Evolution, and Mathematics, and History?
Complex and unscientific studies, mere straws before the
blast of our hunchback friend!
Well, one of the buttresses is just the small matter of
common sense.
The other day I was with Dorothy, and, as I foolishly
imagined, very cosy; for her sandwiches are celebrated. It was
surely bad taste on the part of Father Bernard Vaughan, and
Dr. Torrey, and Ananda Metteyya, and Mr G.W. Foote, and
Captain Fuller, and the ghost of Immanuel Kant, and Mr.
Bernard Shaw, and young Neuburg, to intrude. But intrude
they did; and talk! I never heard anything like it. Every one
with his own point of view; but all agreed that Dorothy was
non-existent, or if existent, a most awful specimen, that her
buns were stale, and her tea stewed; ergo, that I was having a
very poor time of it. Talk! Good God! But Dorothy kept on
quietly and took no notice; and in the end I forgot about
them.
Thinking it over soberly, I see now that very likely they
were quite right: I can’t prove it either way. But as a mere
practical man, I intend taking the steamer—for my sins I am
in Gibraltar—back to Dorothy at the earliest possible
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123
moment. Sandwiches of bun and German sausage may be
vulgar even imaginary—it’s the taste I like. And the more I
munch, the more complacent I feel, until I go so far as to offer
my critics a bite.
This sounds in a way like the “Interior Certainty” of the
common or garden Christian; but there are differences.
The Christian insists on notorious lies being accepted as an
essential part of his (more usually her) system; I, on the
contrary, ask for facts, for observation. Under Scepticism,
true, one is just as much a house of cards as the other; but only
in the philosophical sense.
Practically, Science is true; and Faith is foolish.
Practically, 3 ´ 1 = 3 is the truth; and 3 ´ 1 = 1 is a lie;
though, sceptically, both statements may be false or
unintelligible.
Practically, Franklin’s method of obtaining fire from
heaven is better than that of Prometheus or Elijah. I am now
writing by the light that Franklin’s discovery enabled men to
use.
Practically, “I concentrated my mind upon a white radiant
triangle in whose centre was a shining eye, for 22 minutes and
10 seconds, my attention wandering 45 times” is a scientific
and valuable statement. “I prayed fervently to the Lord for
the space of many days” means anything or nothing. Anybody
who cares to do so may imitate my experiment and compare
his result with mine. In the latter case one would always be
wondering what “fervently” meant and who “the Lord” was,
and how many days made “many.”
My claim, too, is more modest than the Christian’s. He
(usually she) knows more about my future than is altogether
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124
pleasant; I claim nothing absolute from my Samadhi—I know
only too well the worthlessness of single-handed observations,
even on so simple a matter as a boiling-point determination!—
and as for his (usually her) future, I content myself with mere
common sense about the probable end of a fool.
So that after all I keep my scepticism intact—and I keep
my Samadhi intact. The one balances the other; I care
nothing for the vulgar brawling of these two varlets of my
mind!
VII
If, however, you would really like to know what might be
said on the soldierly side of the question, I shall endeavour to
oblige.
It is necessary if a question is to put intelligibly that the
querent should be on the same plane as the quesited.
Answer is impossible if you ask: Are round squares
triangular? or Is butter virtuous? or How may ounces go to the
shilling? for the “questions” are not really questions at all.
So if you ask me Is Samadhi real? I reply: First, I pray you,
establish a connection between the terms. What do you mean
by Samadhi?
There is a physiological (or pathological; never mind now!)
state which I call Samadhi; and that state is as real—in relation to
man—as sleep, or intoxication, or death.
Philosophically, we may doubt the existence of all of these;
but we have no grounds for discriminating between them—
the Academic Scepticism is a wholesale firm, I hope!—and
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125
practically, I challenge you to draw valid distinctions.
All these are states of the consciousness of man; and if you
seek to destroy one, all fall together.
VIII
I must, at the risk of appearing to digress, insist upon
this distinction between philosophical and practical points of
view, or (in Qabalistic language) between Kether and
Malkuth.
In private conversation I find it hard—almost impossible—
to get people to understand what seems to me so very simple
a point. I shall try to make it exceptionally clear.
A boot is an illusion.
A hat is an illusion.
Therefore, a boot is a hat.
So argue my friends, not distributing the middle term.
But thus argue I.
All boots are illusions.
All hats are illusions.
Therefore (though it is not a syllogism), all boots and hats
are illusions.
I add:
To the man in Kether no illusions matter.
Therefore: to the man in Kether neither boots nor hats
matter.
In fact, the man in Kether is out of all relation to these
boots and hats.
You, they say, claim to be a man in Kether (I don’t). Why
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126
then, do you not wear boots on your head and hats on your
feet?
I can only answer that I the man in Kether (’tis but an
argument) am out of all relation as much with feet and heads
as with boots and hats. But why should I (from my exalted
pinnacle) stoop down and worry the headed and footed
gentleman in Malkuth, who after all doesn’t exist for me, by
these drastic alterations in his toilet? There is no distinction
whatever; I might easily put the boots on his shoulders, with
his head on one foot and his hat on the other.
In short, why not be a clean-living Irish gentleman, even if
you do have insane ideas about the universe?
Very good, say my friends, unabashed, then why not stick
to that? Why glorify Spanish gipsies when you have married a
clergyman’s daughter?
Why go about proclaiming that you can get as good fun for
eighteenpence as usually costs men a career?
Ah! let me introduce you to the man in Tiphereth; that is,
the man who is trying to raise his consciousness from Malkuth
to Kether.
This Tiphereth man is in a devil of a hole! He knows
theoretically all about the Kether point of view (or thinks he
does) and practically all about the Malkuth point of view.
Consequently he goes about contradicting Malkuth; he
refuses to allow Malkuth to obsess his thought. He keeps on
crying out that there is no difference between a goat and a
God, in the hope of hypnotising himself (as it were) into that
perception of their identity, which is his (partial and incorrect)
idea of how things look from Kether.
This man performs great magic; very strong medicine. He
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127
really does find gold on the midden and skeletons in pretty
girls.
In Abiegnus the Sacred Mountain of the Rosicrucians the
Postulant finds but a coffin in the central shrine; yet that
coffin contains Christian Rosencreutz who is dead and is alive
for evermore and hath the keys of Hell and of Death.
Ay! your Tiphereth man, child of Mercy and Justice, looks
deeper than the skin!
But he seems a ridiculous object enough both to the
Malkuth man and to the Kether man.
Still, he’s the most interesting man there is; and we all
must pass through that stage before we get our heads really
clear, the Kether-vision above the Clouds that encircle the
mountain Abiegnus.
IX
Running and returning, like the Cherubim, we may now
resume our attempt to drill our hunchback friend into a
presentable soldier. The digression will not have been all
digression, either; for it will have thrown a deal of light on the
question of the limitations of scepticism.
We have questioned the Malkuth point of view; it appears
absurd, be it agreed. But the Tiphereth position is unshaken;
Tiphereth needs no telling that Malkuth is absurd. When we
turn our artillery against Tiphereth, that too crumbles; but
Kether frowns above us.
Attack Kether, and it falls: but the Yetziratic Malkuth is
still there . . . . until we reach Kether of Atziluth and the
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128
Infinite Light, and Space, and Nothing.
So then we retire up the path, fighting rear-guard actions;
at every moment a soldier is slain by a hunchback; but as we
retire there is always a soldier just by us.
Until the end. The end? Buddha thought the supply of
hunchbacks infinite; but why should not the soldiers
themselves be infinite in number?
However that may be, here is the point; it takes a moment
for a hunchback to kill his man, and the further we get from
our base the longer it takes. You may crumble to ashes the
dream-world of a boy, as it were, between your fingers; but
before you can bring the physical universe tumbling about a
man’s ears he requires to drill his hunchbacks so devilish well
that they are terribly like soldiers themselves. And a question
capable of shaking the consciousness of Samadhi could, I
imagine, give long odds to one of Frederick’s grenadiers.
It is useless to attack the mystic by asking him if he is
quite sure Samadhi is good for his poor health; ’tis like asking
the huntsman to be very careful, please, not to hurt the fox.
The ultimate Question, the one that really knocks Samadhi
to pieces, is such a stupendous Idea that it is far more of a ! than
all previous !’s together, for all its ? form.
And the name of that Question is Nibbana.
Take this matter of the soul.
When Mr. Judas McCabbage asks the Man in the Street
why he believes in a soul, the Man stammers out that he has
always heard so; naturally McCabbage has no difficulty in
proving to him by biological methods that he has no soul; and
with a sunny smile each passes on his way.
But McCabbage is wasted on the philosopher whose belief
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129
in a soul rests on introspection; we must have heavier metal;
Hume will serve our turn, may be.
But Hume in his turn becomes perfectly futile, pitted
against the Hindu mystic, who is in constant enjoyment of his
new-found Atman. It takes a Buddha-gun to knock his castle
down.
Now the ideas of McCabbage are banal and dull; those of
Hume are live and virile; there is a joy in them greater than
the joy of the Man in the Street. So too the Buddha-thought,
Anatta, is a more splendid conception than the philosopher’s
Dutch-doll-like Ego, or the rational artillery of Hume.
This weapon, too, that has destroyed our lesser, our
illusionary universes, ever revealing one more real, shall we
not wield it with divine ecstasy? Shall we not, too, perceive
the inter-dependence of the Questions and the Answers, the
necessary connection of the one with the other, so that (just as
0 ´ ¥ is an indefinite) we destroy the absolutism of either ? or
! by their alteration and balance, until in our series
? ! ? ! ? ! ? . . . ! ? ! ? . . . we care nothing as to which may prove
the final term, any single term being so negligible a quantity
in relation to the vastness of the series? Is it not a series of
geometrical progression, with a factor positive and
incalculably vast?
In the light of the whole process, then, we perceive that
there is no absolute value in the swing of the pendulum,
though its shaft lengthen, its rate grow slower, and its sweep
wider at every swing.
What should interest us is the consideration of the Point
from which it hangs, motionless at the height of things! We
are unfavourably placed to observe this, desperately clinging
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130
as we are to the bob of the pendulum, sick with our senseless
swinging to and fro in the abyss!
We must climb up the shaft to reach that point—but—wait
one moment! How obscure and subtle has our simile
become! Can we attach any true meaning to the phrase? I
doubt it, seeing what we have taken for the limits of the
swing. True, it may be that the end of the swing is always
360° so that the !-point and the ?-point coincide; but that is not
the same thing as having no swing at all, unless we make
kinematics identical with statics.
What is to be done? How shall such mysteries be uttered?
Is this how it is that the true Path of the Wise is said to lie in
a totally different plane from all his advance in the path of
Knowledge, and of Trance? We have already been obliged to
take the Fourth Dimension to illustrate (if not explain) the
nature of Samadhi.
Ah, say the adepts, Samadhi is not the end, but the
beginning. You must regard Samadhi as the normal state of
mind which enables you to begin your researches, just as waking
is the state from which you rise to Samadhi, sleep the state from
which you rose to waking. And only from Sammasamadhi—
continuous trance of the right kind—can you rise up as it were
on tiptoe and peer through the clouds unto the mountains.
Now of course it is really awfully decent of the adepts to
take all that trouble over us, and to put it so nicely and clearly.
All we have to do, you see, is to acquire Samma-samadhi, and
then rise on tiptoe. Just so!
But then there are the other adepts. Hark at him! Little
brother, he says, let us rather consider that as the pendulum
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131
swings more and more slowly every time, it must ultimately
stop, as soon as the shaft is of infinite length. Good! then it
isn’t a pendulum at all but a Mahalingam—The Mahalingam
of Shiva (Namo Shivaya namaha Aum!) which is all I ever
thought it was; all you have to do is to keep swinging hard—I
know it’s hook-swinging!—and you get there in the End.
Why bother to swing? First, because you’re bound to swing,
whether you like it or not; second, because your attention is
thereby distracted from those lumbar muscles in which the
hook is so very firmly fixed; third, because after all it’s a
ripping good game; fourth, because you want to get on, and
even to seem to progress is better than standing still. A
treadmill is admittedly good exercise.
True, the question, “Why become an Arahat?” should
precede, “How become an Arahat?” but an unbiassed man
will easily cancel the first question with “Why not?”—the
How is not so easy to get rid of. Then, from the standpoint of
the Arahat himself, perhaps this “Why did I become an
Arahat?” and “How did I become an Arahat?” have but a
single solution!
In any case, we are wasting our time—we are as ridiculous
with or Arahats as Herod the Tetrarch with his peacocks! We
pose Life with the question Why? and the first answer is: To
obtain the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian
Angel.
To attach meaning to this statement we must obtain that
Knowledge and Conversation: and when we have done that, we
may proceed to the next Question. It is no good asking it now.
“There are purse-proud penniless ones that stand at the
door of the tavern and revile the guests.”
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132
We attach little importance to the Reverend Out-at-
Elbows, thundering in Bareboards Chapel that the rich man
gets no enjoyment from his wealth.
Good, then. Let us obtain the volume entitled “The Book
of the Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage”; or the magical
writings of that holy illuminated Man of God, Captain Fuller,
and carry out fully their instructions.
And only when we have succeeded, when we have put a
colossal ! against our vital ? need we inquire whether after all
the soldier is not going to develop spinal curvature.
Let us take the first step; let us sing:
“I do not ask to see
The distant path; one step’s enough for me.”
But (you will doubtless say) I pith your ? itself with
another ?: Why question life at all? Why not remain “a cleanliving
Irish gentleman” content with his handicap, and
contemptuous of card and pencil? Is not the Buddha’s goad
“Everything is sorrow” little better than a currish whine?
What do I care for old age, disease, and death? I’m a man, and
a Celt at that. I spit on your snivelling Hindu prince,
emasculate with debauchery in the first place, and asceticism
in the second. A weak, dirty, paltry cur, sir, your Gautama!
Yes, I think I have no answer to that. The sudden
apprehension of some vital catastrophe may have been the
exciting cause of my conscious devotion to the attainment of
Adeptship—but surely the capacity was there, inborn. Mere
despair and desire can do little; anyway, the first impulse of
fear was the passing spasm of an hour; the magnetism of the
path itself was the true lure. It is as foolish to ask me “Why
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133
do you adep?” as to ask God “Why do you pardon?” C’est son
métier.
I am not so foolish as to think that my doctrine can ever
gain the ear of the world. I expect than ten centuries hence
the “nominal Crowleians” will be as pestilent and numerous a
body as the “nominal Christians” are to-day; for (at present) I
have been able to devise no mechanism for excluding them.
Rather, perhaps, should I seek to find them a niche in the
shrine, just as Hinduism provides alike for those capable of
the Upanishads and those whose intelligences hardly reaches
up to the Tantras. In short, one must abandon the reality of
religion for a sham, so that the religion may be universal
enough for those few who are capable of its reality to nestle in
its breast, and nurse their nature on its starry milk. But we
anticipate!
My message is then twofold; to the greasy bourgeois I
preach discontent; I shock him, I stagger him, I cut away earth
from under his feet, I turn him upside down, I give him
hashish and make him run amok, I twitch his buttocks with
the red-hot tongs of my Sadistic fancy—until he feels
uncomfortable.
But to the man who is already as uneasy as St. Lawrence
on his silver grill, who feels the Spirit stir in him, even as a
woman feels, and sickens at, the first leap of the babe in her
womb, to him I bring the splendid vision, the perfume and
the glory, the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy
Guardian Angel. And to whosoever hath attained that height
will I put a further Question, announce an further Glory.
It is my misfortune and not my fault that I am bound to
deliver this elementary Message.
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“Man has two sides; one to face the world with,
One to show a woman that he loves her.”
We must pardon Browning his bawdy jest; for his truth
is ower true! But it is your own fault if you are the world
instead of the beloved; and only see of me what Moses saw
of God!
It is disgusting to have to spend one’s life jetting dirt in
the face of the British public in the hope that in washing it
they may wash off the acrid grease of their commercialism, the
saline streaks of their hypocritical tears, the putrid
perspiration of their morality, the dribbling slobber of their
sentimentality and their religion. And they don’t wash it! . . .
But let us take a less unpleasing metaphor, the whip! As
some schoolboy poet repeatedly wrote, his rimes as poor as
Edwin Arnold, his metre as erratic and as good as Francis
Thompson, his good sense and frank indecency a match for
Browning!
“Can’t be helped; must be done—
So . . . ”
Nay! ’tis a bad, bad rime.
And only after the scourge that smites shall come the rod that
consoles, if I may borrow a somewhat daring simile from
Abdullah Haji of Shiraz and the twenty-third Psalm.
Well, I would much prefer to spend my life at the rod; it
is wearisome and loathsome to be constantly flogging the
tough hide of Britons, whom after all I love. “Whom the
Lord loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every son that He
receiveth.” I shall really be glad if a few of you will get it
over, and come and sit on daddy’s knee!
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135
The first step is the hardest; make a start, and I will soon
set the hunchback lion and the soldier unicorn fighting for
your crown. And they shall lie down together at the end,
equally glad, equally weary; while sole and sublime that crown
of thine (brother!) shall glitter in the frosty Void of the abyss,
its twelve stars filling that silence and solitude with a music
and a motion that are more silent and invisible than they; thou
shalt sit throned on the Invisible, thine eyes fixed upon That
which we call Nothing, because it is beyond Everything
attainable by thought, or trance, thy right hand gripping the
azure rod of Light, thy left hand clasped upon the scarlet
scourge of Death; thy body girdled with a snake more brilliant
than the Sun, its name Eternity; thy mouth curved moonlike
in a smile, in the invisible kiss of Nuit, our Lady of the Starry
Abodes; the body’s electric flesh stilled by sheer might to a
movement closed upon itself in the controlled fury of Her
love—nay, beyond all these Images art thou (little brother!)
who art passed from I and Thou, and He unto That which
hath no Name, no Image. . . .
Little brother, give me thy hand; for the first step is hard.
ALEISTER CROWLEY.

137
THE HERMIT
AN ATTACK ON BARBERCRAFT
AT last an end of all I hoped and feared!
Muttered the hermit through his elfin beard.
Then what art thou? the evil whisper whirred.
I doubt me sorely if the hermit heard.
To all God's questions never a word he said,
But simply shook his venerable head.
God sent all plagues; he laughed and heeded not;
Till people took him for an idiot.
God sent all joys; he only laughed amain,
Till people certified him as insane.
But somehow all his fellow-lunatics
Began to imitate his silly tricks.
And stranger still, their prospects so enlarged
That one by one the patients were discharged.
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God asked him by what right he interfered;
He only laughed into his elfin beard.
When God revealed Himself to mortal prayer
He gave a fatal opening to Voltaire.
Our hermit had dispensed with Sinai's thunder,
But on the other hand he made no blunder;
He knew (no doubt) that any axiom
Would furnish bricks to build some Donkeydom.
But!—all who urged that hermit to confess
Caught the infection of his happiness.
I would it were my fate to dree his weird;
I think that I will grow an elfin beard.
THE TEMPLE OF SOLOMON
THE KING

To plead the organic causation of a religious state of mind,
then, in refutation of its claim to possess superior spiritual value,
is quite illogical and arbitrary, unless one have already worked
out in advance some psycho-physical theory connecting spiritual
values in general with determinate sorts of physiological change.
Otherwise none of our thoughts and feelings, not even our
scientific doctrines, not even our dis-beliefs, could retain any
value as revelations of the truth, for every one of them without
exception flows from the state of their possessor's body at
the time.
It is needless to say that medical materialism draws in point
of fact no such sweeping skeptical conclusion. It is sure, just as
every simple man is sure, that some states of mind are inwardly
superior to others, and reveal to us more truth, and in this it
simply makes use of an ordinary spiritual judgment. It has no
physiological theory of the production of these its favourite
states, by which it may accredit them; and its attempt to discredit
the states which it dislikes, by vaguely associating them
with nerves and liver, and connecting them with names connoting
bodily affliction, is altogether illogical and inconsistent.
PROF. WILLIAM JAMES.
And there was given me a reed like
unto a rod: and the angel stood, saying,
Rise, and measure the temple
of God and the altar, and them that
worship therein.—Rev. xi. 1.
143
PREFACE
THE QUESTION
AVE!
There must have been a time in the life of every student
of the Mysteries when he has paused whilst reading the
work or the life of some well-known Mystic, a moment of
perplexity in which, bewildered, he has turned to himself and
asked the question: “Is this one telling me the truth?”
Still more so does this strike us when we turn to any
commentative work upon Mysticism, such as Récéjac's
“Bases of the Mystic Knowledge,” or William James's
“Varieties of Religious Experience.” In fact, so much so,
that unless we are more than commonly sceptical of the
wordy theories which attempt to explain these wordy utterances
we are bound to clasp hands with the great school of
medical-materialism, which is all but paramount at the present
hour, and dismiss all such as have had a glimpse of some-
thing we do not see as détraqués, degenerates, neuropaths,
psychopaths, hypochondriacs, and epileptics.
Well, even if we do, these terms explain very little, and in
most cases, especially when applied to mystic states, nothing
at all; nevertheless they form an excellent loophole out of
which the ignorant may crawl when faced with a difficulty
they have not the energy or wit to surmount.
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True, the utter chaos amongst all systems of magic and
mysticism that has prevailed in the West during the last two
thousand years, partially, if not entirely, accounts for the
uncritical manner in which these systems have been handled
by otherwise critical minds.
Even to-day, though many thousand years after they were
first written down, we find a greater simplicity and truth in the
ancient rituals and hymns of Egypt and Assyria than in the
extraordinary entanglement of systems that came to life
during the first five hundred years of Christian era. And in the
East, from the most remote antiquity to the present day,
scientific systems of illuminism have been in daily practice
from the highest to the lowest in the land; though, as we
consider, much corrupted by an ignorant priestcraft, by absurd
superstitions and by a science which fell to a divine revelation
in place of rising to a sublime art.
In the West, for some fifteen hundred years now, Christianity
has swayed the minds of men from the Arctic seas to
the Mediterranean. At first but one of many small excrescent
faiths, which sprang up like fungi amongst the superb débris of
the religions of Egypt, Babylonia, and Greece, it was not long
before (on account of its warlike tenets and the deeply
magical nature of its rites*) it forced its head and then its arms
above the shoulders of its weaker brothers; and when once in
a position to strike, so thoroughly bullied all com-petitors that
the few who inwardly stood outside the Church, to save the
* Primitive Christianity had a greater adaptability than any other contemporary
religion of assimilating to itself all that was more particularly pagan
in polytheism; the result being that it won over the great masses of the
people, who then were, as they are now, inherently conservative.
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145
bruised skins of the faiths they still held dear, were, for selfpreservation,
bound to clothe them in the tinsel of verbosity,
in wild values and extravagant symbols and cyphers; the result
being that chaos was heaped upon chaos, till at last all sense
became cloaked in a truculent obscurantism. Still, by him
who has eyes will it be seen that through all this darkness
there shone the glamour of a great and beautiful Truth.
Little is it to be wondered then, in these present shallow
intellectual days, that almost any one who has studied, or
even heard of, the theories of any notorious nobody of the
moment at once relegates to the museum or the waste-paper
basket these theories and systems, which were once the very
blood of the world, and which in truth are so still, though few
suspect it.
Truth is Truth; and the Truth of yesterday is the Truth of
to-day, and the Truth of to-day is the Truth of to- morrow.
Our quest, then, is to find Truth, and to cut the kernel from
the husk, the text from the comment.
To start from the beginning would appear the proper
course to adopt; but if we commence sifting the shingle from
the sand with the year 10,000 B.C. there is little likelihood of
our ever arriving within measurable distance of the present
day. Fortunately, however, for us, we need not start with any
period anterior to our own, or upon any subject outside of our
own true selves. But two things we must learn, if we are ever
to make ourselves intelligible to others, and these are, firstly
an alphabet, and secondly a language whereby to express our
thoughts; for without some definite system of expression our
only course is to remain silent, lest further confusion be added
to the already bewildering chaos.
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146
It will be at once said by any one who has read as far as
this: “I lay you whatever odds you name that the writer of this
book will prove to be the first offender!” And with all
humility will we at once plead guilty to this offence.
Unfortunately it is so, and must at first be so; yet if in the end
we succeed in creating but the first letter of the new Alphabet
we shall not consider that we have failed; far from it, for we
shall rejoice that, the entangled threshold having been
crossed, the goal, though distant, is at last in sight.
In a hospital a chart is usually kept for each patient, upon
which may be seen the exact progress, from its very commencement,
of the case in question. By it the doctor can daily judge
the growth or decline of the disease he is fighting. On
Thursday, let us say, the patient's temperature in 100°; in the
evening he is given a cup of beef-tea (the patient up to the
present having been kept strictly on milk diet); on the following
morning the doctor finds that his temperature has risen to
102°, and at once concludes that the fever has not yet sufficiently
abated for a definite change of diet to be adopted, and,
“knocking off” the beef-tea, down drops the temperature.
Thus, if he be a worthy physician, he will study his patient,
never overlooking the seemingly most unimportant details
which can help him to realise his object, namely, recovery and
health.
Not only does this system of minute tabulation apply to
cases of disease and sickness, but to every branch of healthy
life as well, under the name of “business”; the best business
man being he who reduces his special occupation in life from
“muddle” to “science.”
In the West religion alone has never issued from chaos;
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147
and the hour, late though it be, has struck when without fear
or trembling adepts have arisen to do for Faith what
Copernicus, Kepler, and Newton did for what is vulgarly
known as “Science.” And as Faith, growing old before its day,
held back Science with a cruel hand, so let us now, whilst
Science is still young, step briskly forward and claim our
rights, lest if we halt we too shall find the child of the Morning
once again strangled in the maw of a second Night.
Now, even to such as are still mere students in the
mysteries, it must have become apparent that there are
moments in the lives of others, if not in their own, which bring
with them an enormous sense of inner authority and
illumination; moments which created epochs in our lives, and
which, when they have gone, stand out as luminous peaks in
the moonlight of the past. Sad to say, they come but seldom,
so seldom that often they are looked back upon as miraculous
visitations of some vastly higher power beyond and outside of
ourselves. But when they do come the greatest joys of earth
wither before them like dried leaves in the fire, and fade from
the firmament of our minds as the stars of night before the
rising sun.
Now, if it were possible to induce these states of ecstasy or
hallucination, or whatever we care to call them, at will, so to
speak, we should have accomplished what was once called,
and what is still known as, the Great Work, and have
discovered the Stone of the Wise, that universal dissolvent.
Sorrow would cease and give way to joy, and joy to a bliss
quite unimaginable to all who have not as yet experienced it.
St. John of the Cross, writing of the “intuitions” by which
God reaches the soul, says:
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148
“They enrich us marvellously. A single one of them may
be sufficient to abolish at a stroke certain imperfections of
which the soul during its whole life has vainly tried to rid
itself, and to leave it adorned with virtues and loaded with
supernatural gifts. A single one of the intoxicating
consolations may reward it for all the labours undergone in its
life—even were they numberless. Invested with an invincible
courage, filled with an impassioned desire to suffer for its
God, the soul then is seized with a strange torment—that of
not being allowed to suffer enough.”*
In the old days, when but a small portion of the globe was
known to civilised man, the explorer and the traveller would
return to his home with weird, fantastic stories of long-armed
hairy men, of impossible monsters, and countries of fairy-like
wonder. But he who travels now and who happens to see a
gorilla, or a giraffe, or perchance a volcano, forgets to mention
it even in his most casual correspondence! And why? Because
he has learnt to understand that such things are. He has
named them, and, having done so, to him they cease as
objects of interest. In one respect he gives birth to a great
truth, which he at once cancels by giving birth to a great
falsehood; for his reverence, like his disdain, depends but on
the value of a name.
Not so, however, the adept; for as a zoologist does not lose
* “Œuvres,” ii. 320. Prof. William James writes: “The great Spanish
mystics, who carried the habit of ecstasy as far as it has often been carried,
appear for the most part to have shown indomitable spirit and energy, and
all the more so for the trances in which they indulged.”
Writing of St. Ignatius, he says: “St. Ignatius was a mystic, but his
mysticism made him assuredly one of the most powerful practical human
engines that ever lived” (“The Varieties of Religious Experience,” p. 413).
THE TEMPLE OF SOLOMON THE KING
149
his interest in the simian race because he has learnt to call a
long-armed hairy man a gorilla; so he, by learning to explain
himself with clearness, and to convey the image of his
thoughts with accuracy to the brain of another, is winnowing
the wheat from the chaff, the Truth from the Symbol of Truth.
Now when St. John of the Cross tells us that a single vision
of God may reward us for all the labours of this life, we are at
perfect liberty, in these tolerant days, to cry “Yea!” or “Nay!”
We may go further: we may extol St. John to the position of a
second George Washington, or we may call him “a damned
liar!” or, again, if we do not wish to be considered rude, a
“neuropath,” or some other equally amiable synonym. But
none of these expressions explains to us very much; they are
all equally vague—nay (curious to relate!), even mystical—
and as such appertain to the Kingdom of Zoroaster, that realm
of pure faith: i.e., faith in St. John, or faith in something
opposite to St. John.
But now let us borrow from Pyrrho—the Sceptic, the keensighted
man of science—that word “WHY,” and apply it to our
“Yea” and our “Nay,” just as a doctor questions himself and
the patient about the disease; and we shall very soon find that
we are being drawn to a logical conclusion, or at least to a
point from which such a conclusion becomes possible.* And
from this spot the toil of the husbandman must not be
condemned until the Season arrives in which the tree he has
* “In the natural sciences and industrial arts it never occurs to any one to
try to refute opinions by showing up their author's neurotic constitution.
Opinions here are invariably tested by logic and by experiment, no matter
what may be their author's neurological type. It should be no otherwise with
religious opinions.”—“The Varieties of Religious Experience,” pp. 17, 18.
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150
planted bears fruit; then by its fruit shall it be known, and by
its fruit shall it be judged.*
This application of the word “Why” is the long and short
of what has been called Scientific Illuminism,† or the science
of learning how not to say "Yes" until you know that it is YES,
and how not to say "No" until you know that it is NO. It is the
all-important word of our lives, the corner- stone of the
Temple, the keystone of the arch, the flail that beats the grain
from the chaff, the sieve through which Falsehood passes and
in which Truth remains. It is, indeed, the poise of the balance,
the gnomon of the sun-dial; which, if we learn to read aright,
will tell us at what hour of our lives we have arrived.
Through the want of it kingdoms have fallen into decay
and by it empires have been created; and its dreaded foe is of
necessity “dogma.”
* “Dr. Maudsley is perhaps the cleverest of the rebutters of supernatural
religion on grounds of origin. Yet he finds himself forced to write (‘Natural
Causes and Supernatural Seemings,' 1886, pp. 256, 257):
“ ‘What right have we to believe Nature under any obligation to do her
work by means of complete minds only? She may find an incomplete mind a
more suitable instrument for a particular purpose. It is the work that is done,
and the quality in the worker by which it was done, that is alone of moment;
and it may be no great matter from a cosmical standpoint if in other qualities
of character he as singularly defective—if indeed he were hypocrite,
adulterer, eccentric, or lunatic. ... Home we come again, then, to the old and
last resort of certitude,—namely the common assent of mankind, or of the
competent by instruction and training among mankind.’
“In other words, not its origin, but the way in which it works on the whole, is
Dr. Maudsley's final test of a belief. This is our own empiricist criterion; and
this criterion the stoutest insisters on supernatural origin have also been
forced to use in the end.”—“The Varieties of Religious Experience,” pp. 19, 20.
To put it vulgarly, “the proof of the pudding is in the eating,” and it is
sheer waste of time to upbraid the cook before tasting of his dish.
† Or Pyrrho-Zoroastrianism.
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Directly a man begins to say “Yes” without the question
“Why?” he becomes a dogmatist, a potential, if not an actual
liar. And it is for this reason that we are so bitterly opposed to
and use such scathing words against the present-day
rationalist* when we attack him. For we see he is doing for
Darwin, Huxley, and Spencer what the early Christian did for
Jesus, Peter, and Paul; and that is, that he, having already
idealised them, is now in the act of apotheosising them. Soon,
if left unattacked, will their word become THE WORD, and in
the place of the “Book of Genesis” shall we have the “Origin
of Species,” and in the place of the Christian accepting as
Truth the word of Jesus shall we have the Rationalist
accepting as Truth the word of Darwin.
But what of the true man of science? say you; those
doubting men who silently work in their laboratories,
accepting no theory, however wonderful it may be, until
theory has given birth to fact. We agree—but what of the
Magi? answer we; the few fragments of whose wisdom which
escaped the Christian flames will stand in the eyes of all men
as a wonder. It was the Christians who slew the magic of
Christ, and so will it be, if they are allowed to live, the
Rationalists who will slay the magic of Darwin; so that four
hundred years hence perchance will some disciple of Lamarck
* “We have to confess that the part of it [mental life] of which
rationalism can give an account is relatively superficial. It is the part that
has the prestige undoubtedly, for it has the loquacity, it can challenge you
for proofs, and chop logic, and put you down with words. But it will fail
to convince or convert you all the same, if your dumb intuitions are
opposed to its conclusions. If you have intuitions at all, they come from a
deeper level of your nature than the loquacious level which rationalism
inhabits.”—“The Varieties of Religious Experience,” p. 73.
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be torn to pieces in the rooms of the Royal Society by the
followers of Haeckel, just as Hypatia, that disciple of Plato, was
torn to pieces in the Church of Christ by followers of St. John.
We have nothing to say against the men of science, we
have nothing to say against the great Mystics—all hail to both!
But such of their followers who accepted the doctrines of
either the one or the other as a dogma we here openly
pronounce to be a bane, a curse, and a pestilence to mankind.
Why assume that only one system of ideas can be true?
And when you have answered this question there will be time
enough to assume that all other systems are wrong. Start with
a clean sheet, and write neatly and beautifully upon it, so that
others can read you aright; do not start with some old
palimpsest, and then scribble all over it carelessly, for then
indeed others will come who will of a certainty ready you awry.
If Osiris, Christ, and Mahomet were mad, then indeed is
madness the key to the door of the Temple. Yet if they
were only called mad for being wise beyond the sane, then ask
you why their doctrines brought with them the crimes of
bigotry and the horrors of madness? And our answer is,
that though they loved Truth and wedded Truth, they could
not explain Truth; and their disciples therefore had to accept
the symbols of Truth for Truth, without the possibility of
asking “Why?” or else reject Truth altogether. Thus it came
about that the greater the Master the less was he able to
explain himself, and the more obscure his explanations the
darker became the minds of his followers. It was the old story
of the light that blinded the darkness. You can teach a
bushman to add one to one, and he may after some teaching
grasp the idea of “two”; but do not try to teach him the
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differential calculus! The former may be compared to the
study of the physical sciences, the latter to that of the mental;
therefore all the more should we persevere to work out
correctly the seemingly most absurd, infinitesimal differences,
and perchance one day, when we have learnt how to add unit
to unit, a million and a millionth part of a unit will be ours.
We will now conclude this part of our preface with two
long quotations from Prof. James's excellent book; the first of
which, slightly abridged, is as follows:
“It is the terror and beauty of phenomena, the ‘promise' of
the dawn and of the rainbow, the ‘voice' of the thunder, the
‘gentleness' of the summer rain, the ‘sublimity' of the stars,
and not the physical laws which these things follow, by which
the religious mind still continues to be most impressed; and
just as of yore the devout man tells you that in the solitude of
his room or of the fields he still feels the divine presence, and
that sacrifices to this unseen reality fill him with security and
peace.
“Pure anachronism! says the survival-theory;—anachronism
for which deanthropomorphization of the imagination
is the remedy required. The less we mix the private with
the cosmic, the more we dwell in universal in impersonal
terms, the truer heirs of Science we become.
“In spite of the appeal which this impersonality of the
scientific attitude makes to a certain magnanimity of temper, I
believe it to be shallow, and I can now state my reason in
comparatively few words. That reason is that, so long as we
deal with the cosmic and the general, we deal only with the
symbols of reality, but as soon as we deal with the private
and personal phenomena as such, we deal with realities in the
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completest sense of the term. I think I can easily make clear what
I mean by these words.
“The world of our experience consists at all times of two
parts, an objective and a subjective part, of which the former
may be incalculably more extensive than the latter, and yet
the latter can never be omitted or suppressed. The objective
part is the sum total of whatsoever at any given time we may
be thinking of, the subjective part is the inner ‘state' in which
the thinking comes to pass. What we think of may be
enormous—the cosmic times and spaces, for example—
whereas the inner state may be the most fugitive and paltry
activity of mind. Yet the cosmic objects, so far as the
experience yields them, are but ideal pictures of something
whose existence we do not inwardly possess, but only point at
outwardly, while the inner state is our very experience itself;
its reality and that of our experience are one. A conscious
field plus its object as felt or thought of plus an attitude
towards the object plus the sense of a self to whom the
attitude belongs—such a concrete bit of personal experience
may be a small bit, but it is a solid bit as long as it lasts; not
hollow, not a mere abstract element of experience, such as the
‘object' is when taken all alone. It is a full fact, even though it
be an insignificant fact; it is of the kind to which all realities
whatsoever must belong; the motor currents of the world run
through the like of it; it is on the line connecting real events
with real events. That unshareable feeling which each one of
us has of the pinch of his individual destiny as he privately
feels it rolling out on fortune's wheel may be disparaged for its
egotism, may be sneered at as unscientific, but it is the
one thing that fills up the measure of our concrete actuality,
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155
and any would-be existence that should lack such a feeling, or
its analogue, would be a piece of reality only half made up.
“If this be true, it is absurd for science to say that the
egotistic elements of experience should be suppressed. The
axis of reality runs solely through the egotistic places—they
are strung upon it like so many beads. To describe the
world with all the various feelings of the individual pinch of
destiny, all the various spiritual attitudes, left out from the
description—they being as describable as anything else—
would be something like offering a printed bill of fare as the
equivalent for a solid meal. Religion makes no such
blunders. . . . A bill of fare with one real raisin on it instead of
the word ‘raisin' and one real egg instead of the word ‘egg'
might be an inadequate meal, but it would at least be a
commencement of reality. The contention of the survivaltheory
that we ought to stick to non-personal elements
exclusively seems like saying that we ought to be satisfied
forever with reading the naked bill of fare. . . . It does not
follow, because our ancestors made so many errors of fact and
mixed them with their religion, that we should therefore leave
off being religious at all. By being religious we establish
ourselves in possession of ultimate reality at the only points at
which reality is given us to guard. Our responsible concern is
with our private destiny after all.”*
“We must next pass beyond the point of view of merely
subjective utility, and make inquiry into the intellectual
content itself.
“First, is there, under all the discrepancies of the creeds, a
* “The Varieties of Religious Experience,” pp. 498-501.
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common nucleus to which they bear their testimony
unanimously?
“And second, ought we to consider the testimony true?
“I will take up the first question first, and answer it
immediately in the affirmative. The warring gods and
formulas of the various religions do indeed cancel each other,
but there is a certain uniform deliverance in which religions
all appear to meet. It consists of two parts:
“(1) An uneasiness; and
“(2) Its solution.
“1. The uneasiness, reduced to its simplest terms, is a sense
that there is something wrong about us as we naturally stand.
“2. The solution is a sense that we are saved from the
wrongness by making proper connection with the higher
powers.
“In those more developed minds which alone we are
studying, the wrongness takes a moral character, and the
salvation takes a mystical tinge. I think we shall keep well
within the limits of what is common to all such minds if we
formulate the essence of their religious experience in terms
like these:
“The individual, so far as he suffers from his wrongness
and criticises it, is to that extent consciously beyond it, and in
at least possible touch with something higher, if anything
higher exist. Along with the wrong part there is thus a
better part of him, even though it may be but a most helpless
germ. With which part he should identify his real being is
by no means obvious at this stage; but when Stage 2 (the
stage of solution or salvation) arrives, the man identifies his
real being with the germinal higher part of himself; and does
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so in the following way: He becomes conscious that this higher
part is conterminous and continuous with a MORE of the same
quality, which is operative in the universe outside of him, and
which he can keep in working touch with, and in a fashion get on
board of and save himself when all his lower being has gone to
pieces in the wreck”*
These last few lines bring us face to face with the subject
of this volume, viz.:—
FRATER P.
To enter upon a somewhat irrelevant matter, this is what
actually happened to the complier of this book:
For ten years he had been a sceptic, in that sense of the
word which is generally conveyed by the terms infidel,
atheist, and freethinker; then suddenly, in a single moment,
he withdrew all the scepticism with which he had assailed
religion, and hurled it against freethought itself; and as the
former had crumbled into dust, so now the latter vanished in
smoke.
In this crisis there was no sickness of soul, no division of
self; for he simply had turned a corner on the road along which
he was travelling and suddenly became aware of the fact that
the mighty range of snow-capped mountains upon which he
had up to now fondly imagined he was gazing was after all but
a great bank of clouds. So he passed on smiling to himself at
his own childlike illusion.
Shortly after this he became acquainted with a certain
brother of the Order of A\ A\; and himself a little later
became an initiate in the first grade of that Order.
In this Order, at the time of his joining it, was a certain
* “The Varieties of Religious Experience”, pp. 507, 508.
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158
brother of the name of P., who had but just returned from
China, and who had been six years before sent out by the
Order to journey through all the countries of the world and
collect all knowledge possible in the time which touched
upon the mystical experiences of mankind. This P. had to the
best of his ability done, and though he had only sojourned in
Europe, in Egypt, India, Ceylon, China, Burma, Arabia, Siam,
Tibet, Japan, Mexico, and the United States of America, so
deep had been his study and so exalted had been his
understanding that it was considered by the Order that he had
collected sufficient material and testimony whereon to
compile a book for the instruction of mankind. And as Frater
N.S.F. was a writer of some little skill, the diaries and notes of
Frater P. were given to him and another, and they were
enjoined to set them together in such a manner that they
would be an aid to the seeker in the mysteries, and would be
as a tavern on a road beset with many dangers and difficulties,
wherein the traveller can find good cheer and wine that
strengtheneth and refresheth the soul.
It is therefore earnestly hoped that this book will become
as a refuge to all, where a guide may be hired or instructions
freely sought; but the seeker is requested—nay, commanded—
with all due solemnity by the Order of the A\ A\ to accept
nothing as Truth until he has proved it so to be, to his own
satisfaction and to his own honour.
And it is further hoped that he may, upon closing this
book, be somewhat enlightened, and, even if as through a
glass darkly, see the great shadow of Truth beyond, and one
day enter the Temple.
So much for the subject; now for the object of this volume:
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THE AUGOEIDES.*
“Lytton calls him Adonai in ‘Zanoni,' and I often use this
name in the note-books.
“Abramelin calls him Holy Guardian Angel. I adopt this:
“1. Because Abramelin's system is so simple and effective.
“2. Because since all theories of the universe are absurd it
is better to talk in the language of one which is patently
absurd, so as to mortify the metaphysical man.
“3. Because a child can understand it.
“Theosophists call him the Higher Self, Silent Watcher, or
Great Master.
“The Golden Dawn calls him the Genius.
“Gnostics say the Logos.
“Zoroaster talks about uniting all these symbols into the
form of a Lion—see Chaldean Oracles.†
“Anna Kingsford calls him Adonai (Clothed with the Sun).
Buddhists call him Adi-Buddha—(says H. P. B.)
“The Bhagavad-Gita calls him Vishnu (chapter xi.).
“The Yi King calls him “The Great Person.”
“The Qabalah calls him Jechidah.
“We also get metaphysical analysis of His nature, deeper
and deeper according to the subtlety of the writer; for this
* From a letter of Fra P.
† “A similar Fire flashingly extending through the rushings of Air, or a
Fire formless whence cometh the Image of a Voice, or even a flashing
Light abounding, revolving, whirling forth, crying aloud. Also there is the
vision of the fire-flashing Courser of Light, or also a Child, borne aloft on
the shoulders of the Celestial Steed, fiery, or clothed with gold, or naked,
or shooting with the bow shafts of Light, and standing on the shoulders of
the horse; then if thy meditation prolongeth itself, thou shalt unite all
these symbols into the Form of a Lion.”
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vision—it is all one same phenomenon, variously coloured by
our varying Ruachs*—is, I believe, the first and the last of all
Spiritual Experience. For though He is attributed to
Malkuth,† and the Door of the Path of His overshadowing, He
is also in Kether (Kether is in Malkuth and Malkuth in Kether
—“as above, so beneath”), and the End of the “Path of the
Wise” is identity with Him.
“So that while he is the Holy Guardian Angel, He is also
Hua‡ and the Tao.§
“For since Intra Nobis Regnum deI|| all things are in
Ourself, and all Spiritual Experience is a more of less
complete Revelation of Him.
“Yet it is only in the Middle Pillar¶ that His manifestation
is in any way perfect.
“The Augoedes invocation is the whole thing. Only it is so
difficult; one goes along through all the fifty gates of Binah**
at once, more or less illuminated, more or less deluded. But
the First and the Last is this Augoeides Invocation.”
THE BOOK
This Book is divided into four parts:
* Ruach: the third form, the Mind, the Reasoning Power, that which
possesses the Knowledge of Good and Evil.
† Malkuth: the tenth Sephira.
‡ The supreme and secret title of Kether.
§ The great extreme of the Yi King.
|| I.N.R.I.
¶ Or “Mildness,” the Pillar on the right being that of “Mercy,” and that
on the left “Justice.” These refer to the Qabalistic Tree of Life.
** Binah: the third Sephira, the Understanding. She is the Supernal
Mother, as distinguished from Malkuth, the Inferior Mother. (Nun) is
attributed to the Understanding; its value is 50. Vide "The Book of
Concealed Mystery,” sect. 40.
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161
I. The Foundations of the Temple.
II. The Scaffolding of the Temple.
III. The Portal of the Temple.
IV. The Temple of Solomon the King.
Three methods of expression are used to enlighten and
instruct the reader:
(a) Pictorial symbols.
(b) Metaphorically expressed word-pictures.
(c) Scientifically expressed facts.
The first method is found appended to each of the four
Books, balancing, so to speak, Illuminism and Science.
The second method is found almost entirely in the first
Book and the various pictures are entitled:*
The Black Watch-tower, or the Dreamer.
The Miser, or the Theist.
The Spendthrift, or the Pantheist.
The Bankrupt, or the Atheist.
The Prude, or the Rationalist.
The Child, or the Mystic.
The Wanton, or the Sceptic.
The Slave, or he who stands before the veil of the
Outer Court.
The Warrior, or he who stands before the veil of the
Inner Court.
The King, or he who stands before the veil of the Abyss.
The White Watch-tower, or the Awakened One.
* Nine pictures between Darkness and Light, or eleven in all. The
union of the Pentagram and the Hexagram is to be noted; also the elevenlettered
name ABRAHADABRA; 418; Achad Osher, or One and Ten; the
Eleven Averse Sephiroth; and Adonai.
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162
The third method is found almost entirely in the second
Book.
The third and fourth Books of this essay consist of purely
symbolic pictures. For the Key of the Portal the neophyte
must discover for himself; and until he finds the Key the
Temple of Solomon the King must remain closed to him.
Vale!
BOOK I
The foundations of the Temple
of
SOLOMON THE KING
and
The nine cunning Craftsmen who
laid them between the
Watch-towers of
Night & Day.
And from that place are cast
out all the Lords who are the
exactors of the debts of man-
kind, and they are subjugated.
The Greater Holy Assembly, xx. 440.


167
THE BLACK WATCH-TOWER
WHO has not, at some period during his life, experienced that
strange sensation of utter bewilderment on being awakened
by the sudden approach of a bright light across the curtained
threshold of slumber; that intoxicating sense of wonderment,
that hopeless inability to to open wide the blinded eyes
before the dazzling flame which has swept night into the
corners and crannies of the dark bedchamber of sleep?
Who, again, has not stepped from the brilliant sunlight of
noon into some shadowy vault, and, groping along its dark
walls, has found all there to be but as the corpse of day
wrapped in a starless shroud of darkness?
Yet as the moments speed by the sight grows accus-
tomed to the dazzling intruder; and as the blinding, shimmering
web of silver which he has thrown around us melts like
a network of snow before the awakening fire of our eyes, we
perceive that the white flame of bewilderment which had but
a moment ago enwrapped us as a mantle of lightnings, is, but
in truth, a flickering rushlight fitfully expiring in an ill-shapen
socket of clay. And likewise in the darkness, as we pass
along the unlit arches of the vault, or the lampless recesses
which, toad-like, squat here and there in the gloom, dimly at
first do the mouldings of the roof and the cornices of the
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walls creep forth; and then, as the twilight becomes more
certain, do they twist and writhe into weirdly shapen
arabesques, into fanciful figures, and contorted faces; which,
as we advance, bat-like flit into the depths of a deeper
darkness beyond.
Stay!—and but for a moment hurry back, and bring with
you that little rushlight we left spluttering on the mantel-shelf
of sleep. Now all once again vanishes, and from the floor
before us jut up into the shadowland of darkness the stern
grey walls of rock, the age-worn architraves, the clustered
columns, and all the crumbling capitols of Art, where the years
alone sit shrouded slumbering in their dust and mould—a
haunting memory of long-forgotten days.
O dreamland of wonder and mystery! like a tongue of gold
wrapped in a blue flame do we hover for a moment over the
Well of Life; and then the night-wind rises, and wafts us into
the starless depths of the grave. We are like gnats hovering in
the sunbeams, and then the evening falls and we are gone:
and who can tell whither, and unto what end? Whether to the
City of Eternal Sleep, or to the Mansion of the Music of
Rejoicing?
O my brothers! come with me! follow me! Let us mount
the dark stairs of this Tower of Silence, this Watch-tower of
Night; upon whose black brow no flickering flame burns to
guide the weary wanderer across the mires of life and through
the mists of death. Come, follow me! Grope up these ageworn
steps, slippery with the tears of the fallen, and bearded
with the blood of the vanquished and the salt of the agony of
failure. Come, come! Halt not! Abandon all! Let us ascend.
Yet bring with ye two things, the flint and the steel—the
THE TEMPLE OF SOLOMON THE KING
169
slumbering fire of Mystery, and the dark sword of Science;
that we may strike a spark, and fire the beacon of Hope which
hangs above us in the brasier of Despair; so that a great light
may shine forth through the darkness, and guide the toiling
footsteps of man to that Temple which is built without hands,
fashioned without iron, or gold, or silver, and in which no fire
burns; whose pillars are as columns of light, whose dome is as
a crown of effulgence set betwixt the wings of Eternity, and
upon whose altar flashes the mystic eucharist of God.
170
THE MISER
“GOD.” What a treasure-house of wealth lies buried in that
word! what a mine of precious stones!—Ptah, Father of
Beginnings, he who created the Sun and the Moon; Nu, blue,
starry lady of Heaven, mistress and mother of the gods; Ea,
Lord of the Deep; Istar—“O Thou who art set in the sky as a
jewelled circlet of moonstone”; Brahma the golden, Vishnu
the sombre, and Siva the crimson, lapped in seas of blood.
Everywhere do we find Thee, O Thou one and awful
Eidolon, who as Aormuzd once didst rule the sun-scorched
plains of Euphrates, and as Odin the icy waves and the
shrieking winds, round the frozen halls of the North.
Everywhere!—everywhere! And yet now Thou art again
God, nameless to the elect—O Thou vast inscrutable Pleroma
built in the Nothingness of our imagination!—and to the little
ones, the children who play with the units of existence, but a
myriad-named doll a cubit high, a little thing to play with—or
else: an ancient, bearded Father, with hair as white as wool,
and eyes like flames of fire; whose voice is as the sound of
many waters, in whose right hand tremble the seven stars of
Heaven, and out of whose mouth flashes forth a flaming sword
of fire. There dost Thou sit counting the orbs of Space, and
the souls of men: and we tremble before Thee, worshipping,
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171
glorifying, supplicating, beseeching; lest perchance Thou cast
us back into the furnace of destruction, and place us not
among the gold and silver of Thy treasury.
True, Thou hast been the great Miser of the worlds, and
the Balances of Thy treasure-house have weighed out Heaven
and Hell. Thou hast amassed around Thee the spoil of the
years, and the plunder of Time and of Space. All is Thine,
and we own not even the breath of our nostrils, for it is but
given us on the usury of our lives.
Still from the counting-house of Heaven Thou hast
endowed us with a spirit of grandeur, an imagination of the
vastness of Being. Thou hast taken us out of ourselves, and
we have counted with Thee the starry hosts of night, and
unbraided the tangled tresses of the comets in the fields of
Space. We have walked with Thee at Mamre, and talked with
Thee in Eden, and listened to Thy voice from out the midst
of the whirlwind. And at times Thou hast been a Father unto
us, a joy, strong as a mighty draught of ancient wine, and we
have welcomed Thee!
But Thy servants—those self-seeking, priestly usurers—
See! how they have blighted the hearts of men, and massed
the treasure of Souls into the hands of the few, and piled up
the coffers of the Church. How they racked from us the very
emblems of joy, putting out our eyes with the hot irons of
extortion, till every pound of human flesh was soaked as a
thirsty sponge in a well of blood: and life became a hell, and
men and women went singing, robed in the san-benito painted
with flames and devils, to the stake; to seek in the fire the
God of their forefathers—that stern Judge who with sworded
hand was once wont to read out the names of the living from
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the Book of Life, and exalt the humble on the golden throne
of tyrants.
Yet in these ages of crucifix, of skull, and of candle; these
ages of auto-da-fé and in pace; these ages when the tongue
jabbered madness and the brain reeled in delirium, and the
bones were split asunder, and the flesh was crushed to pulp,
was there still in the darkness a glamour of truth, as a great
and scarlet sunset seen through the memory of years. Life
was a shroud of horror, yet it was life! Life! life in the awful
hideous grandeur of gloom, until death severed the dull red
thread with a crooked sword of cruel flame. And Love, a wild,
mad ecstasy, broken-winged, fluttering before the eyeless
sockets of Evil, as the souls of men were bought and sold and
bartered for, till Heaven became a bauble of the rich, and Hell
a debtor's dungeon for the poor. Yet amongst those rotting
bones in the oubliette, and in those purple palaces of papal lust,
hovered that spirit of life, like a golden flame rolled in a cloud
of smoke over the dark altar of decay.
Listen: “Have you got religion? . . . Are you saved?
. . . Do you love Jesus?” . . . “Brother, God can save
you. . . . Jesus is the sinner's friend. . . . Rest your head on
Jesus . . . dear, dear Jesus!” Curse till thunder shake the stars!
curse till this blasphemy is cursed from the face of heaven!
curse till the hissing name of Jesus, which writhes like a snake
in a snare, is driven from the kingdom of faith! Once “Eloi,
Eloi, Lama Sabachthani” echoed through the gloom from the
Cross of Agony; now Jerry McAuley, that man of God, illclothed
in cheap Leeds shoddy, bobbing in a tin Bethel,
bellows, “Do you love Jesus?” and talks of that mystic son of
Him who set forth the sun and the moon, and all the hosts of
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Heaven, as if he were first cousin to Mrs. Booth or to Aunt
Sally herself.
Once man in the magic land of mystery sought the elixir
and the balsam of life; now he seeks “spiritual milk for
American babes, drawn from the breasts of both Testaments.”
Once man, in his frenzy, drunken on the wine of Iacchus,
would cry to the moon from the ruined summit of some
temple of Zagraeus, “Evoe ho! Io Evoe!” But now instead,
“Although I was quite full of drink, I knew that God's work
begun in me was not going to be wasted!”
Thus is the name of God belched forth in beer and bestial
blasphemy. Who would not rather be a St. Besarion who
spent forty days and nights in a thorn-bush, or a St. Francis
picking lice from his sheepskin and praising God for the
honour and glory of wearing such celestial pearls in his habit,
than become a smug, well-oiled evangelical Christian genteelman,
walking to church to dear Jesus on a Sabbath morning,
with Prayer-book, Bible, and umbrella, and a three- penny-bit
in his glove?
174
THE SPENDTHRIFT
“ARCADIA, night, a cloud, Pan, and the moon.” What words
to conjure with, what five shouts to slay the five senses, and
set a leaping flame of emerald and silver dancing about us as
we yell them forth under the oaks and over the rocks and
myrtle of the hill-side. “Bruised to the breast of Pan”—
let us flee church, and chapel, and meeting-room; let us
abandon this mantle of order, and leap back to the heaths,
and the marshes, and the hills; back to the woods, and the
glades of night! back to the old gods, and the ruddy lips
of Pan!
How the torches splutter in the storm, pressing warm
kisses of gold on the gnarled and knotted trunks of the beech
trees! How the fumigation from musk and myrrh whirls
up in an aromatic cloud from the glowing censer!—how for a
time it greedily clings to the branches, and then is wafted to
the stars! Look!—as we invoke them, how they gather
round us, these Spirit of Love and of Life, of Passion, of
Strength, and of Abandon—these sinews of the manhood of
the World!
O mystery of mysteries! “For each one of the Gods is in
all, and all are in each, being ineffably united to each other
and to God; because each, being a super-essential unity, their
conjunction with each other is a union of unities.” Hence
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each is all; thus Nature squanders the gold and silver of our
understanding, till in panic frenzy we beat our head on the
storm-washed boulders and the blasted trunks, and shout
forth, “Io . . . Io . . . Io . . . Evoe! Io . . . Io!” till the glades
thrill as with the music of syrinx an sistrum, and our souls are
rent asunder on the flaming horns of Pan.
Come, O children of the night of Death, awake, arise! See,
the sun is nodding in the West, and no day-spring is at hand in
this land of withered dreams; for all is dull with the sweat of
gloom, and sombre with the industry of Evil! Wake! O wake!
Let us hie to the summits of the lonely mountains, for soon a
sun will arise in us, and then their white peaks will become
golden and crimson and purple as the breasts of a mighty
woman swollen with the blood and milk of a new life. There,
amongst those far-off hills of amethyst, shall we find the fair
mistress of our heart's desire—that bountiful Mother who will
clasp us to her breast.
Yours are the boundless forests, and the hills, and the faroff
purple of the horizon. Call, and they shall answer you; ask,
and they shall shower forth on you the hoarded booty of the
years, and all the treasure of the ages; so that none shall be in
need, and all shall possess all in the longing for all things.
Come, let us shatter the vault of Circumstance and the walls
of the dungeon of Convention, and back to Pan in the tangled
brakes, and to the subtle beauty of the Sorceress, and to the
shepherd-lads—back to the white flocks on the hill-side, back
to Pan—to Pan—to Pan! Io! to Pan.
Under the mistletoe and the oak there is no snickering of
the chapel-pew, no drawing-room grin of lewd desire, no
smacking of wanton lips over the warm flesh and the white
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skin of life; but a great shout of joyous laughter arises, which
sways the winds from their appointed courses, and rattles
down the dead branches from the leafy boughs overhead: or,
all is solemn and still as a breathless night; for here life is ever
manly in turmoil as in repose.
Here there is no barter, no usury, no counting of the gains
and losses of life; and the great Sower leaps over the fields
like a madman, casting forth the golden grain amongst the
briars, and on the rocks, as well as between the black furrows
of the earth; for each must take its chance, and battle to
victory in manliness and strength. Here there is neither sect
nor faction: live or die, prosper or decay! So the great live, and
the little ones go back to the roots of life. Neither is their
obedience outside the obedience which is born of Necessity;
for here there is no support, no resting on others—
ploughshares are beaten into swords, and spindles are
fashioned into the shafts of arrows, and the winds shriek
through our armour as we battle for the strength of the
World.
The rain falleth upon the deserts as upon the fertile
valleys; and the sun shineth upon the blue waters as upon the
verdant fields; and the dew heedeth not where it sleepeth,
whether on the dung-hill, or betwixt the petals of the wild
rose; for all is lavish in this Temple of the World, where on
the throne of inexhaustible wealth sits the King of Life,
tearing the jewels from his golden throat, and casting them
out to the winds to be carried to the four corners of the Earth.
There is no thrift here, no storing up for the morrow; and yet
there is no waste, no wantonness, for all who enter this
Treasure-house of Life become one with the jewels of the
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treasury.
Words! . . . words! . . . words! They have shackled and
chained you, O children of the mists and the mountains; they
have imprisoned you, and walled you up in the dungeon of a
lightless reason. Fancy has been burnt at the stake of Fact;
and the imagination cramped in the irons of tort and quibble.
O vanity of vain words! O cozening, deceitful art! Nimbly do
the great ones of to-day wrestle with the evil-smelling breath
of their mouths, twisting and contorting it into beguilements,
bastardising and corrupting the essence of things, sucking as a
greedy vampire the blood from your hearts, and breathing into
your nostrils the rigid symbols of law and of order, begotten on
the death-bed of their understanding.
O children of Wonder and of Fancy, fly to the wild woods
whilst yet there is time! Back to the mysteries of the shadowy
oaks, to the revolt of imagination, to the insurrection of souls,
to the moonlit festivals of love: back where the werewolf
lurks, and the moonrakes prowl. Back, O back to the song of
life, back to the great God Pan! And there, wrapped in your
goat-skins, drink with the shepherds of Tammuz out of the
skin of a suckling yet unborn, and ye shall become as the
silver-gleaming waters of Istar—pure and bright! Speed, for
he is the divine king of the fauns and the satyrs, the dryads
and the oreads; the Lord of the Crowns; the Decider of
Destiny; the God who prospers all above and beneath! And
tarry not, lest as ye wander along the shore of the Ionian Sea
ye hear a voice of lamentation crying, “Great Pan is dead!”
178
THE BANKRUPT
“O WHERE are the terraced gardens of Babylon, with their
mighty groves towering up amongst the clouds? O where is
the sun-god of Rhodes, whose golden brow was wont to blush
with the first fire of dawn, whilst yet the waters at his feet
were wrapped in the mists of night? O where is the Temple
of Ephesus, and those who cried unto Diana? O where is the
gleaming eye of Pharos that shone as a star of hope over the
wild waters of the sea? Children of monsters and of gods, how
have ye fallen! for a whirlwind hath arisen and swept through
the gates of Heaven, and rushed down on the kingdoms of
Earth, and as a tongue of consuming flame hath it licked up
the handicrafts of man and cloaked all in the dust of decay. A
yoke hath been laid on the shoulders of the ancient lands; and
where once the white feet of Semiramis gleamed amongst the
lilies and roses of Babylon there now the wild goats leap, and
browse the sparse rank grass which sprouts in tufts from the
red and yellow sand-heaps, those silent memorial mounds
which mark the spot where once stood palaces of marble, and
of jasper, and of jade. O woe! O woe! for all is dust and ruin;
the flood-gates of the years have been opened, and Time has
swept away as a mighty wind the embattled castles of kings
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with the mud-daubed huts of shepherds. Merodach has gone,
and so has Ea, and no longer doth Istar flame in the night, or
cast down her kisses on the sparkling goblets in the palace of
Belshazzar. Isis, dark-veiled, hath departed, and Nu no longer
uplifteth the Sun-bark with the breath of dawn. O Amen, bull
fair of face, where is thy glory? Thebes is in ruins! O Lord of
joy, O mighty one of diadems! The Sekhet crown has fallen
from thy brow, and the strength of thy life hath departed, and
thine eyes are as the shrouded shadows of night. Olympus is
but a barren hill, and Asgard a land of sullen dreams. Alone in
the desert of years still crouches the Sphinx, unanswered,
unanswerable, inscrutable, age-worn, coeval with the æons of
eld; even facing the east and thirsting for the first rays of the
rising sun. She was there when Cheops and Khephren builded
the pyramids, and there will she sit when Yahveh has taken
his appointed seat in the silent halls of Oblivion.
The fool hath said in his heart, “There is no God!” Yet
the wise man has sat trembling over the ruins of the past, and
has watched with fearful eyes the bankruptcy of Splendour,
and all the glory of man fall victim to the usury of Time.
O God, what art Thou that Thou dost abandon the
kingdoms of this world, as a wanton woman her nightly lovers;
and that they depart from Thee, and remember and regret
Thee not? Yet thou art so vast that I cannot grasp Thee;
Time flees before Thee, and Space is as a bauble in thine
hands. O monstrous vacancy of vastness! Thou surpassest
me, and I am lost in the contemplation of Thy greatness.
The old gods slew Ymer the giant; and from his blood they
poured out the seas; and from his flesh they dug the land; and
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the rocks were fashioned out of his bones; and Asgard, fair
dwelling-house of gods, was builded from the brows of his
eyes; and from his skull was wrought the purple vault of
Immensity; and from his brains were woven the fleecy clouds
of heaven. But thou art more than Ymer; Thy feet are planted
deeper than the roots of Igdrasil, and the hair of Thine head
sweepeth past the helm of thought. Nay, more, vastly more;
for Thou art bloodless, and fleshless, and without bones;
Thou (O my God!) art nothing—nothing that I can grasp can
span Thee. Yea! nothing art Thou, beyond the Nothingness
of the Nothingness of Eternity!
Thus men grew to believe in NO-GOD, and to worship NOGOD,
and to be persecuted for NO-GOD, and to suffer and to
die for NO-GOD. And now they torture themselves for him, as
they had of yore gashed themselves with flints at the footstool
of God His Father; and to the honour of His name, and as a
proof of His existence, have they not built up great towers of
Science, bastions of steam and of flame, and set a-singing the
wheels of Progress, and all the crafts and the guiles and the
artifices of Knowledge? They have contained the waters with
their hands; and the earth they have set in chains; and the fire
they have bound up as a wisp of undried straw; even the
winds they have ensnared as an eagle in a net;—yet the Spirit
liveth and is free, and they know it not, as they gaze down
from their Babel of Words upon the soot-grimed fields, and
the felled forests, and the flowerless banks of their rivers of
mud, lit by the sun which glows red through the hooded mists
of their magic.
Yet he who gazeth into the heavens, and crieth in a loud
voice, “There is NO-GOD,” is as a prophet unto mankind; for
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he is as one drunken on the vastness of Deity. Better to have
no opinion of God than such an opinion as is unworthy of
Him. Better to be wrapped in the black robe of unbelief than
to dance in the stinking rags of blasphemy. So they learnt to
cry, “For the children, belief and obedience; for us men,
solitude”—the monarchy of Mind, the pandemoniacal majesty
of Matter!
“A Bible on the centre-table in a cottage pauperises the
monarchical imagination of man”; but a naked woman
weeping in the wilderness, or singing songs of frenzy unto
Istar in the night, from the ruined summit of Nineveh,
invoking the elemental powers of the Abyss, and casting the
dust of ages about her, and crying unto Bel, and unto Assur,
and unto Nisroch, and smiting flames from the sun-scorched
bones of Sennacherib with the age-worn sword of Sharezer
and Adrammelech, is a vision which intoxicates the brain with
the sparkling wine of imagination, and sets the teeth a-
rattling in the jaws, and the tongue a-cleaving to the palate of
the mouth.
But the book-men have slain the Great God, and the
twitterers of words have twisted their squeaking screws into
his coffin. The first Christians were called Atheists; yet they
believed in God: the last Christians are called Theists; yet
they believe not in God. So the first Freethinkers were called
Atheists; yet they believed in NO-GOD: and the last
Freethinkers will be called Theists; for they will believe not
in NO-GOD. Then indeed in these latter days may we again
find the Great God, that God who liveth beyond the
twittering of man's lips, and the mumblings of his mouth.
Filled with the froth of words, have these flatulent fools
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argued concerning God. Not as the bard sung of Ymer; but as
the cat purrs to the strangling mouse: “Since God is First
Cause, therefore he possesses existence a se; therefore he
must be both necessary and absolute, and cannot be
determined by anything else.” Nevertheless these wise
doctors discuss him as if he were a corpse on the tables of
their surgeries, and measure his length with their foot-rules,
and stretch and lop him to fit the bed of their Procrustean
metaphysic. Thus he is absolutely unlimited from without,
and unlimited also from within, for limitation is non-being,
and God is being itself, and being is all-things, and all-things
is no-thing. And so we find Epicurus walking arm in arm,
from the temple of windy words, with Athanasius, and enter
the market-place of life, and the throng of the living—that
great tongueless witness of God's bounty; and mingle with the
laughing boys, showering rose-leaves on Doris and Bacchis,
and blowing kisses to Myrtale and Evardis.
God or No-God—so let it be! Still the Sun rises and sets,
and the night-breeze blows the red flames of our tourches
athwart the palm-trees, to the discomfiture of the stars. Look!
—in the distance between the mighty paws of the silent
Sphinx rests a cubical temple whose god has been called Ra
Harmakhis, the Great God, the Lord of the Heaven, but who
in truth is nameless and beyond name, for he is the Eternal
Spirit of Life.
Hush—the sistrum sounds from across the banks of the
dark waters. The moon rises, and all is as silver and mother-ofpearl.
A shepherd's pipe shrills in the distance—a kid has
strayed from the fold. . . . O stillness . . . O mystery of God . . .
how soft is Thy skin . . . how fragrant is Thy breath! Life as a
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strong wine flames through me. The frenzy of resistance, the
rapture of the struggle—ah! the ecstasy of Victory. . . . The
very soul of life lies ravished, and the breath has left me. . . .
A small warm hand touches my lips—O fragrance of love! O
Life! . . . Is there a God?
184
THE PRUDE
A FLY once sat upon the axle-tree of a chariot, and said: “What
a dust do I raise!” Now a swarm of flies has come—the fourth
plague of Egypt is upon us, and the land is corrupted by
reason of their stench. The mighty ones are dead, the giants
are no more, for the sons of God come not in unto the
daughters of men, and the world is desolate, and greatness and
renown are gone. To-day the blue blow-flies of decay sit
buzzing on the slow-rolling wheel of Fortune, intoxicated on
the dust of the dead, and sucking putrefaction from the
sinews of the fallen, and rottenness from the charnel-house of
Might.
O Reason! Thou hast become as a vulture feasting off the
corpse of a king as it floats down the dark waters of Acheron.
Nay! not so grand a sight, but as an old, wizened woman,
skaldy and of sagging breast, who in the solitude of her latrina
cuddles and licks the oleograph of a naked youth. O Adonis,
rest in the arms of Aphrodite, seek not the hell-fouled
daughter of Ceres, who hath grown hideous in the lewd
embrace of the Serpent-God, betrayer of the knowledge of
good and of evil. Behold her bulging belly and her shrivelled
breasts, full of scale and scab—“bald, rotten, abominable!”
Her tears no longer blossom into the anemones of Spring; for
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their purity has left them, and they are become as the bilge
which poureth forth from the stern of a ship full of hogs. O!
Eros, fly, speed! Await not the awakening oil to scorch Thy
cheek, lest Thou discover that Thy darling has grown hideous
and wanton, and that in the place of a fair maiden there
slimeth a huge slug fed of the cabbage-stalks of decay.
O Theos! O Pantheos! O Atheos! Triple God of the
brotherhood of warriors. Evoe! I adore Thee, O thou Trinity
of might and majesty—Thou silent Unity that rulest the
hearts of the great. Alas! that men are dead, their thrones of
gold empty, and their palaces of pearl fallen into ruin!
Grandeur and Glory have departed, so that now in the Elysian
fields the sheep of woolly understanding nibble the green
turnip-tops of reason and the stubble in the reaped cornfields
of knowledge. Now all is rational, virtuous, smug, and oily.
Those who wrestled with the suns and the moons, and
trapped the stars of heaven, and sought God on the summits
of the mountains, and drove Satan into the bowels of the
earth, have swum the black waters of Styx, and are now in the
halls of Asgard and the groves of Olympus, amongst the jewels
of Havilah and the soft-limbed houris of Paradise. They have
left us, and in their stead have come the carrion kites, who
have usurped the white thrones of their understanding, and
the golden palaces of their wisdom.
Let us hie back to the cradle of Art and the swaddling
bands of Knowledge, and watch the shepherds, among the
lonely hills where the myrtle grows and the blue-bells ring out
the innocence of Spring, learning from their flocks the
mysteries of life. . . . A wolf springs from the thicket, and a
lamb lies sweltering in its blood; then an oaken cudgel is
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raised, and Hermas has dashed out the brains from betwixt
those green, glittering eyes. There now at his feet lie the
dead and the dying; and man wonders at the writhing of the
entrails and the bubbling of the blood. See! now he gathers in
his flock, and drives them to a dark cavern in the sloping side
of the mountain; and when the moon is up he departs,
speeding to his sister the Sorceress to seek of her balsams and
herbs wherewith to stanch his wound and to soothe the
burning scratches of the wolf's claws. There under the stars,
whilst the bats circle around the moon, and the toad hops
through the thicket, and the frogs splash in the mere, he
whispers to her, how green were the eyes of the wild wolf,
how sharp were his claws, how white his teeth and then, how
the entrails wriggled on the ground, and the pink brains
bubbled out their blood. Then both are silent, for a great awe
fills them, and they crouch trembling amongst the hemlock
and the foxgloves. A little while and she arises, and, pulling
her black hood over her head, sets out alone through the
trackless forest, here and there lit by the moon; and, guided
by the stars, she reaches the city.
At a small postern by the tower of the castle known as the
“lover's gate” she halts and whistles thrice, and then, in shrill,
clear notes as of some awakened night-bird, calls: “Brother,
brother, brother mine!” Soon a chain clanks against the oaken
door, and a bolt rumbles back in its staple, and before her in
his red shirt and his leathern hose stands her brother the
Hangman. And there under the stars she whispers to him, and
for a moment he trembles, looking deep into her eyes; then he
turns and leaves her. Presently there is a creaking of chains
overhead—an owl, awakened from the gibbet above, where it
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had been blinking perched on the shoulder of a corpse, flies
shrieking into the night.
Soon he returns, his footsteps resounding heavily along the
stone passage, and in his arms he is carrying the dead body of
a young man. “Hé, my little sister,” he pants, and for a
moment he props his heavy load up against the door of the
postern. Then these two, the Sorceress and the Hangman,
silently creep out into the night, back into the gloom of the
forest, carrying between them the slumbering Spirit of
Science and Art sleeping in the corse of a young man, whose
golden hair streams gleaming in the moonlight, and around
whose white throat glistens a snake-like bruise of red, of
purple, and of black.
There under the oaks by an age-worn dolmen did they
celebrate their midnight mass. . . . “Look you! I must
needs tell you, I love you well, as you are to-night; you are
more desirable than ever you have been before . . . you are
built as a youth should be. . . . Ah! how long, how long
have I loved you! . . . But to-day I am hungry, hungry for
you! . . .”
Thus under the Golden Bough in the moonlight was the
host uplifted, and the Shepherd, and the Hangman, and the
Sorceress broke the bread of Necromancy, and drank deep of
the wine of witchcraft, and swore secrecy over the Eucharist
of Art.
Now in the place of the dolmen stands the hospital, and
where the trilithons towered is built the “Hall of Science.”
Lo! the druid has given place to the doctor; and the
physician has slain the priest his father, and with wanton
words ravished the heart of his mother the sorceress. Now
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instead of the mystic circle of the adepts we have the great
“Bosh-Rot” school of Folly. Miracles are banned, yet still
at the word of man do the halt walk, and the lame rise up
and run. The devils have been banished, and demoniacal
possession is no more, yet now the most lenient of these sages
are calling it “hystero-demonopathy”—what a jargon
of unmusical syllables! Saul, when he met God face to face
on the dusty road of Damascus, is dismissed with a
discharging lesion of the occipital cortex; and George Fox
crying, “Woe to the bloody city of Lichfield!” is suffering
from a disordered colon; whilst Carlyle is subject to gastroduodenal
catarrh. Yet this latter one writes: “Witchcraft and
all manner of Spectre-work, and Demonology, we have now
named Madness, and Diseases of the Nerves; seldom
reflecting that still the new question comes upon us: What is
Madness, what are Nerves?”—Indeed, what is Madness, what
are Nerves?
Once, when a child, I was stung by a bee whilst dancing
through the heather, and an old shepherd met me, and taking
a black roll of tobacco from a metal box, he bit off a quid and,
chewing it, spat it on my leg, and the pain vanished. He did
not spend an hour racking through the dictionary of his brain
to find a suitable “itis” whereby to allay the inflammation, and
then, having carefully classified it with another, declared the
pain to be imaginary and myself to be an hysteriomonomaniac
suffering from apiarian illusions!
To-day Hercules is a sun-myth, and so are Osiris and
Baal; and no may can raise his little finger without some
priapic pig shouting: “Phallus . . . phallus! I see a phallus! O
what a phallus!” Away with this church-spire sexuality,
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these atavistic obstetrics, these endless survivals and hypnoid
states, and all these orchitic superficialities! Back to the fruits
of life and the treasure-house of mystery!
Let us leap beyond the pale of these pedantic dictionary
proxenetes and this shuffling of the thumbed cards of Reason.
Let us cease gnawing at this philosophic ham-bone, and
abandon the thistles of rationalism to the tame asses of the
Six-penny Cult, and have done with all this pseudo-scientce,
this logic-chopping, this levelling loquacity of loons, louts,
lubbers, and lunatics!
O Thou rationalistic Boreas, how Thou belchest the sheep
and with the flatulence of windy words! Away with the ethics
and morals of the schoolmen, those prudish pedants whose
bellies are swollen with the overboiled spinach of their
sploshy virtues; and cease rattling the bread-pills of language
in the bladder of medical terminology! The maniac's vision of
horror is better than this, even the shambles clotted with
blood; for it is the blood of life; and the loneliness of the
distant heath is as a cup of everlasting wine compared with
the soapsuds of these clyster-mongers, these purge-puffed
prudes, who loose forth on us an evil-smelling gas from their
cabbage-crammed duodenary canals.
Yea! it shall pass by, this gastro-epileptic school of
neurological maniacs; for in a little time we shall catch up with
this moulting ostrich, and shall slay him whilst he buries his
occipital cortex under the rubbish-heap of discharging lesions.
Then the golden tree of life shall be replanted in Eden, and
we little children shall dance round it, and shall banquet
under the stars, feasting off the abandon of the wilderness and
the freedom of the hills. Artists we shall become, and in the
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storm shall we see a woman weeping; and in the lightning and
the thunder the sworded warrior who crushes her to his
shaggy breast. Away with laws and labours. . . . Lo! in the
groves of Pan the dance catches us up, and whirls us onward!
O how we dash aside the goblets and the wine-skins, and how
the tangled hair of our heads is blown amongst the purple
clusters of the vine that clambers along the branches of the
plane-trees in the Garden of Eros!
But yet for a little while the mystic child of Freedom must
sit weeping at the footstool of the old prude Reason, and spell
out her windy alphabets whilst she squats like a toad above
her, dribbling, filled with lewd thoughts and longings for the
oleograph of the naked youth and the stinking secrecy of her
latrina!
191
THE CHILD
UNDER the glittering horns of Capricornus, when the
mountains of the North glistened like the teeth of the black
wolf in the cold light of the moon, and when the broad lands
below the fiery girdle of many-breasted Tellus blushed red in
the arms of the summer sun, did Miriam seek the cave below
the cavern, in which no light had ever shone, to bring forth the
Light of the World. And on the third day she departed from
the cave, and, entering the stable of the Sun, she placed her
child in the manger of the Moon. Likewise was Mithras born
under the tail of the Sea-Goat, and Horus, and Krishna—all
mystic names of the mystic Child of Light.
I am the Ancient Child, the Great Disturber, the Great
Tranquilliser. I am Yesterday, To-day, and To-morrow. My
name is Alpha and Omega—the Beginning and the End. My
dwelling-house is built betwixt the water and the earth; the
pillars thereof are of fire, and the walls are of air, and the roof
above is the breath of my nostrils, which is the spirit of the life
of man.
I am born as an egg in the East, of silver, and of gold, and
opalescent with the colours of precious stones; and with my
Glory is the beast of the horizon made purple and scarlet, and
orange, and green, many-coloured as a great peacock caught
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up in the coils of a serpent of fire. Over the pillars of Æthyr
do I sail, as a furnace of burnished brass; and blasts of fire pour
from my nostrils, and bathe the land of dreams in the radiance
of my Glory. And in the west the lid of mine Eye drops—
down smites the Night of reckoning and destruction, that
night of the slaughter of the evil, and of the overthrow of the
wicked, and the burning of the damned.
Robed in the flames of my mouth, I compass the heavens,
so that none shall behold me, and that the eyes of men shall
be spared the torture of unutterable light. “Devourer of
Millions of Years” is my name; “Lord of the Flame” is my
name; for I am as an eye of Silver set in the heart of the Sun.
Thou spreadest the locks of thine hair before thee, for I burn
thee; thou shakest them about thy brow, so that thine eyes
may not be blinded by the fire of my fury. I am He who was,
who is, and who will be; I am the Creator, and the Destroyer,
and the Redeemer of mankind. I have come as the Sun from
the house of the roaring of lions, and at my coming shall there
be laughter, and weeping, and singing, and gnashing of teeth.
Ye shall tread upon the serpent and the scorpion, and the
hosts of your enemies shall be as chaff before the sickle of
your might: yet ye must be born in the cavern of darkness and
be laid in the manger of the moon.
Lo! I am as a babe born in a crib of lilies and roses, and
wrapped in the swaddling bands of June. Mine hands are
delicate and small, and my feet are shod in flame, so that they
touch not the kingdoms of this earth. I arise, and leave the
cradle of my birth, and wander through the valleys, and over
the hills, across the sun-scorched deserts of day, and
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through the cool groves of night. Everywhere, everywhere, I
find myself, in the deep pools, and in the dancing streams,
and in the many-coloured surface of the mere: there I am
white and wonderful, a child of loveliness and of beauty, a
child to entice songs from the wild rose, and kisses from the
zephyrs of dawn.
Herod would have slain me, and Kansa have torn me with
his teeth of fire; but I eluded them, as a flame hidden in a
cloud of smoke, and took refuge in the land of Ptah and
sought sanctuary in the arms of Seb. There were the glories
of Light revealed to me, and I became as a daughter of Ceres
playing in the poppied fields of yellow corn: yet still as a sunlimbed
bacchanal I trampled forth the foaming must from the
purple grapes of Bacchus, and breathing it into the leaven of
life, caused it to ferment, and bubble forth as the Wine of
Iacchus. Then with the maiden, who was also myself, I
partook of the Eucharist of Love—the corn and the wine, and
became one.
Then there came unto me a woman subtle and beautiful to
behold, whose breasts were as alabaster bowls filled with
wine, and the purple hair of whose head was as a dark cloud
on a stormy night. Dressed in a gauze of scarlet and gold, and
jewelled with pearls and emeralds and magic stones, she, like
a spider spun in a web of sunbeams and blood, danced before
me, casting her jewels to the winds, and naked she sang to
me: “O lover of mine heart, thy limbs are as chalcedony, white
and round, and tinged with the mingling blush of the
sapphire, the ruby, and the sard. Thy lips are as roses in June;
and thine eyes as amethysts set in the vault of heaven. O!
come kiss me, for I tremble for thee; fill me with love,
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for I am consumed by the heat of my passion; say me, O slay
me with kisses, burn me in the fire of thy kingdom, O slay me
with the sword of thy rapture!”
Then I cried unto her in a loud voice saying: “O Queen of
the lusts of flesh! O Queen of the lands haunted by satyrs! O
Mistress of Night! O Mother of the mysteries of birth and
death! Who art girt in the flames of passion, and jewelled
with emerald, and moonstone, and chrysoleth. Lo! on thy
brow burns the star-sapphire of heaven, thy girdle is as the
serpent of Eden, and round thine ankles chatter the rubies
and garnets of hell. Hearken, O Lilith! O Sorceress of the
blood of life! My lips are for those who suckle not Good, and
my kisses for those who cherish not Evil. And my kingdom is
for the children of light who trample under foot the garment
of shame, and rend from their loins the sackcloth of modesty.
When Two shall be One, then shalt thou be crowned with a
crown neither of gold nor of silver, nor yet of precious stones;
but as with a crown of fire fashioned in the light of God's
glory. Yea! when my sword falleth, then that which is without
shall be like unto that which is within; then tears shall be as
kisses, and kisses as tears; then all shall be leavened and made
whole, and thou shalt find in thine hand a sceptre, neither of
lilies nor of gold, but a sceptre of light, yea! a sceptre of the
holiness and loveliness of light and of glory!”
O Children of the land of Dreams! O ye who would
cross the bar of sleep, and become as Children of Awakenment
and Light. Woe unto you! for ye cleanse outside the
cup and the platter; but within they are full of uncleanness. Ye
are soaked in the blood of corruption, and choked with the
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vomit of angry words. Close your eyes, O ye neophytes in the
mysteries of God, lest ye be blinded, and cry out like a man
whose sight has been smitten black by a burning torch of tar.
O Children of Dreams! plough well the fields of night, and
prepare them for the Sower of Dawn. Heed lest the golden
corn ripen and ye be not ready to pluck the swollen ears, and
feast, and become as Bezaleel, filled with a divine spirit of
wisdom, and understanding, and knowledge—a cunning
worker in gold, and in silver, and in brass, in scarlet, in purple,
and in blue.
But woe unto ye who tarry by the wayside, for the evening
is at hand; to-day is the dawn, tomorrow the night of
weeping. Gird up your loins and speed to the hills; and
perchance on the way under the cedars and the oaks ye meet
God face to face and know. But be not downcast if ye find not
God in the froth or the dregs of the first cup: drink and hold
fast to the sword of resolution—onwards, ever onwards, and
fear not!
Devils shall beset the path of the righteous, and demons,
and all the elemental spirits of the Abyss. Yet fear not! for
they add grandeur and glory to the might of God's power.
Pass on, but keep thy foot upon their necks, for in the region
whither thou goest, the seraph and the snake dwell side by
side.
Sume lege. Open the Book of THYSELF, take and read.
Eat, for this is thy body; drink, for this is the blood of thy
redemption. The sun thou seest by day, and the moon thou
beholdest by night, and all the stars of heaven that burn above
thee, are part of thyself—are thyself. And so is the bowl of
Space which contains them, and the wine of Time in which
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they float; for these two are part of thyself—are Thyself. And
God also who casteth them forth from the coffers of his
treasury. He, too, though thou knowest it not, is part of
thyself—is THYSELF. All is in thee, and thou art in all, and
separate existence is not, being but a net of dreams wherein
the dreamers of night are ensnared. Read, and thou
becomest; eat and drink, and thou art.
Though weak, thou art thine own master; listen not to the
babblers of vain words, and thou shalt become strong. There
is no revelation except thine own. There is no understanding
except thine own. There is no consciousness apart from thee,
but that it is held feodal to thee in the kingdom of thy
Divinity. When thou knowest thou knowest, and there is
none other beside thee, for all becometh as an armour around
thee, and thou thyself as an invulnerable, invincible warrior of
Light.
Heed not the pedants who chatter as apes among the
treetops; watch rather the masters, who in the cave under the
cavern breathe forth the breath of life.
One saith to thee:
“Abandon all easy, follow the difficult; eat not of the best,
but of the most distasteful; pander not to thy pleasures, but
feed well thy disgusts; console not thyself, but seek the waters
of desolation; rest not thyself, but labour in the depths of the
night; aspire not to things precious, but to things contemptible
and low.”
But I say unto thee: heed not this vain man, this blatherer
of words! For there is Godliness in ease, in fine dishes, and in
pleasures, in consolations, in rest, and in precious things.
So if in thyself thou findest a jewelled goblet, I say unto
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thee, drink from it, for it is the cup of thy salvation; seek not
therefore a dull bowl of heavy lead!
Yet another saith unto thee:
“Will not anything, will nothing; seek not for the best, but
for the worst. Despise thyself; slander thyself; speak lightly of
thyself.”
And again:
“To enjoy the taste for all things, then have no taste for
anything.”
“To know all things; then resolve to possess nothing.”
“To be all; then, indeed be willing to be naught.”
But I say unto thee: this one is filed like a fool's bladder
with wind and a rattling of dried peas; for he who wills
everything, is he who seeks of the best; for he who honours
himself, he who prides himself most; and he who speaks
highly of himself, is he who also shall reign in the City of God.
“To have no taste for anything, then enjoy the taste of all
things.
“To resolve to possess nothing, then possess all things.
“To be naught, then indeed be all.”
Open the book of Thyself in the cave under the cavern
and read it by the light of thine own understanding, then
presently thou shalt be born again, and be placed in the
manger of the Moon in the stable of the Sun.
For, children! when ye halt at one thing, ye cease to open
yourselves to all things. For to come to the All, ye must give
up the All, and likewise possess the All. Verily ye must
destroy all things and out of No-thing found and build the
Temple of God as set up by Solomon the King, which is
placed between Time and Space; the pillars thereof are
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Eternity, and the walls Infinity, and the floor Immortality, and
the Roof—but ye shall know of this hereafter! Spoil thyself if
so thou readest thyself; but if it is written adorn thyself, then
spare not the uttermost farthing, but deck thyself with all the
jewels and gems of earth; and from a child playing with the
sands on the sea-shore shalt thou become God, whose
footstool is the Abyss, and from whose mouth goeth forth the
sword of the salvation and destruction of the worlds, and in
whose hand rest the seven stars of heaven.
199
THE WANTON
THERE is a woman, young, and beautiful, and wise, who
grows not old as she dances down the centuries: she was in the
beginning, and she will be in the end, ever young, ever
enticing, and always inscrutable. Her back is to the East and
her eyes are towards the night, and in her wake lieth the
world. Wherever she danceth, there man casteth the sweat
from his brow and followeth her. Kings have fled their
thrones for her; priests their temples; warriors their legions;
and husbandmen their ploughs. All have sought her; yet
ever doth she remain subtle, enticing, virginal. None have
known her save those little ones who are born in the cave
under the cavern; yet all have felt the power of her sway.
Crowns have been sacrificed for her; gods have been blasphemed
for her; swords have been sheathed for her; and the
fields have lain barren for her; verily! the helm of man's
thoughts has been cloven in twain by the magic of her voice.
For like some great spider she has enticed all into the silken
meshes of her web, wherein she hath spun the fair cities of
the world, where sorrow sits tongueless and laughter abideth
not; and tilled the fertile plains, where innocence is but as
the unopened book of Joy. Yet it is she also who hath led
armies into battle; it is she who hath brought frail vessels
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safely across the greedy ocean; it is she who hath enthroned
priests, crowned kings, and set the sword in the hand of the
warrior; and it is she who hath helped the weary slave to guide
his plough through the heavy soil, and the miner to rob the
yellow gold from the bowels of the earth. Everywhere will you
find her dancing down empires, and weaving the destiny of
nations. She never sleeps, she never slumbers, she never rests;
ever wakeful, day and night, her eyes glisten like diamonds as
she danceth on, the dust of her feet burying the past,
disturbing the present, and clouding the future. She was in
Eden, she will be in Paradise!
I followed her, I abandoned all for her; and now I lie, as a
fevered man, raving in the subtle web of her beauty.
Lo! there she stands swaying between the gates of Light
and Darkness under the shadow of the Three of the
Knowledge of Good and Evil, whose fruits are death; yet none
that have not tasted thereof can tell whether they be sweet or
bitter to the tongue. Therefore all must pluck and eat and
dream. But when the time cometh for the mystic child to be
born, they shall awake, and with eyes of fire behold that on
the summit of the mountain in the centre of the garden there
groweth the Tree of Life.
Now round the trunk of the Tree and the lower branches
thereof there twines a woman, wild, wanton, and wise; whose
body is as that of a mighty serpent, the back of which is
vermilion, and the belly of red-gold; her breasts are purple,
and from her neck spring three heads.
And the first head is as the head of a crownéd priestess,
and is of silver, and on her brow is set a crown of pearls, and
her eyes are as blue as the sapphire; but upon perceiving man
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they turn green and yellow as the water of a troubled sea; and
her mouth is as a moonstone cleft in twain, in which lurks a
tongue born of flame and water.
And on beholding her, I cried to her in a loud voice, saying:
“O Priestess of the Veil who art throned between the Pillars of
Knowledge and Ignorance, pluck and give me of the fruit of
the Tree of Life that I may eat thereof, so that my eyes shall
be opened, and that I become as a god in understanding, and
live for ever!”
Then she laughed subtly, and answered me saying:
“Understanding, O fool that art so wise, is Ignorance. Fire
licketh up water, and water quencheth fire; and the sword
which one man fleeth from, another sheatheth in his breast.
Seek the Crown of Truth, and thou shalt be shod with the
sandals of Falsehood; unclasp the girdle of Virtue, and thou
shalt be wrapped in the shroud of Vice.”
And, when she had finished speaking, she wove from her
lips around me a net-work of cloud and of flame; and in a
subtle song she sang to me: “In the web of my tongue hast
thou been caught; in the breath of my mouth shalt thou be
snared. For Time shall be given unto thee wherein to seek all
things; and all things shall be thy curse, and thine
understanding shall be as the waves of the sea ever rolling
onwards to the shore from whence they came; and when at the
height of their majesty shall their pride and dominion be
dashed against the rocks of Doubt, and all thy glory shall
become as the spume and the spray of shattered waters, blown
hither and thither by the storm.”
Then she caught me up in the web of her subtleties and
breathed into my nostrils the breath of Time; and bore me to
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the Abyss, where all is as the darkness of Doubt, and there she
strangled me with the hemp and the silk of the abominations
and arrogance of mine understanding.
And the second head is as the head of a young woman
veiled with a veil as clear as rock crystal, and crowned with a
crown fashioned in the shape of a double cube around which
is woven a wreath of lilies and ivy. And her countenance is as
that of Desolation yet majestic as an Empress of Earth, who
possessing all things yet cannot find a helpmeet worthy to
possess her; and her eyes are as opals of light; and her tongue
as an arrow of flame.
And on beholding her I cried in a loud voice saying: “O
Princess of the Vision of the Unknown, who art throned as a
sphinx between the hidden mysteries of Earth and Air, give
me of the fruit of the Tree of Life that I may eat thereof, so
that mine eyes shall be opened, and I may become as a god in
understanding, and live for ever!”
And when I had finished speaking she wept bitterly and
answered me saying: “Verily if the poor man trespass within
the palace gate, the king's dogs shall be let loose so that they
may tear him in pieces. Also, if the king seek shelter in the
hut of the pauper the louse taketh refuge in his hair, and
heedeth not his crown nor his cap of ermine and gold. Now,
thou, O wise man who art so foolish, askest for Understanding;
yet how shall it be given unto him who asketh for it, for in the
giving it it ceaseth to be, and he who asketh of me is unworthy
to receive. Wouldst thou enter the king's palace in rags and
beg crumbs of his bounty? Take heed lest, the king
perceiving thee not, his knaves set the hounds upon thee, so
that even the rags that thou possessest are torn from thee: or,
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even should the kind cast his eyes on thee, that he be not
overcome with fury at the presumption of thine offence, and
order thee to be stripped naked and beaten from his garden
with staves back to the hovel whence thou camest. And
being a king, if thou seekest knowledge and understanding in
a beggar's hut, thou shalt become as an abode of vermin, and
a prey to hunger and thirst, and thy limbs shall be bitten by
cold and scorched with fire, and all thy wealth will depart
from thee and thy people will cast thee out and take away
thy crown. Yet there is hope for the beggar and the king,
and the balances which sway shall be adjusted, and the sun
shall drink up the clouds, and the clouds shall swallow the
sun, and there shall be neither darkness nor light. Pledge
thy pride and it will become but the habitations of vermin,
pledge thy humility and thou shalt be cast out naked to the
dogs.”
Then when she had finished speaking she bared her breast
to me, and it was as the colour of the vault of heaven at the
rising of the sun; and she took me in her arms and did caress
me, and her tongue of fire crept around and about me as the
hand of a sly maid. Then I drank in the breath of her lips, and
it filled me as with the spirit of dreams and of slumber, so that
I doubted that the stars shone above me, and that the rivers
flowed at my feet. Thus all became as a vast Enigma to me, a
riddle set in the Unknowability of Space.
Then in a subtle voice she sang to me: “I know not who
thou art, or whence thou camest; whether from across the
snowy hills, or from over the plains of fire. Yet I love thee;
for thine eyes are as the blue of still waters, and thy lips ruddy
as the sun in the West. Thy voice is as the voice of a
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shepherd at even, calling together his flock in the twilight.
Thy breath is as the wind blown from across a valley of musk;
and thy loins are lusty as red coral washed from the depths of
the sea. Come, draw nigh unto me, O my love: my sister
ensnared thee with her subtle tongue, she gave thee to suck
from the breasts of Time: come, I will give thee more than
she, for I will give unto thee as an inheritance my body, and
thou shalt fondle me as a lover, and as a reward for thy love
will I endow thee with all the realms of Space—the motes in
the sunbeam shall be thine, and the starry palaces of night, all
shall be thine even unto the uttermost depths of Infinity.” So
she possessed me, and I her.
And the third head is as the head of a woman neither
young nor old, but beautiful and compasionate; and on her
forehead is set a wreath of Cypress and Poppies fastened by a
winged cross. And her eyes are as star-sapphires, and her
mouth is as a pearl, and on the lips crouches the Spirit of
Silence.
And on beholding her I cried to her in a loud voice, saying:
“O Thou Mother of the Hall of Truth! Thou who art both
sterile and pregnant, and before whose judgment-seat tremble
the clothed and the naked, the righteous and the unjust, give
me of the fruit of the Tree of Life, that I may eat thereof so
that mine eyes shall be opened, and that I become as a god in
understanding, and live forever!”
Then I stood before her listening for her answer, and a
great shaking possessed me, for she answered not a word; and
the silence of her lips rolled around me as the clouds of night
and overshadowed my soul, so that the Spirit of life left me.
Then I fell down and trembled, for I was alone.
205
THE SLAVE
THE blue vault of heaven is red and torn as the wound of a
tongueless mouth; for the West has drawn her sword, and the
Sun lies sweltering in his blood. The sea moans as a
passionate bridegroom, and with trembling lips touches the
swelling breasts of night. Then wave and cloud cling
together, and as lovers who are maddened by the fire of their
kisses, mingle and become one.
Come, prepare the feast in the halls of the Twilight!
Come, pour out the dark wine of the night, and bring in the
far-sounding harp of the evening! Let us tear from our
burning limbs the dusty robes of the morning, and, naked,
dance in the silver radiance of the moon. Voices echo from
the darkness, and the murmur of many lips lulls the stillness
of departing day, as a shower in springtime whispering
amongst the leaves of the sprouting beech trees. Now the
wolves howl outside, and the jackals call from the thicket; but
none heed them, for all inside is as the mossy bank of a
sparkling streamlet—full of softness and the flashing of many
jewels.
O where art thou, my loved one, whose eyes are as the
blue of the far-off hills? O where art thou whose voice is as
the murmur of distant waters? I stretch forth mine hands and
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feel the rushes nodding in the wind; I gaze through the
shadows, for the night mist is rising from the lake; but thee I
cannot find. Ah! there thou art by the willow, standing
between the bulrush and the water-lily, and thy form is as a
shell of pearl caught up by the waves in the moonlight.
Come, let us madden the night with our kisses! Come, let us
drink dry the vats of our passion! Stay! Why fleest thou from
me, as the awakened mist of the morning before the arrows of
day? Now I can see thee no more; thou art gone, and the
darkness hath swallowed thee up. O wherefore hast thou left
me, me who loved thee, and wove kisses in thine hair?
Behold, the Moon hath followed thee! Now I see not the
shadows of the woods, and the lilies in the water have become
but flecks of light in the darkness. Now they mingle and melt
together as snow-flakes before the sun, and are gone; yea! the
stars have fled the skies, and I am alone.
How cold has grown the night, how still! O where art
thou! Come, return unto me, that I stray not in vain; call unto
me that I lose not my way! Lighten me with the brightness of
thine eyes, so that I wander not far from the path and become
a prey to the hunger of wild beasts!
I am lost; I know not where I am; the mossy mountains
have become as hills of wind, and have been blown far from
their appointed places; and the waving fields of the valleys
have become silent as the land of the dead, so that I hear
then not, and know not whither to walk. The reeds whisper
not along the margin of the lake; all is still; heaven has
closed her mouth and there is no breath in her to wake the
slumber of desolation. The lilies have been sucked up by
the greedy waters, and now night sleeps like some mighty
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serpent gorged on the white flesh and the warm blood of the
trembling maidens of dawn, and the wild youths of the noontide.
O my dove, my loved one! Didst thou but approach as a
wanderer in the wilderness, thine hair floating as a raiment of
gold about thee, and thy breasts lit with the blush of the
dawn! Then would mine eyes fill with tears, and I would leap
towards thee in the madness of my joy; but thou comest not. I
am alone, and tremble in the darkness like the bleached
bones of a giant in the depths of a windy tomb.
There is a land in which no tree groweth, and where the
warbling of the birds is as a forgotten dream. There is a
land of dust and desolation, where no river floweth, and
where no cloud riseth from the plains to shade men's eyes
from the sand and the scorching sun. Many are they who
stray therein, for all live upon the threshold of misery who
inhabit the House of joy. There wealth taketh wing as a
captive bird set free, and fame departeth as a breath from
fainting lips; love playeth the wanton, and the innocence of
youth is but as a cloak to cover the naked hideousness of
vice; health is not known, and joy lies corrupted as a corpse in
the grave; and behind all standeth the great slave master
called Death, all-encompassing with his lash, all-desolating in
the naked hideousness and the blackness wherewith he
chastiseth.
“I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought,
and behold all was vanity and vexation of spirit.” Yea! all
are of dust, and turn to dust again, and the dead know not
anything. Health has left me, wealth has departed from me,
those whom I love have been taken from me, and now Thou
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(O my God!) hast abandoned me, and cast me out, and setting
a lock upon Thy lips hast stopped Thine ears with wax and
covered Thine eyes with the palms of Thine hands, so that
Thou seest me not, nor hearest me, nor answerest unto my
bitter cry. Thus I am cast out from Thy presence and sit
alone as one lost in a desert of sand, and cry unto Thee,
thirsting for Thee, and then deny Thee and curse Thee in my
madness, until death stop the blasphemies of my lips with the
worm and the dust of corruption, and I am set free from the
horror of this slavery of sorrow.
I am alone, yea! alone, sole habitant of this kingdom of
desolation and misery. Hell were as Paradise to this solitude.
O would that dragons came from out the deep and devoured
me, or that lions tore me asunder for their food; for their fury
would be as milk and honey unto the bitterness of this torture.
O cast unto me a worm, that I may no longer be alone, and
that in its writhings on the sand I read Thine answer to my
prayer! Would I were in prison that I might hear the groans of
the captives; would I were on the scaffold that I might listen
to the lewd jests of bloody men! O would I were in the grave,
wound in the roots of the trees, eyeless gazing up into the
blackness of death!
Between the evening and the morning was I born, like a
mushroom I sprang up in the night. At the breast of
desolation was I fed, and my milk was as whey, and my meat
as the bitterness of aloes. Yet I lived, for God was with me;
and I feared, for the devil was at hand. I did not understand
what I needed, I was afraid, and fear was as a pestilence unto
my soul. Yet was I intoxicated and drunken on the cup of life,
and joy was mine, and reeling I shrieked blasphemies to the
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storm. Then I grew sober, and diced with mine
understanding, and cheated mine heart, and lost my God, and
was sold into slavery, and became as a coffin-worm unto the
joy of my life. Thus my days grew dark, and I cried unto
myself as my spirit left me: “O what of to-day which is as the
darkness of night? O what then of to-morrow which is as the
darkness of Eternity? Why live and tempt the master's lash?”
So I sought the knife at my girdle to sunder the thread of my
sorrow; but courage had taken flight with joy, and my hand
shook so that the blade remained in its sheath. Then I cried
unto myself: “Verily why should I do aught, for life itself hath
become unto me as a swordless scabbard”—so I sat still and
gloomed into the darkness.
210
THE WARRIOR
THERE is an indifference which overleaps satisfaction; there is
a surrender which overthrows victory, there is a resignation
which shatters the fetters of anxiety, a relaxation which casts
to the winds the manacles of despair. This is the hour of the
second birth, when from the womb of the excess of misery is
born the child of the nothingness of joy. Solve! For all must
be melted in the crucible of affliction, all must be refined in
the furnace of woe, and then on the anvil of strength must it
be beaten out into a blade of gleaming joy. Coagula!
Weep and gnash your teeth, and sorrow sits crowned and
exultant; therefore rise and gird on the armour of utter
desolation! Slay anger, strangle sorrow, and drown despair;
then a joy shall be born which is beyond love or hope,
endurable, incorruptible. Come heaven, come hell! Once the
Balances are adjusted, then shall the night pass away, and
desire and sorrow vanish as a dream with the breath of the
morning.
The war of the Freedom of Souls is not the brawling of
slaves in the wine-dens, or the haggling of the shopmen in the
market-place; it is the baring of the brand of life, that
unsheathing of the Sword of Strength which lays all low
before the devastation of its blade. Life must be held in
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contempt—the life of self and the life of others. Here there
must be no weakness, no sentiment, no reason, no mercy. All
must taste of the desolation of war, and partake of the blood of
the cup of death. O! warriors, ye cannot be too savage, to
barbarous, too strong. On, O storm-blown sons of the fire of
life! Success is your password; destruction is your standard;
Victory is your reward!
Heed not the shrieking of women, or the crying of little
children; for all must die, and not a stone must be left
standing in the city of the World, lest darkness depart not.
Haste! bring flint and steel, light the match, fire the thatch
of the hovel and the cedar rafters of the palace; for all must
be destroyed, and no man must delay, or falter, or turn back,
or repent. Then from the ashes of Destruction will rise the
King, the birthless and the deathless one, the great monarch
who shall shake from his tangled beard the blood of strife,
and who shall cast from his weary hand the sword of desolation.
Yea! from out the night flashes a sword of flame, from out
the darkness speeds an arrow of fire!
I am alone, and stand at the helm of the barque of Death,
and laugh at the fury of the waves; for the prow of my laughter
smiteth the dark waters of destruction into a myriad jewels of
unutterable and uttermost joy!
I am alone, and stand in the centre of the desert of Sorrow,
and laugh at the misery of earth: for the music of my laughter
whirleth the sands of desolation into a golden cloud of
unutterable and uttermost joy!
I am alone, and stand on the storm cloud of life, and
laugh at the shrieking of the winds; for the wings of my
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laughter sweep away the web of outer darkness, and reveal
the stars of unutterable and uttermost joy!
I am alone, and stand on the flames of the mountains of
pleasure, and laugh at the fire of rapture; for the breath of my
laughter bloweth the bright flames into a pillar of unutterable
and uttermost joy.
I am alone, and stand amongst the ghosts of the dead, and
laugh at the shivering of the shades, for the heart of my
laughter pulseth as a mighty fountain of blood clothing the
shadows of night with the spirit of unutterable and uttermost
joy!
I am alone, yea alone, one against all; yet in my sword have
I all things; for in it lives the strength of my might, and if joy
come not at my beckoning, then joy shall be slain as a
disobedient slave, and if sorrow depart not at my command,
then shall sorrow speed through the valley of death as a foe
that passeth not his neck beneath the yoke.
In the bastion of mine imagination lie all the munitions of
my might; and from the tower of my resolution do I sweep
away the stars, and pour forth fire and water on the world of
laughter and weeping. I cannot be despoiled, for none can
approach me; I cannot be succoured, for I am far beyond the
path of man's help. Yet neither would I if I could; for if I
could, I would not; and if I would, I could not; for I have
become as a giant amongst men, strong as he can only be who
has feasted on the agony of life, and drunken of the cup of the
sorrow of death, and towered above all things.
Laugher is mine, not the laughter of bitterness, nor the
laughter of jest; but the laughter of strength and of life. I
live like a mighty conquering Lord and all things are mine.
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Fair groves and gardens, palaces of marble and fortresses of
red sandstones; and the coffers of my treasury are filled with
gold and silver and precious stones; and before my path the
daughters of pleasure dance with unbraided tresses, scattering
lilies and roses along my way. Life is a joy indeed, a rapture of
clinging lips and of red wine, which flows in beads along the
bronze and purple tresses, and then like rubies of blood finds
refuge between the firm white breasts of maddened
maidenhood.
Hark! . . . What is that, the yelping of a dog? No, it is the
death-cry of a man! . . . Ay! the biting of sharp swords, and
the shrieking of many women. Ho! the feast has indeed
begun, the rabble have broken in, scythes glisten in the torchlight
and tables are overturned; wine is gulped down by filthy
mouths, and spilt and mingled with the blood of the
slaughtered children of Eros, so that the banquet of love has
become the shambles of death. . . .
Now all is still and the rose has given birth to the poppy,
and the bronze tresses of the revellers lie motionless as snakes
gorged on clotted blood, and shimmer wantonly in the
moonlight between discovered limbs and disemboweled
entrails. Soon the quivering maggots, which once were the
brains of men, will lick up the crumbs of the feast in the
temple of love, and the farce will be ended.
I rise from the corpse of her I kissed, and laugh; for all is
beautiful, more beautiful still; for I create from the godless
butchery of fiends the overpowering grandeur of death.
There she stands before me, rose-limbed, crimson-lipped,
with breast of scarlet flame, her tresses floating about her
like a cloud of ruby fire, and the tongue which creepeth from
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her lips is as a carbuncle wet with the strong blood of warriors.
I laugh, and in the frenzy of my exultation she is mine; and
on that soft bed of bloody corpses do I beget on her the
laughter of the scorn of war, the joy of the contempt of
sorrow.
Life is a horror, a writhing of famished serpents, yet I care
not, for I laugh. The deserts awe me not, neither do the seas
restrain the purpose of my mirth. Life is as prisoner in a
dungeon, still I laugh; for I, in my strength, have begotten a
might beyond the walls of prisons; for life and death have
become one to me—as little children gambolling on the sands
and splashing in the wavelets of the sea. I laugh at their
pretty play, and upon the billows of my laughter do I build up
the Kingdom of the Great in which all carouse at one table.
Here virgins mingle with courtesans, and the youth and the
old man know neither wisdom nor folly.
I have conquered the deserts and the forests, the valleys
and the mountains, the seas and the lands. My palace is built
of fire and water, of earth and of air, and the secret place
within the sanctuary of my temple is as the abode of
everlasting mirth. All is love, life, and laugher; death and
decay are not: all is joy, purity, and freedom; all is as the fire of
mystery; all is all; for my kingdom is known as the City of
God.
The slave weepeth, for he is alone; O be not slaves unto
yourselves, lashing your backs with the sorrows of your own
begetting. But rather become strong in the widowhood of
your joy, and evoke from the horror of your seclusion the
morion of the victory of resolution, and from the misery of
your loneliness, the sword of the destruction of desire. Then
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215
shall ye turn your faces towards the West, and stride after the
night of desolation, and on the cup of the sunset shall ye
become strong as warriors fed on the blood of bulls, and shall
step out past the morning and the night in the manliness of
might, to the conquest of thyself, and to the usurpation of the
Throne of God!
216
THE KING
THE King is the undying One; he is the life and the master of
life; he is the great living image of the Sun, the Sun, and the
begetter of the Sun. He is the Divine Child, the Godbegotten
One, and the Begetter of God. He is the potent bull,
the jewelled snake, the fierce lion. He is the monarch of the
lofty mountains, and the lord of the woods and forests, the
indweller of the globes of flame. As a royal eagle he soars
through the heavens, and as a great dragon he churns up the
waters of the deep. He holds the past between his hands as a
casket of precious stones, the future lies before him clear as a
mirror of burnished silver, and to-day is as an unsheathed
dagger of gold at his girdle.
As a slave who is bold becomes a warrior, so a warrior who
is fearless becomes a king, changing his battered helm of
strength for a glittering crown of light; and as the warrior
walks upright with the fearlessness of disdain in his eyes, so
does the king walk with bowed head, finding love and beauty
wherever he goeth, and whatever he doeth is true and lovely,
for having conquered his self, he ruleth over his self by love
alone, and not by the laws of good and evil, neither proudly
nor disdainfully, neither by justice nor by mercy. Good and
Evil is not his, for he hath become as an Higher Intelligence,
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217
as an Art enshrined in the mind; and in his kingdom actions
no longer defile, and whatever his heart inclineth him to do,
that he doeth purely and with joy. And as the countenance
of a singer may be ruddy or white, fair or dark, never-
theless, the redness or the whiteness, the fairness or the
darkness, affect not the song of his lips, or the rapture
of his music; similarly, neither does man-made virtue
and vice, goodness and wickedness, strength and weakness,
or any of the seeming opposites of life, affect or control the
actions of the King; for he is free-born from the delusions
and the dream of opposites, and sees things as they are,
and not as the five senses reflect them on the mirror of the
mind.
Now he who would become as a king unto himself must
not renounce the kingdoms of this world, but must conquer
the lands and estates of others and usurp their thrones.
Should he be poor he must aim at riches without forfeiting
his poverty; should he be rich he must aim at possessing
poverty as well, without taking one farthing from the coffers
of his treasury. The man of much estate must aim at
possessing all the land, until there is no kingdom left for
him to conquer. The Unobtainable must be obtained, and in
the obtaining of it is to be found the Golden Key of the
Kingdom of Light. The virgin must become as the wanton,
yet though filled with all the itchings of lust, she must in no
wise forfeit the purity of her virginity; for the foundations of
the Temple are indeed set between Day and Night, and the
Scaffolding thereof is as an arch flung between Heaven and
Hell. For if she who is a virgin become but as a common
strumpet, then she indeed falls and rises not, becoming in her
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fall but a clout in the eyes of all men, a foul rag wherewith to
sop up the lusts of flesh. So, verily, if she who being a
courtesan, becometh as an untouched virgin, she shall be
considered as a thing of naught, being both sterile and
loveless; for what profit shall she be to this world who is the
mother of unfruitfulness? But she who is both crimson and
white, a twisted pillar of snow and fire, soothing where she
burneth, and comforting where she chilleth, she shall be held
as queen amongst women; for in her all things are found, and
as an inexhaustible well of water around whose mouth grows
the wild apricot, in which the bees set their sweet hives, she
shall be both food and drink to the hearts of men: a well of life
unto this world, yea! a goodly tavern wherein cool wine is
sold, and good cheer is to be had, and where all shall be filled
with the joyaunce of love.
Thus shall men attain to the unity of the crown and
become as kings unto themselves. But the way is long and
hilly and beset with many pitfalls, and it traverses a foul and a
wild country. Indeed we see before us the towers and the
turrets, the domes and the spires, the roofs and the gables,
glittering beyond the purple of the horizon, like the helmets
and spears of an army of warriors in the distance. But on
approaching we find that the blue of the sky-line encompasses
a dark wood wherein are all things unmindful of the Crown,
and where there is darkness and corruption, and where lives
the Tyrant of the World clothed in a robe of fantastic desires.
Yet it is here that the Golden Key has been lost, where the
hog, the wolf, the ape, and the bearded goat hold revel. Here
are set the pavilions of dreams and the tented encampments
of sleep, in which are spread the tables of demons, and where
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219
feast the wantons and the prudes, the youths and the old men,
and all the opposites of virtue and of vice. But he who would
wear the crown must find the key, else the door of the Palace
remains closed, for none other than he can open it for him.
And he who would find the Key of Gold must seek it here in
the outer court of the World, where the flatterers, and the
parasites, and the hypocrites, buzz like flies over the fleshpots
of life.
Now he who enters the outer court sees set before him
many tables and couches, at which with swollen veins revel
the sons of the gluttony of life. Here men, in their furious
love of greed, stuff their jaws with the luxuries of decay,
which a little after go to the dunghill; and vomit their sour
drink on one another as a certain sign of their good fellowship.
Here they carouse together drunkenly as in a brothel
filling the world with the noise of cymbal and drum, and the
loud-sounding instruments of delusion, and with shouts of
audacious shame. Here are their ears and eyes pleasantly
titillated by the sound of the hissing of the frying-pans, and
the sight of the bubbling of stews; and courting voracity,
with necks stretched out, so that they may sniff up the
wandering steam of the dishes, they fill their swollen bellies
with things perishable, and drink up the gluttonies of life.
Yet he who would partake of the Banquet of Light must pass
this way and sojourn a while amongst these animals, who are
so filled with swinish itchings and unbridled fornications
that they perceive not that their manger and their dunghill
lie side by side as twins in one bed. For a space he must listen
to the hiccuping of those who are loaded with wine, and
the snorting of those who are stuffed with food, and must
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watch these lecherous beasts who insult the name of man
rolling in their offal, gambolling, and itching with a filthy
prurience after the mischievous delights of lewdness,
drunkenly groping amongst the herds of long-haired boys
and short-skirted girls, from whom they suck away their
beauty, as milk from the udders of a goat. He must dwell
for a time with these she-apes, smeared with white paint,
mangled, daubed, and plastered with the “excrement of
crocodiles” and the “froth of putrid humours,” who are known
as women. Disreputable hags who keep up old wives'
whispering over their cups, and who, as filthy in body as in
mind, with unbridled tongues clatter wantonly as they giggle
over their sluttish whisperings, shamelessly making with
their lips sounds of lewdness and fornication. And wanton
young dabs with mincing gait swing their bodies here and
there amongst the men, their faces smeared with the ensnaring
devices of wily cunning. Winking boldly and babbling
nonsense they cackle loudly, and like fowls scratching the
dunghill seek the dirt of wealth; and having found it, pass
their way to the gutter and the grave loaded with gold like a
filthy purse.
O seeker! All this must thou bear witness to, and become
a partaker in, without becoming defiled or disgusted, and
without contempt or reverence; then of a certain shalt
thou find the Golden Key which turneth the bolt of evil from
the staple of Good, and which openeth the door which leadeth
unto the Palace of the King, wherein is the Temple. For
when thou hast discovered Beauty and Wisdom and Truth in
the swollen veins, in the distended bellies, in the bubbling
lips, in the lewd gambollings, in the furious greed, the wanton
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221
whisperings, the sly winkings, and all the shameless nonsense
of the Outer Court, then indeed shalt thou find that the Key
of gold is only to be found in the marriage of wantonness
and chastity. And taking it thou shalt place it in the lock of
cherubic fire which is fashioned in the centre of the door of
the King's house, which is built of ivory and ebony and
studded with jet and silver; and the door shall open for a
time as if a flame had been blown aside, and thou shalt see
before thee a table of pearl on which are set the hidden waters
and the secret bread of the Banquet of Light. And thou
shalt drink and eat and become bright as a stream of molten
silver; and, as the light of the body is the eye, so shalt thy true
self become as an eye unto thee, and see all things, even the
cup of the third birth; and, taking it, thou shalt drink from the
cup the eucharist of Freedom, the wine of which is more
fragrant than the sweet-scented grapes of Thrace, or the
musk- breathing vines of Lesbos, and is sweeter than the
vintage of Crete, and all the vineyards of Naxos and Egypt.
And thou shalt be anointed with sweet-smelling nards, and
unguent made from lilies and cypress, myrtle and amaranth,
and of myrrh and cassia well mixed. And in thine hair shall
be woven rose-leaves of crimson light, and the mingling love-
liness of lilies and violets, twined as the dawn with night.
And about thee shall waft a sweeter fragrance than the
burning of frankincense, and storax, and lign-aloes; for it is the
breath of the Temple of God. Then shalt thou step into the
King's Palace, O warrior! and a voice more musical than the
flute of ivory and the psaltery of gold, clear as a bell of
mingled metals in the night, shall call unto thee, and thou
shalt follow it to the throne which is as a perfect cube of
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flaming gold set in a sea of whiteness; and then shalt thou be
unrobed of sleep and crowned with the silence of the King—
the silence of song, of thought, and of reason, that
unthinkable silence of the Throne.
223
THE WHITE WATCH-TOWER
CHAOS and ancient night have engulfed me; I am blind. I
crouch on the tower of uttermost silence awaiting the coming
of the armies of the dawn.
O whence do I come, where am I, O whither do I go? For
I sit maddened by the terrors of a great darkness. . . . What do
I hear? Words of mystery float around me, a music of voices, a
sweetness, as of the scent of far burning incense; yea! I see, I
hear, I am caught up on the wings of song. Yet I doubt, and
doubt that I doubt . . . I behold!
See! the night heaves as a woman great with child, and
the surface of the black waters shimmers as the quivering skin
of one in the agony of travail. . . . The horizon is cleft and
glows like a womb of fire, the hosts of the night are scattered,
I am born, and the stars melt like flakes of snow before mine
eyes. . . .
Lo! there she stands, born in maturity, shaken from out
the loins of the darkness, as a rainbow from the purple jars of
the thunder. Her hair is as a flood of dancing moon-beams,
woven with golden ears of corn, and caught up by flashing
serpents of malachite and emerald. On her forehead shines
the crescent moon, pearl-like, and softly gleaming with the
light of an inner light. Her garment is as a web of translucent
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silver, glistening white and dew-like, now rippling with all the
colours of the rainbow, now rushing into flames crimson and
gold, as the petals of the red-rose, woven with poppy, and
crocus, and tulips. And around her, as a cloud of irradiant
mystery gleaming with darkness, and partly obscuring the
softness of her form, sweeps a robe, woven of a network of
misty waters, and flashing with a myriad stars of silver; and in
its midst, as a great pearl of fire drawn from the depths of the
seas, a full moon of silver trembles glowing with beams of
opalescent light—mystic and wonderful. In her right hand
she holds a sistrum, and chimes forth the music of the earth,
and in her left an asp twisted to the prow of a boat of gold,
wherein lie the mysteries of heaven.
Then clear and sweet as the breath of the hillside, I heard
a voice, as of the winds across a silver harp, saying:
I am the Queen of the heavenly ones, of the Gods, and of
the Goddesses, united in one form. I am She who was, who is,
and will be; my form is one, my name is manifold; under the
palm-trees, and in the deserts, in the valleys, and on the
snowy mountains, mankind pays me homage, and thunders
forth praises to my name. Yet I am nameless in the deep, as
amongst the lightsome mountains of the sky. Some call me
Mother of the Gods, some Aphrodite of the seas of pearl,
some Diana of the golden nets, some Proserpina Queen of
Darkness, some Hecate mistress of enchantments, some Istar
of the boat of night, some Miriam of the Cavern, and others
yet again Isis, veiled mother of Mystery.
I am she who cometh in unto all men, and if not here,
then shalt thou behold Me amidst the darkness of Acheron,
and as Queen in the palaces of Styx. I am the dark night
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225
that bringeth forth the bright day; I am the bright day that
swalloweth up the dark night; that bright day that hath
been begotten by the ages, and conceived in the hearts of
men; that dawn in which storms shall cease their roaring, and
the billows of the deep shall be smoothed out like a sheet of
molten glass.
Then I was carried away on the wings of rapture, and in
the strength of my joy I leapt from the tower of Night; but as I
fell, she caught me, and I clung to her and she became as a
Daughter of this world, as a Child of God begotten in the
heart of man. And her hair swept around and about me, in
clouds of gold, and rolled over me, as sunbeams poured out
from the cups of the noon. Her cheeks were bright with a soft
vermilion of the pomegranate mingling with the whiteness of
the lily. Her lips were half open, and her eyes were deep,
passionate, and tremulous, as the eyes of the mother of the
human race, when she first struggled in the strong arms of
man; for I was growing strong in her strength, I was becoming
a worthy partner of her glory.
Then she clung to me, and her breath left her lips like
gusts of fire mingled with the odours of myrtle; and in mine
arms she sang unto me her bridal song:
“Come, O my dear one, my darling, let us pass from the
land of the plough to the glades and the groves of delight!
There let us pluck down the clustered vine of our trembling,
and scatter the rose-leaves of our desire, and trample the
purple grapes of our passion, and mingle the foaming cups of
our joy in the glittering chalice of our love. O! love, what
fountains of rapture, what springs of intoxicating bliss well
up from the depths of our being, till the foaming wine jets
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forth hissing through the flames of our passion—and splashes
into immensity, begetting a million suns.
“I have watched the dawn, golden and crimson; I have
watched the night all starry-eyed; I have drunk up the blue
depths of the waters, as the purple juice of the grape. Yet,
alone in thine eyes, do I find the delights of my joy, and in thy
lips the vintage of my love.
“The flowers of the fields have I gazed on, and the gay
plumage of the birds, and the distant blue of the mountains;
but they all fade before the blush of thy cheeks; and as the
ruby goblet of the Sun is drained by the silver lips of
night, so are they all swallowed up in the excess of thy
beauty.
“I have breathed in the odour of roses and the fragrance of
myrtle, and the sweet scent of the wild jessamine. I have
drunk in the breath of the hillside, and the perfume of the
woods and the seas; yet thy breath is more fragrant than they,
it is sweeter still, it intoxicateth me and filleth me with joy, as
a rich jar of wine found in the depths of a desert of salt—I
have drunk deep and am bewildered with love.
“I have listened to the lark in the sky, to the curlew, and to
the nightingale in the thicket, and to all the warblers of the
woods, to the murmur of the waters and to the singing of the
winds; yet what are they to the rapture of thy voice? which
echoes in the valley of my breast, and trills through the depths
of my being.
“I have tasted the juice of the peach, and the sweetness of
honey and milk; but the wine of thy lips is strong as the
aromatic vintage of Egypt, and sweet as the juice of the datepalms
in the scented plains of Euphrates: Ay! let me drink
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227
till I reel bewildered with kisses and pleasure . . . O my
love! . . . my love! . . . O my love!”
Then I caught up her song and cried: “Yea! O Queen of
the Night, O arrow of brightness drawn from the quiver of the
moon! O Thou who hast ensnared me in the meshes of thine
hair, and caught me up on the kisses of thy mouth; O thou
who hast laid aside thy divinity to take refuge in mine arms,
listen!
“I have drunk deep of the flagons of passion with the
white-veiled virgins of Vesta, and the crimson-girdled
daughters of Circe, and the drowsy-eyed maidens of Ind. I
have woven love with the lithe girls of Hellas, and the subtlelimbed
women of Egypt whose fingers are created to caress;
all the virgins of Assyria, and the veiled beauties of Arabia,
have been mine; yet amongst them all have I not found one to
compare to a lash on the lid of thine eye. O Thou art as the
wine of ecstasy, a thousand times more delicious than all
these. Ah! but what is this languor which cleaves to me? My
strength has left me; my soul has mingled with thine; I am
not, and yet I am. Is it Thy weakness that I feel?”
“Nay, O lover, for it is only at the price of the illusion of
my strength that thou hast given me the pleasure of unity
which I have tasted in thine arms. Beauty has conquered me
and drunk up the strength of my might; I am alone, and all
things are mine in the mystery of my loneliness.
“Evoe! life burns in the brasier of love as a ruby flame in a
sapphire bowl. I am dead, yet I live for ever!”
Arise, O sleeper, for the night of loneliness hath rolled up
the hangings of her couch, and my heart is burning like a sun
of molten brass; awake before the Beast riseth and enter the
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sanctuary of Eden and defile the children of dawn. Thou
Child-Man, cast off the cloak of dreams who before thy sleep
wast enraptured with the strength of love. Fair and fresh didst
thou come from the woods when the world was young, with
breast like the snowy hills in the sunlight, and thine hair as a
wind-ravished forest of oak, and thine eyes deep and still as
the lakes of the mountains. No veil covered thee, and thou
didst revel naked in the laughter of the Dawn, and under the
kisses of mid-day didst thou leap with the sun, and the
caressing hands of night laid thee to rest in the cradle of the
moon. Thoughts did not tempt thee, Reason played not the
prude with thee, nor imagination the wanton. Radiant child
that thou art, thou didst grow in the light that shone from
thine eyes, no shadow of darkness fell across thy path: thy
love was strong and pure—bright as the stars of night, and
deep as the echoing depths of hills of amber, and emerald,
and vermilion.
Awake! tear from thy limbs the hempen ropes of darkness,
arise!—fire the beacon of the awakenment of the nations, and
night shall heave as an harlot great with child, and purity shall
be born of corruption, and the light shall quiver through the
darkness, an effulgence of opals like the beams of many
colours irradiated from the L. V. X.
Through the night of reckoning hast thou passed,and thy
path hath been wound around the land of darkness under the
clouds of sleep. Thou hast cleft the horizon as a babe the
womb of its mother, and scattered the gloom of night, and
shouted in thy joy: “Let there be light!” Now that thou has
seized the throne, thou shalt pass the portals of the tomb and
enter the Temple beyond.
THE TEMPLE OF SOLOMON THE KING
229
There thou shalt stand upon the great watch-tower of Day,
where all is awakenment, and gaze forth on the kingdom of
the vine and the land of the houses of coolness. Thou shalt
conquer the Empire of the Sceptre, and usurp the Kingdom of
the Crown, for thou art as a little child, and none shall harm
thee, no evil form shall spring up against thee. For Yesterday
is in thy right hand, and To-morrow in thy left, and To-day is
as the breath of thy lips. . . . . . . . .
I am the Unveiled One standing between the two
horizons, as the sun between the arms of Day and Night. My
light shineth upon all men, and none can do me harm, neither
can the sway of my rule be broken. I am the Unveiled one
and the Unveiler and the Re-veiler; the world lieth below me
and before me, and in the brilliance of mine eyes crouch the
images of things that be. Space I unroll as a scroll, and Time
chimeth from mine hand as the voice of a silver bell. I ring
out the birth and the death of nations, and when I rise worlds
pass away as feathers of smoke before the hurricane. . . . . .
Yet, O divine Youth who has created thyself! What art
thou? Thou art the birthless and the deathless one, without
beginning and without end! Thou paintest the heavens
bright with rays of pure emerald light, for thou art Lord of the
beams of Light. Thou illuminest the two lands with rays of
turquoise and beryl, and sapphire, and amethyst; for Lord of
Love, Lord of Life, Lord of Immensity, Lord of Everlastingness
is thy name. Thou hast become as a tower of Effulgence,
whose foundations are set in the hearts of me, yea! as a
mountain of chrysoleth slumbering in the Crown of Glory!
whose summit is God!
[Book II “The Scaffolding” will appear in No. 2.]
THE HERB DANGEROUS
I. The Pharmacy of Hashish. By E. WHINERAY, M.P.S.
II. The Psychology of Hashish. With an attempt at a new
classification of the mystic states of mind known to me,
with a plea for Scientific Illuminism. By OLIVER
HADDO.
III. The Poem of Hashish. By CHARLES BAUDELAIRE.
(Translated.)
IV. Selections illustrating the Psychology of Hashish, from
“The Hashish-Eater.” By H. S. LUDLOW.

233
A PHARMACEUTICAL STUDY
OF CANNABIS SATIVA
(BEING A COLLATION OF FACTS AS KNOWN
AT THE PRESENT DATE)
CANNABIS INDICA was introduced into England by O'Shaughnessy,
and the first extract was made by the late Mr. Peter
Squire, the well-known pharmacist of Oxford Street. According
to the “British Pharmacopeia” the official variety may
consist of the flowering or fruiting tops; and is frequently of
inferior quality, seeing that the fruiting tops yield less resin.
According to the “Journal” of the Chemical Society's
Transactions, the important constituent is a resin. The active
principle is stated to be a red oil, Cannabinol, which is liable
to be come oxidised and inert.
Its medicinal properties are sedative, anodyne, hypnotic
and antispasmodic. It has been used with success in migraine
and delirium, neuralgia, pain of the last stages of phthisis and
in acute mania, also in menorrhagia and dysmenorrhoea.
(“Squire's Companion,” Page 167, 1904 edition.)
It does not produce constipation or loss of appetite; on the
contrary it restores the appetite which had been lost by chronic
opium or chloral drinking. (1889, Lancet, vol. 1. page 65.)
THE EQUINOX
234
Dr. Martindale remarks that recently the Cannabis
imported had more toxic effects than formerly (this in spite of
the fact that a high export duty has been placed upon the
drug); it has indeed been stated that toxic symptoms have
been produced by doses of the extract within the official
limits. According to the “British Pharmacopeia” the dose is ¼
to 1 grain. The Lancet vol. i, page 1042 (1908), records two
interesting cases of toxic symptoms caused by taking
overdoses of the tincture.
Antidotes for Cannabis poisoning are the stomach-pump or
emetics followed by stimulating draughts of brandy and water
or strong coffee, vegetable acids, such as lemon juice or
vinegar.
Dr. Robert Hooper in his “Lexicon Medicum” (page 315),
published in 1848, says: “Cannabis Indica is a variety of hemp
much used in the East as an excitant. The Hindoos call it
Bangue, the Arabs Hasheesh, the Turks Malach.
“The leaves are chewed or smoked like those of tobacco
and an intoxicating liquor is prepared from them. This plant
is also used by the Hottentots who call it Dacha.”
The following article by Mr. David Hooper, F.C.S., F.L.S.
(Curator of the Botanical Gardens at Calcutta) read at the last
meeting of the British Pharmaceutical Conference at
Aberdeen, throws a certain amount of light on to the
commercial side of the question. At the close of the discussion
Mr. D. B. Dott, an eminent Scottish Pharmacist, remarked
that Professor Stockman had refuse to investigate the drug, s
it was useless. Mr. Edmund White, Ph.C., considered that the
deterioration of the drug was due to enzymes, and suggested
careful storage to preclude enzymic activity.
A PHARMACEUTICAL STUDY
235
CHARAS OF INDIAN HEMP
BY DAVID HOOPER, F.C.S., F.L.S.
Although “charas” has been properly described as “a foul
and crude drug, the use of which is properly excluded from
civilised medicine,” it is imported into British India to the
value of £120,000 per annum, a total exceeding the combined
value of all the other medicinal imports, so that it is an article
which deserves more than passing notice. Indian hemp
(Cannabis Sativa), when grown in the East, secretes an
intoxicating resinous matter on the upper leaves and flowering
spikes, the exudation being marked in plants growing
throughout the Western Himalayas and Turkestan, where
charas is prepared as a commercial article. Formerly it was
cultivated in fields in Turkestan, but now it is grown as a
border around other crops (such as maize), the seeds of both
being sown at the same time. A sticky exudation (white
when damp and greyish when dry) is found on the upper parts
of the plant before the flowers show, and in April and May,
when the plants attain a height of 4 or 5 ft. and the seeds
ripen, the Cannabis is gathered, after reaping the crops, and
stored in a cool, dry place. When dry the powdery resinous
substance can be detached by even slight shaking, the dust
being collected on a cloth. In some districts the plants are
cut close to the roots, suspended head downwards, and the
dust or gard shaken from them and collected on sheets placed
on the floor. The leaves, seeds, etc., are picked out, and
sand, etc., separated by passing through a fine sieve, the
powder being collected and stored in cloth or skin bags,
when it is ready for export. In some villages the charas or
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236
extract is made up into small balls, which are collected by the
middleman.
On reaching British territory all charas is weighed before
the nearest magistrate, by whom it is sealed, a certificate of
weight swigned by the Deputy Commissioner being given to
the owner. The trader, before leaving the district, obtains a
permit allowing him to take the drug to a special market.
The zamindars of Chinese Turkestan are the vendors of the
drug, the importers being Yarkhandis or Ladakhis, who dispose
of it at Hoshiapur and Amritsar principally, returning
with piece-goods, or Amritsar merchants who trade with
Ladakh. The drug in this way reaches the chief cities of the
Punjab during September and October. Thence it is distributed
over the Central and United Provinces as far as
Bombay and Calcutta, and is used everywhere for smoking.
Charas, though a drug, plays the part of money to a great
extent in the trade that is carried on at Ladakh, the price of
the drug depending on the state of the market, and any
fluctuations causing a corresponding increase or decrease in
the value of the goods for which it is bartered. The exchange
price of charas thus gives rise to much gambling. A pony-
load (two pais or three maunds) sells for Rs. 40 or Rs. 50,
the cost of transport to Hoshiapur (the chief Punjab depot) is
Rs. 100, and there it fetches from Rs. 30 to Rs. 100 per
maund. Retail dealers sell small quantities at a price that
works out at Rs. 200 to Rs. 500 per maund. Five years ago
the Kashgar growers, encouraged by the high prices, sowed a
large crop and reaped a bumper harvest, only to find the
market already overstocked and prices on the Leh Exchange
fallen from Rs. 60 to RS. 30 per maund. The following are
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237
the imports of charas from Ladakh and Kashmir between 1904
and 1907:
1904-5 1905-6 1906-7
Cwt. . . 2818 . . . 2446 . . . 2883
Value . . Rs. 12,13,860 . . . Rs. 18,39,960 . . . Rs. 22,90,560
Small quantities of charas are made, chiefly for local
consumption, in the Himalayan districts of Nepal, Kumaon,
and Garhwal, and in Baluchistan. Samples of Baluchistan
charas made in the Sarawan division of the Kalat State have
been sent to the Indian Museum by Mr. Hughes-Buller.
The following is the mode of preparation.
“The female ‘bhang’ plants are reaped when they are waist
high and charged with seed. The leaves and seeds are
separated and half dried. They are then spread on a carpet
made of goat's hair, another carpet is spread over them and
slightly rubbed. The dust containing the narcotic principle
falls off, and the leaves, etc., are removed to another carpet
and again rubbed. The first dust is the best quality, and is
known as nup; the dust from the second shaking is called
tahgalim, and is of inferior quality. A third shaking gives gania,
of still lower quality. Each kind of dust is made unto small
balls called gabza, and kept in cloth bags. The first quality is
recognised by the ease with which it melts.”
The local rates per tola are: for first quality 2a.5p., second
quality 1a.7p., and third quality 11p. Small quantities of
charas find their way from Thibet into British and Native
Garhwal, and a little is prepared in Simla and Kashmir; while
other sources are Nepal and the hill districts of Almora and
Garhwal. In preparing Nepal charas, the ganja-plant is
squeezed between the palms of the hands, and the sticky
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238
resinous substance scraped off. Momea, black wax-like cakes,
valued at Rs. 10 per seer, and Shahjehani, sticks containing
portions of leaf, valued at Rs. 3 per seer, are the two kinds of
Nepal charas, a few maunds being exported annually to
Lucknow and Cawnpore. No charas is made in the plains of
India, except a small quantity in Gwalior, the Bengal ganja
yielding no charas in all the handling it undergoes in the process
of perparation—thus emphasising the fact that the intoxicating
secretion is developed in plants growing where the altitude
and climate are suitable, as in the Himalayas and Turkestan.
Adulterations.—Aitchison in 1874 stated that no charas of
really good quality ever came to Leh, the best charas in the
original balls being sent to Bokhara and Kokan. He said the
chief adulterant is the mealy covering of the fruits of the wild
and cultivated Trebizond date (Eloeagnus hortensis). The
impression in the United Provinces and the Punjab is that the
Yarkhand drug is sophisticated, and a preference is given in
some quarters to the Nepal and other Himalayan forms, which
command a higher price. The Special Assistant in Kashgar
declares there is no advantage in increasing the weight, as
when dealers in India buy the drug they test it, otherwise they
would pay a heavy duty on the adulterant as well as on the
charas itself; so no exporter at present would spoil his charas
by adding extraneous substances.
Mr. Hooper added descriptions of samples, namely:
Kashgar charas, Yarkhand charas, Baluchistan charas, Gwalior
charas, Kumaon charas, Garhwal charas, Nepal charas and
Momea charas, from Simla.
Chemical Examination.—The table of analyses appended is
taken from the author's report to the Indian Hemp Drug
A PHARMACEUTICAL STUDY
239
Commission of 1893-4, but a few recent analyses have been
added:
Description of Charas
Extract,
Alcoholic
Vegetable
Matter
Ash
Soluble
Sand
Volatile
Matter
Yarkhand 40.0 18.2 23.9 11.4 6.5
Amballa “Mashak” 42.7 12.9 12.4 28.2 5.8
Amritsar “Bhara” 38.1 14.9 10.8 29.8 6.4
” “Mashak” 46.5 12.6 10.0 27.3 3.6
Delhi Dust, 12a. 42.4 17.9 9.8 25.9 4.0
” 1r. 1a. 42.6 18.8 11.1 23.2 4.3
” “Mashak”
1r. 9a.
41.1 11.3 10.7 29.5 7.4
Bombay 36.1 20.2 11.8 27.3 4.6
Gwalior 43.3 27.7 8.2 17.7 3.1
Kumaon (wild) 22.4 52.0 9.2 7.4 9.1
” (cult.) 34.2 46.3 9.0 3.0 7.5
Garhwal 41.9 37.0 7.9 5.5 7.7
Almora 36.9 40.5 10.5 4.6 7.5
Nepal 44.6 35.1 8.2 6.5 5.6
” “Shahjehani” 44.4 37.7 9.6 4.1 4.2
Simla "Momea" . . 37.0 32.0 12.3 9.3 9.4
Baluchistan (1) 1903 22.4 19.9 14.8 38.6 4.3
” (2) ” 22.0 35.2 20.8 15.1 6.9
” (3) 1905 24.2 16.0 13.3 39.3 7.2
” (4) ” . . 26.0 24.1 9.6 31.0 9.3
” (5) ” 24.9 27.3 11.5 25.8 10.5
Kashgar (1) 40.2 21.1 9.2 16.8 12.7
” (2) 40.9 16.3 9.9 20.5 12.4
” (3) 48.1 15.6 8.2 16.1 12.0
According to Fluckiger and Hanbury, charas yields onefourth
to one- third of its weight of amorphous resin, and it
has been stated that good samples yield 78 per cent. of resin.
It will be seen above that the average yield in the North
Indian samples is 40 per cent., the highest being from Kashgar
and the lowest from Baluchistan and from Kumaon wild
plants, the last-named corresponding to a good sample of
ganja.
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240
Physiological Values.—Captain J. F. Evans. I.M.S., Chemical
Examiner to the Government of Bengal, also gave results of
his physiological tests in the Indian Hemp Drug
Commission's Proceedings for 1893-4. His experiments were
made with alcoholic extracts, and only one sample --- Amritsar
best charas --- approached in definite physiological effects the
extract, taken as a standard, prepared from Bengal ganja. The
following are the values compared with that of Amritsar
mashak, designated as 32:
Amritsar Mashak . . . 32 Bombay . . . . 4
Delhi Mashak . . . 24 Amballa Mashak . . 2
Amballa Mashak . . . 23 Delhi dust . . . . 2
Garhwal . . . . . 21 Kumaon wild . . . 1
Delhi dust (2nd) . . . 20 Kumaon cultivated . . 1
Amritsar Bhara . . . 19 Gwalior . . . . 1
so that the best Amritsar charas is thirty-two times as potent as
the Gwalior product, the latter from plants grown in the
plains, while the amount of alcoholic extract bears no relation
to the physiological activity of the drug.
Professor Greenish in his well-known work on Materia
Medica says the Cannabis Indica is an annual dioecious herb
indigenous to Central and Western Asia, but largely cultivated
in temperate countries for its strong fibres (hemp) and its oily
seed (hemp-seed) and in tropical countries also for the resinous
secretions which it there produces. The secretion possesses
very valuable and powerful medicinal properties; but it is not
produced in the plant when grown in temperate climates; on
the other hand the fibre of the plant under the latter condition
is much stronger than that of the tropical plant.
The hemp plant grown in India differs, however, in certain
A PHARMACEUTICAL STUDY
241
particulars from that grown in Europe; and the plant was
formerly considered a distinct species and named Cannabis
Indica, but this opinion is now abandoned.
The cultivation of hemp for its seed and fibre dates from
very remote periods. It was used as an intoxicant by the
Persians and Arabians in the eleventh and twelfth centuries
and probably much earlier, but was not introduced into
European medicine until the year 1838. For medicinal use it is
grown in the districts of Bogra and Rajshaki to the North of
Calcutta and westward, thence through central India to
Gujerat. Very good qualities of the drug are purchased in
Madras, but the European market is chiefly supplied with
inferior grades from Ghalapur.
The pistillate plants by which alone the resin is secreted in
any quantity are pruned to produce flowering branches, the
tops of these flowering branches are collected, allowed to wilt,
and then pressed by treading them under the feet into more
or less compact masses. This forms the drug known as
“ganjah,” or (on the London market) Guaza.
The larger leaves are collected separately; when dried they
are known as “bhang.”
During the manipulations to which the plant is subjected
in preparing the drug, a certain quantity of the resin is
separated; it is collected and forms the drug known as
“charas” (Churrus). Charas is also prepared by rubbing
ganjah between the hands or by men in leather garments
brushing against the growing plants, in any case separating
part of the active adhesive resin; hence the official description
limits the drug to that from which the resin has not been
removed.
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242
All these forms of the drug are largely used in India for
producing an agreeable form of intoxication; ganjah and charas
are smoked, while bhang is used to prepare a drink or
sweetmeat.
The drug has a powerful odour, but is almost devoid of taste.
Numerous attempts have been made to isolate the active
constituent of Indian hemp; it is not possible here to do more
than allude to the chief late ones.
In 1881 Siebold and Bradbury isolated a thick yellowish
oily liquid which they termed Cannabinine and their results
were confirmed in 1884 by Warden and Waddell.
In 1894 Robert separated a dark red syrupy mass possessing
intoxicating properties and in 1896 Wood, Spivey, and
Easterfield obtained from charas under reduced pressure
certain inactive terpenes and a viscous resin Cannabinol which
when warmed melts to an oily liquid. Cannabinol when taken
internally induces delirium and sleep, and, as far as at present
known, is the intoxicating constituent of Indian hemp.
In addition to this principle Matthew Hay in 1883 obtained
colourless crystals of an alkaloid tetano-cannabine which in
physiological action resembled strychnine.
Cannabis Indica was formerly used as a hypnotic and
anodyne but is uncertain in its action.
It is administered in mania and hysteria as an anodyne and
antispasmodic.
Mr. E. M. Holmes, F.L.S., Curator of the Pharmaceutical
Society's Museum, writing on the subject of Cannabis Indica
says “The Dervishes make a preparation by macerating the
resinous type in almond oil and give a small quantity of it in
soup to produced prolonged sleep.”
A PHARMACEUTICAL STUDY
243
A strong dose of Cannabis produces curious hallucinations
abolishing temporarily the ideas of time and distance; but the
ordinary drug as imported is never the current crop, which the
Hindoos keep for their own use. The active principle
Cannabinol (as far as is known) rapidly oxidises and loses its
properties so that if a really active preparation is required, it is
best to get it made in India, using absolute alcohol and the
fresh tops, or recently made charas, which, being a solid mass,
does not readily oxidise.
Before closing it might be well to notice in detail the final
investigations made by Messrs. Wood, Spivey, and
Easterfield.
The following is re-printed from the “Proceedings of the
Chemical Society” for 1897-8, and is to be found on page 66.
CANNABINOL
“The Authors have continued their examination of
Cannabinol, the toxic resinous constituent of Indian Hemp
(Trans. 1896, 69, 539).
“The substance boils with slight decomposition at about
400° its absorption spectrum shows no characteristic bands, its
vapour-density at the temperature of boiling Sulphur
corresponds with the formula C18H24O2 already assigned to the
compound.
“An account is given of the reaction of Cannabinol with
Acetic Anhydride, benzoyl Chloride and phosphoric Anhydride;
the results indicate that one hydroxyl group is present.
In the case of Acetic Anhydride or Acetyl chloride, however, a
crystalline compound melting at 75° is one of the products of the
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244
reaction. The Authors assign the formula C15H18O2 to this
compound. The same compound has recently been described
by Dunstan and Henry (Proc. 1898, 14, 44, Feb. 17), who
ascribe the formula C18H22OAc to it, fuming hydriodic Acid
gives no methyl or ethyl iodide when boiled with Cannabinol.
Reduction with hydrodic Acid in sealed tubes produces a
hydro-carbon, C10H20.
“By long boiling with or without dehydrating agents a
hydro-carbon C10H16 is formed.
“Oxidation with aqueous chromic acid, alkaline or acid
permanganate or dilute nitric acid is accompanied by the
production of a caproic acid, lower fatty acids being probably
produced at the same time. The action of fuming nitric acid
upon cannabinol dissolved in cold glacial acetic acid removes
one carbon atom as carbonic anhydride, and produces a red
amorphous substance which gives numbers on analysis
agreeing with the formula C17H20N2O6.
“This substance when boiled with nitric acid yields a lightred
substance C17H20N2O8 which upon further oxidation yields
among other substances a yellow acid crystalline compound
C13H15N2O5, which forms sparingly soluble crystalline sodium,
ammonium and silver salts and is probably a dinitrophenol,
and a compound C11H11NO4, the properties of which agree
closely with those of the oxycannabin of Bolas and Francis
(Chemical News 1871, 24, 77).
“This compound has the properties of a nitro-lactone, as
has already been shown by Dunstan and Henry.
“Corresponding crystalline potassium and silver Salts have
been prepared and analysed. The name Cannabinic Acid is
proposed for the unnitrated parent oxy-acid.
A PHARMACEUTICAL STUDY
245
“Amido-Cannabinolactone, C11H11O2NH2 is obtained in
colourless crystals melting at 119° when the nitro-lactone is
reduced either by hydriodic acid, or by tin and hydrochloric
acid.
“The base is readily re-crystallised from hot water, its salts
cannot be recrystalised from water without decomposition; the
hydriodide and the platinochloride have been analysed.”
In a later paper read before the Chemical Society Messrs.
Wood, Spivey, and Easterfield (Proc. Chem. Soc. 1897-8, page
184) say:
“The oily lactone prepared from nitrocannabinolactone
(oxycannabin) is shown to be a metatolybutyrlactone,
oxycannabin being the corresponding nitroderivative.
“By the oxidation of Cannabinolactone a lactonic acid is
produced which on fusion with potash yields isophthalic acid.
Nitrocannabinolactonic acid is obtained by oxidising oxycannabin
either by nitric acid in sealed tubes or by potassium
permanganate. The volatile fatty acids produced on oxidising
Cannabinol by nitric acid are shown to be normal butyric
(Dunstan and Henry, Proc. Chem. Soc. 1898, 14, 44) normal
valeric and normal caproic acids, Valeric acid being formed in
largest amount.”
Through the courtesy of Messrs. Parke, Davis and Co.,
manufacturing chemists of London and Detroit, Michigan,
U.S.A., we are enabled to reproduce a clear pharmacological
study of the drug by E. M. Houghton, Ph.C., M.D.; and H. C.
Hamilton, M.S. (Excerpt from an article in the American
Journal of Pharmacy for January 1908.)
From several samples of Cannabis Americana fluid
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246
extracts and solid extracts were prepared according to the
U.S.P., and were tested upon animals for physiological
activity.
The method of assay, which has previously been called to
the attention of this Society, is that which one of us (Houghton)
devised and has employed for the past twelve years. This
method consists essentially in the careful observation of the
physiological effects produced upon dogs from the internal
administration of the preparation of the drug under test. It is
necessary in selecting the test animals to pick out those that
are easily susceptible to the action of the Cannabis, since dogs
as well as human beings vary considerably in their reaction to
the drug. Also, preliminary tests should be made upon the
animals before they are finally selected for test purposes, in
order that we may know exactly how they behave under given
conditions. After the animals have been finally selected and
found to respond to the standard test dose, 0.01 Gm. per kilo,
they are set aside for this particular work, care being taken to
have them well fed, well housed, and in every way kept under
the best sanitary conditions. Usually we have found it
desirable to keep two or more of the approved animals on
hand at all times, so there may not be delay in testing samples
as they come in.
In applying the test, the standard dose (in form of solid
extract for convenience) is administered internally in a small
capsule. The dog's tongue is drawn forward between the
teeth with the left hand and the capsule placed on the back
part of the tongue with the right hand. The tongue is then
quickly released and the capsule is swallowed with ease. In
order that the drug may be rapidly absorbed, food should be
A PHARMACEUTICAL STUDY
247
withheld for twenty-four hours before the test and an efficient
cathartic given if needed.
Within a comparatively short time the dog begins to show
the characteristic action of the drug. There are three typical
effects to be noticed from active extracts on susceptible
animals: first a stage excitability, then a stage of incoordination,
followed by a period of drowsiness. The first of
these is so dependent on the characteristics of the dog used
that it is of little value for judging the activity of the drug,
while with only a few exceptions the second, or the stage of
inco-ordination, invariably follows in one or two hours; the dog
loses control of its legs and of the muscles supporting its head,
so that when nothing occurs to attract its attention its head
will droop, its body sway, and, when severely affected, the
animal will stagger and fall, the intoxication being peculiarly
suggestive and striking.
Experience is necessary on the part of the observer to
determine just when the physiological effects of the drug
begin to manifest themselves, since there is always, as in the
case of many chemical tests, a personal factor to be guarded
against. When an active extract is given to a susceptible
animal, in the smallest dose that will produce any perceptible
effect, one must watch closely for the slightest trace of
incoordination, lack of attention, or drowsiness. It is
particularly necessary for the animals to be confined in a room
there nothing will excite them, since when their attention is
drawn to anything of interest the typical effect of the drug
may disappear.
The influence of the test dose of the unknown drug is
carefully compared with that of the same dose of the standard
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248
preparation administered to another test dog at the same time
and under the same conditions.
Finally, when the animals become drowsy, the
observations are recorded and the animals are returned to
their quarters.
The second day following, the observations upon the two
dogs are reversed, i.e., the animal receiving the test dose of the
unknown receives a test dose of the known, and vice versa, and
a second observation is made. If one desires to make a very
accurate quantitative determination, it is advisable to use, not
two dogs, but four or five, and to study the effects of the test
dose of the unknown specimen in comparison with the test
dose of the known, making several observations on alternate
days. If the unknown is below standard activity, the amount
should be increased until the effect produced is the same as
for the test dose of the standard. If the unknown is above
strength, the test dose is diminished accordingly. From the
dose of the unknown selected as producing the same action as
the test dose of the standard, the amount of dilution or
concentration necessary is determined. The degree of
accuracy with which the test is carried out will depend largely
upon the experience of the observer and the care he exercises.
Another point to be noted in the use of dogs for
standardising Cannabis is that, although they never appear to
lose their susceptibility, the same dogs cannot be used
indefinitely for accurate testing. After a time they become so
accustomed to the effects of the drug they refuse to stand on
their feet, and so do not show the typical inco-ordination
which is its most characteristic and constant action.
Previous to the adoption of the physiological test over
twelve years ago, we were often annoyed by complaints of
A PHARMACEUTICAL STUDY
249
physicians that certain lots of drugs were inert; in fact some
hospitals, before accepting their supplies of hemp preparations,
asked for samples in order to make rough tests upon their
patients before ordering. Since the adoption of the test we
have not had a well-authenticated report of inactivity,
although many tons of the various preparations of Cannabis
Indica have been tested and supplied for medicinal purposes.
At the beginning of our observations careful search of the
literature on the subject was made to determine the toxicity of
the hemp. Not a single case of fatal poisoning have we been
able to find reported, although often alarming symptoms may
occur. A dog weighting 25 pounds received an injection of two
ounces of an active U.S.P. fluid extract in the jugular vein
with the expectation that it would certainly be sufficient to
produce death. To our surprise the animal, after being
unconscious for about a day and a half, recovered completely.
This dog received, not alone the active constituents of the
drug, but also the amount of alcohol contained in the fluid
extract. Another dog received about 7 grammes of Solid
Extract Cannabis with the same result. We have never been
able to give an animal a sufficient quantity of a U.S.P. or other
preparation of the Cannabis (Indica Americana) to produce
death.
There is some variation in the amount of extractive
obtained, as would be expected from the varying amount of
stems, seeds, etc., in the different samples. Likewise there is
a certain amount of variation in the physiological action, but in
every case the administration of 0.01 gramme of the extract
per kilo body weight, has elicited the characteristic symptoms
in properly selected animals.
THE EQUINOX
250
The repeated tests we have made convince us that
Cannabis Americana properly grown and cured is fully as
active as the best Indian drug.
Furthermore, we have placed our quantities of fluid extract
and solid extract of Cannabis Americana in the hands of
experienced clinicians, and from eight of these men, who are
all large users of the drug, we have received reports which
state that they are unable to determine any therapeutic
difference between the Cannabis Americana and the
Cannabis Indica.
CONCLUSIONS
1. The method, outlined in the paper, for determining the
physiological activity of Cannabis Sativa by internal
administration to especially selected dogs, has been found
reliable when the standard dose of extract 0.01 gramme per
kilo body weight, is tested on animals, the effects being noted
by an experienced observe in comparison with the effects of
the same quantity of a standard preparation.
2. Cannabis Sativa, when grown in various localities of the
United States and Mexico, is found to be fully as active as the
best imported Indian-grown Cannabis Sativa, as shown by
laboratory and clinical tests.
Much has been written relative to the comparative activity
of Cannabis Sativa grown in different climates (Cannabis
Indica, Mexicana and Americana). It has been generally
assumed that the American-grown drug was practically
worthless therapeutically, and that Cannabis Sativa grown in
India must be used if one would obtain physiologically active
preparations.
A PHARMACEUTICAL STUDY
251
Furthermore, it has been claimed that the best Indian drug
is that grown especially for medicinal purposes, the part used
consisting of the flowering tops of the unfertilised female
plants, care being taken during the growing of the drug to
weed out the male plants. According to our experience, this is
an erroneous notion, as we have repeatedly found that the
Indian drug which contains large quantities of seed is fully as
active as the drug which consists of the flowering tops only,
provided the seed be removed before percolation.
Several years ago we began a systematic investigation of
American-grown Cannabis Sativa. Samples from a number of
localities were obtained and carefully investigated. From
these samples fluid and solid extracts were prepared according
to the Pharmacopoeial method, and carefully tested upon
animals for physiological activity, and eventually they were
standardised by physiological methods. Repeated tests have
convinced us that Cannabis Americana properly grown and
cured is fully as active as the best Indian drug, while on the
other hand we have frequently found Indian Cannabis to be
practically inert.
Before marketing preparations of Cannabis Americana,
however, we placed specimens of the fluid and solid extracts
in the hands of experienced clinicians for practical test; and
from these men, all of whom had used large quantities of
Cannabis Indica in practice, we have received reports which
affirm that they have been unable to determine any therapeutic
difference between Cannabis Americana and Cannabis Indica.
We are, therefore, of the opinion that Cannabis Americana,
will be found equally as efficient as, and perhaps more
uniformly reliable than Cannabis Indica obtained from abroad,
THE EQUINOX
252
since it is evident that with a source of supply at our very
doors proper precautions can be taken to obtain crude drug of
the best quality.
The proper botanical name of the drug under consideration
is Cannabis Sativa. The Indian plant was formerly
supposed to be a distinct species per se, but botanists now
consider the two plants to be identical. The old name of
Cannabis Indica, however, has been retained in medicine.
Cannabis Indica simply means Cannabis Sativa grown in the
Indies, and Cannabis Americana means Cannabis Sativa
grown in America. Its introduction into Western medicine
dates from the beginning of the last century, but it has been
used as an intoxicant in Asiatic countries from time
immemorial, and under the name of “hashish,” “bhang,”
“ganja,” or “charas,” is habitually consumed by upwards of
two hundred millions of human beings.
The physiological action of Cannabis Americana is
precisely the same as that of Cannabis Inidca. The effects of
this drug are said to be due chiefly to its action upon the
central nervous system. It first produces a state of excitement
similar to that of the initial stage of acute alcoholism. This
excitement of the motor areas and other lower centres in the
brain, according to W. E. Dixon, of the University of
Cambridge, “is not the result of direct stimulation of these,
but is due to depression of the highest and controlling centres.
At all events there is a depression of the highest centres, and
this is shown by diminished efficiency in the performance of
mental work, by inability to concentrate attention, and by
feeble judgment.” In lower animals the effects of Cannabis
Indica resemble those in man, and present the same
A PHARMACEUTICAL STUDY
253
variations. A stage of exaltation with increased movements is
sometimes present, and is followed by depression, lassitude
and sleep. Reflex excitability is first increased and then
diminished. Cannabis Indica differs from opium in producing
no disturbance of digestion and no constipation. The heart is
generally accelerated in man when the drug is smoked. Its
intravenous injection into animals slows the pulse, partly
through inhibitory stimulation and partly through direct action
upon the heart muscle. The pupil is generally somewhat
dilated. Death from acute poisoning is extremely rare, and
recovery has occurred after enormous doses. The continued
abuse of hashish by natives of the East sometimes leads to
mania and dementia, but does not cause the same disturbance
of nutrition that opium does; and the habitual use of small
quantities, which is almost universal in some Eastern
countries, does not appear to be detrimental to health.
Cannabis Americana is employed for the same medicinal
purposes as Cannabis Indica, which is frequently used as a
hypnotic in cases of sleeplessness, in nervous exhaustion, and
as a sedative in patients suffering from pain. Its greatest use
has perhaps been in the treatment of various nervous and
mental diseases, although it is found as an ingredient in many
cough mixtures. In general, Cannabis Americana can be used
when a mild hypnotic or sedative is indicated, as it is said not
to disturb digestion, and it produces no subsequent nausea
and depression. It is of use in cases of migraine, particularly
when opium in contra-indicated. It is recommended in
paralysis agitans to quiet the tremors, in spasm of the bladder,
and in sexual impotence not the result of organic disease,
especially in combination with nux vomica and ergot.
THE EQUINOX
254
The ordinary dosage is:
Extractum Cannabis Americanae, 0.01 gramme (1.5 grain).
Fluidextractum Cannabis Americanae, 0.05 cc. (1 minim).
The dosage of Cannabis Americana is the same as that of
Cannabis Indica, as from our experiments we find that there is
no therapeutic difference in the physiological action of the
two drugs.
Cannabis Sativa, when grown in the United States
(Cannabis Americana) under careful precautions, is found to
be fully as active as the best imported Indian-grown Cannabis
Sativa, as shown by the laboratory and clinical tests. The
advantages of using carefully prepared solid and fluid extracts
of the home-grown drug are apparent when it is considered
that every step of the process, from planting of the drug to the
final marketing of the finished product, is under the
supervision of experts. The imported drug varies extremely in
activity and much of it is practically inert or flagrantly
adulterated.
The writer desires to acknowledge the able assistance
given him in preparing the above notes by Mr. E. M. Holmes,
F.L.S., and Mr. S. Jamieson, M.P.S. (Messrs. Parke, Davis and
Co.) Readers acquiring further information on the subject are
referred to the British Pharmaceutical Codex (1907) and
Squire's "Companion to the British Pharmacopoeia," recently
published.
A PHARMACEUTICAL STUDY
255
REFERENCES
Marshall, London Lancet, 1897, i. p. 235.
Dixon, British Medical Journal, 1899, ii p. 136.
Fraenkel, Arch. f. exp. Path. u. Pharm. xlix, p. 266.
Cushny, “Textbook of Pharmacology,” 1906, p. 232.
Houghton and Hamilton, Am. Jour. Pharm., January
1908.
Transactions Chem. Society, 1896, 69, 539.
Proceedings Chem. Soc. 1898, 14, 44, Feb. 17; Ibid. 1898, p.
184.
Squires, “Companion to British Pharmacopoeia,” 1908.
Martindale's “Extra Pharmacopeia,” 1908.
Hooper's “Medical Dictionary.”
Chemist and Druggist.
E. WHINERAY, M.P.S., ETC.

SPECIAL SUPPLEMENT
JOHN ST. JOHN
THE RECORD OF THE MAGICAL RETIREMENT OF
G. H. FRATER O\M\



3
PREFACE
NOBODY is better aware than myself that this account of my
Retirement labours under most serious disadvantages.
The scene should have been laid in an inaccessible
lamaserai in Tibet, perched on stupendous crags; and my
familiarity with Central Asia would have enabled me to do it
quite nicely.
One should really have had an attendant Sylph; and one's
Guru, a man of incredible age and ferocity, should have
frequently appeared at the dramatic moment.
A gigantic magician on a coal-black steed would have
added to the effect: strange voices, uttering formidable things,
should have issued from unfathomable caverns. A mountain
shaped like a Svastika with a Pillar of Flame would have been
rather taking; herds of impossible yaks, ghost-dogs,
gryphons. ...
But my good, friends, this is not the way things happen.
Paris is as wonderful as Lhassa, and there are just as many
miracles in London as in Luang Prabang.
I did not even think it necessary to go into the Bois de
Boulogne and meet those Three Adepts who cause bleeding
at the nose, familiar to us from the writings of Macgregor
Mathers.
THE EQUINOX
4
The Universe of Magic is in the mind of a man: the setting
is but Illusion even to the thinker.
Humanity is progressing; formerly men dwelt habitually in
the exterior world; nothing less than giants and Paynim and
men-at-arms and distressed ladies, vampires and succubi,
could amuse them. Their magicians brought demons from
the smoke of blood, and made gold from baser metals.
In this they succeeded; the intelligent perceived that the
gold and the lead were but shadows of thought. It became
probable that the elements were but isomers of one element;
matter was seen to be but a modification of mind, or (at least)
that the two things matter and mind must be joined before
either could be perceived. All knowledge comes through the
senses, on the one hand; on the other, it is only through the
senses that knowledge comes.
We then continue our conquest of matter; and we are
getting pretty expert. It took much longer to perfect the
telescope than the motor-car. And though, of course, there are
limitations, we know enough to be able to predict them.
We know in what progression the Power to Speed
coefficient of a steamboat rises—and so on.
But in our conquest of Nature, which we are making
principally by the use of the rational intelligence of the mind,
we have become aware of that world itself, so much so that
educated men spend nine-tenths of their waking lives in that
world, only descending to feed and dress and so on at the
imperative summons of their physical constitution.
Now to us who thus live the world of mind seems almost
as savage and unexplored as the world of Nature seemed to
the Greeks.
JOHN ST. JOHN
5
There are countless worlds of wonder unpath'd and
uncomprehended—and even unguessed, we doubt not.
Therefore we set out diligently to explore and map these
untrodden regions of the mind.
Surely our adventures may be as exciting as those of Cortes or
Cook!
It is for this reason that I invite with confidence the
attention of humanity to this record of my journey.
But another set of people will find another
disappointment. I am hardly an heroic figure. I am not The
Good Young Man That Died. I do not remain in holy
meditation, balanced on my left eyelash, for forty years,
restoring exhausted nature by a single grain of rice at intervals
of several months.
You will perceive in these pages a man with all his
imperfections thick upon him trying blindly, yet with all his
force, to control the thoughts of his mind, so that he shall be
able to say “I will think this thought and not that thought” at
any moment, as easily as (having conquered Nature) we are all
able to say “I will drink this wine, and not that wine.”
For, as we have now learnt, our happiness does not at all
depend upon our possessions or our power. We would all
rather be dead than be a millionaire who lives in daily dread of
murder or blackmail.
Our happiness depends upon our state of mind. It is the
mastery of these things that the Magicians of to-day have set
out to obtain for humanity; they will not turn back, or turn
aside.
THE EQUINOX
6
It is with the object of giving the reins into the hands of
others that I have written this record, not without pain.
Others, reading it, will see the sort of way one sets to work;
they will imitate and improve upon it; they will attain to the
Magistry; they will prepare the Red Tincture and the Elixir of
Life—for they will discover what Life means.
7
PROLOGUE
IT hath appeared unto me fitting to make a careful and even
an elaborate record of this Great Magical Retirement, for that
in the first place I am now certain of obtaining some Result
therefrom, as I was never previously certain.
Previous records of mine have therefore seemed vague and
obscure, even unto the wisest of the scribes; and I am myself
afraid that even here all my skill of speech and study may
avail me little, so that the most important part of the record
will be blank.
Now I cannot tell whether it is a part of my personal
Kamma, or whether the Influence of the Equinox of Autumn
should be the exciting cause; but it has usually been at this
part of the year that my best Results have occurred. It may be
that the physical health induced by the summer in me, who
dislike damp and chill, may being forth as it were a flower the
particular kind of Energy—Sammaváyamo—which gives alike
the desire to perform more definitely and exclusively the
Great Work, and the capacity to achieve success.
It is in any case remarkable that I was born in October
(18—); suffered the terrible mystic trance which turned me
toward the Path in October (18—); applied for admission to
G\ D\ in October (18—); opened my temple at B——e in
THE EQUINOX
8
October (18—); received the mysteries of L.I.L. in October
(19—); and obtained the grade of 6° = 5°; obtained the first true
mystic results in October (19—); first landed in Egypt in
October (19—); landed again in Egypt in October (19—); first
parted from . . . in October (19—); wrote the B.-i-M. in
October (19—), and obtained the grade of 7° = 4°; received the
great Initiation in October 19-; and, continuing, received
. . . . . . . . in October 19—.
So then in the last days of September 19— do I begin to
collect and direct my thoughts; gently, subtly, persistently
turning them one and all to the question of retreat and
communion with that which I have agreed to call the Holy
Guardian Angel, whose Knowledge and Conversation I have
willed, and in greater or less measure enjoyed, since Ten
Years.
Terrible have been the ordeals of the Path; I have lost all
that I possessed, and all that I love, even as at the Begin-
ning I offered All for Nothing, unwitting as I was of the
meaning of those words. I have suffered many and grievous
things at the hands of the elements, and of the planets;
hunger, thirst, fatigue, disease, anxiety, bereavement, all those
woes and others have laid heavy hand upon me, and behold!
as I look back upon these years, I declare that all hath been
very well. For so great is the Reward which I (unworthy)
have attained that the Ordeals seem but incidents hardly
worthy to mention, save in so far as they are the Levers by
which I moved the World. Even those dreadful periods of
“dryness” and of despair seem but the necessary lying fallow
of the Earth. All those “false paths” of Magic and Medi-
tation and of Reason were not false paths, but steps upon the
JOHN ST. JOHN
9
true Path; even a a tree must shoot downwards its roots into
the Earth in order that it may flower, and bring forth fruit in
its season.
So also now I know that even in my months of absorption
in worldly pleasure and business, I am not really there, but
stand behind, preparing the Event.
Imagine me, therefore, if you will, in Paris on the last day
of September. How surprised was I—though, had I thought, I
should have remembered that it was so—to find all my
necessary magical apparatus to my hand! Months before, for
quite other reasons, I had moved most of my portable
property to Paris; now I go to Paris, not thinking of a
Retirement, for I now know enough to trust my destiny to
bring all things to pass without anxious forethought on my
part—and suddenly, therefore, here do I find myself—and
nothing is lacking.
I determined therefore to begin steadily and quietly,
allowing the Magical Will to come slowly forth, daily stronger,
in contrast to my old plan, desperation kindling a store of fuel
dried by long neglect, despair inflaming a mad energy that
would blaze with violence for a few hours and then go out—
and nothing done. “Not hurling, according to the oracle, a
transcendent foot towards Piety.”
Quite slowly and simply therefore did I wash myself and
robe myself as laid down in the Goetia, taking the Violet
Robe of an Exempt Adept (being a single Garment), wearing
the Ring of an Exempt Adept, and that Secret Ring which
hath been entrusted to my keeping by the Masters. Also I
took the Almond Wand of Abramelin and the Secret Tibetan
Bell, made of Electrum Magicum with its striker of human
THE EQUINOX
10
bone. I took also the magical knife, and the holy Anointing
Oil of Abramelin the Mage.
I began then quite casually by performing the Lesser
Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram, finding to my great joy
and some surprise that the Pentagrams instantly formulated
themselves, visible to the material eye as it were bars of
shining blackness deeper than the night.
I then consecrated myself to the Operation; cutting the
Tonsure upon my head, a circle, as it were to admit the light
of infinity: and cutting the cross of blood upon my breast, thus
symbolising the equilibration of and the slaying of the body,
while loosing the blood, the first projection in matter of the
universal Fluid.
The whole formulating the Ankh—the Key of Life!
I gave moreover the signs of the grades from 0°=0° to 7°=4°.
Then did I take upon myself the Great Obligation as
follows:
I. I, O.M. &c., a member of the Body of God,
hereby bind myself on behalf of the whole
Universe, even as we are now physically bound
unto the cross of suffering:
II. that I will lead a pure life, as a devoted servant of
the Order:
III. that I will understand all things:
IV. that I will love all things
V. that I will perform all things and endure all
things
VI. that I will continue in the Knowledge and
Conversation of My Holy Guardian Angel:
VII. that I will work without attachment:
JOHN ST. JOHN
11
VIII. that I will work in truth:
IX. that I will rely only upon myself:
X. that I will interpret every phenomenon as a
particular dealing of God with my soul.
And if I fail herein, may my pyramid be profaned, and the
Eye be closed upon me!
All this did I swear and seal with a stroke upon the Bell.
Then I steadily sat down in my Asana (or sacred Posture),
having my left heel beneath my body pressing into the anus,
my right sole closely covering the phallus, the right leg
vertical; my head, neck, and spine in one straight vertical line;
my arms stretched out resting on their respective knees; my
thumbs joined each to the fourth finger of the proper hand.
All my muscles were tightly held; my breath came steady,
slow and even through both nostrils; my eyes were turned
back, in, up to the Third Eye; my tongue was rolled back in
my mouth; and my thoughts, radiating from that Third Eye, I
strove to shut in unto an ever narrowing sphere by
concentrating my will upon the Knowledge and Conversation
of the Holy Guardian Angel.
Then I struck Twelve times upon the Bell; with the new
month the Operation was duly begun.
Oct. 1. The First Day
At Eight o'clock I rose from sleep and putting on my
Robe, began a little to meditate. For several reasons—
the journey and business of the day before, etc., etc., I
did not feel fresh. But forcing myself a little I rose
THE EQUINOX
12
and went out to the Caf‚ du Dôme where I took coffee
and a biroche, after buying an exercise book in which to
write this record.
This was about 8.45; and now (10.10) I have written
thus far. [Including the Prologue, but not the
Preface.—ED.]
10.45. I have driven over to the Hammam through the
beautiful sunshine, meditating upon the discipline of
the Operation.
It seems only necessary to cut off definitely dispersive
things, aimless chatter and such; for the Operation itself
will guide one, leading to disgust for too much food and
so on. It there by upon my limbs any chain that
requires a definite effort to break it, perhaps sleep is
that chain. But we shall see—solvitur ambulando. If any
asceticism be desirable later on, true wariness will soon
detect any danger, and devise a means to meet it and
overcome it.
12.0. Have finished bath and massage, during which I
continued steadily but quite gently, “not by a strain
laborious and hurtful but with stability void of
movement,” willing the Presence of Adonai.
12.5. I ordered a dozen oysters and a beefsteak, and now
(12.10) find myself wishing for an apple chewed and
swallowed by deglutition, as the Hatha Yogis do.
The distaste for food has already begun.
12.12. Impressions already failing to connect.
I was getting into Asana and thinking “I record this
fact,” when I saw a jockey being weighed.
JOHN ST. JOHN
13
12.12. I thought of recording my own weight which I had not
taken.
Good!
12.13. Pranayama [10 seconds to breath in, 20 seconds to
12.24. breathe out, 30 seconds to hold in the breath.] Fairly
good; made me sweat again thoroughly. Stopped not
from fatigue but from lunch.
[Odd memoranda during lunch.
Insist on pupils writing down their whole day; the play
as well as the work. “By this means they will become
ashamed, and prate no longer of ‘beasts.' ”]
I am now well away on the ascetic current, devising all
sorts of privations and thoroughly enjoying the idea.
12.55. Having finished a most enjoyable lunch, will drink
coffee and smoke, and try and get a little sleep. Thus to
break up sleep into two shifts.
2.18. A nice sleep. Woke refreshed.
3.15. Am arrived home, having performed a little business
and driven back.
Will sit down and do Asana, etc.
3.20. Have started.
3.28. 7 Pranayama cycles enough. Doubtless the big lunch is
a nuisance.
I continue meditating simply.
3.36. Asana hurts badly, and I can no longer concentrate at
all. Must take 5 minutes' rest and then persevere.
THE EQUINOX
14
3.41. Began again. I shall take “Hua allalu alazi lailaha illa
hua” for mantra [any sacred sentence, whose constant
repetition produces many strange effects upon the
mind.—ED.] if I want one, or: may Adonai reveal unto
me a special mantra to invoke Him!
3.51. Broke down again, mantra and all.
3.52- Went on meditating in “Hanged Man posture” [Legs
4.14. crossed, arms below head, like the figure of the Hanged
Man in the Tarot Cards.—ED.] to formulate sacrifice
and pain self-inflicted; for I feel such a worm, able
only to remain a few minutes at a time in a position
long since “conquered.” For this reason too I cut again
the Cross of Blood; and now a third time will I do it.
And I will take out the Magical Knife and sharpen it yet
more, so that this body may fear me; for that I am
Horus the terrible, the Avenger, the Lord of the Gate
of the West.
4.15- Read Ritual DCLXXI. [The nature of this Ritual is
4.30. explained later.—ED.]
5.10 I have returned from my shopping. Strange how
solemn and dignified so trivial a thing becomes, once
one has begun to concentrate!
I bought two pears, half a pound of Garibaldi biscuits,
and a packet of Gaufrettes. I had a citron pressé, too, at
the Dôme.
At the risk of violating the precepts of Zoroaster 170
and 144 I propose to do a Tarot divination for this
Operation.
JOHN ST. JOHN
15
5.10. I should explain first that I write this record for other
eyes than mine, since I am now sufficiently sure of
myself to attain something or other; but I cannot
foretell exactly what form the attainment may take. Just
so, if one goes to call upon a friend, he may be walking
or riding or sleeping.
Thus, then, is Adonai hidden from me. I know
where He lives; I know I shall be welcome if I call;
but I do not know whether He will invite me to a
banquet or ask me to go out with him for a long
journey.
It may be that the Rota will give me some hint.
[We have omitted the details of this divination.—ED.]
I am never content with such divinations; trustworthy
enough in material concerns, in the things of the Spirit
one rarely obtains good results.
The first operation was rather meaningless; but one
must allow (a) that it was a new way of dealing those
cards for the opening of an operation; (b) that I had had
two false starts.
The final operation is certainly most favourable; we
shall see if it comes true. I can hardly believe it
possible.
6.10. Will now go for a stroll, get some milk, and settle down
for the evening.
10.50. I regret to have to announce that on going across to the
Dôme with this laudable intention, Nina brought
up that red-headed bundle of mischief, Maryt Waska.
This being in a way a “bandobast” (and so inviol-
able), I took her to dinner, eating an omelette , and
THE EQUINOX
16
10.50. some bread and Camembert, and a little milk.
Afterwards a cup of coffee, and then two hours of the
Vajroli Mudra badly performed.
All this I did with reluctance, as an act of self-denial or
asceticism, lest my desire to concentrate on the mystic
path should run away with me.
Therefore I think it may fairly be counted unto me for
righteousness.
I now drink a final coffee and retire, to do I hope a
more straightforward type of meditation.
So mote it be.
Naked, Maryt looks like Corregio's Antiope. Her eyes
are a strange grey, and her hair a very wonderful
reddish gold—a colour I have never seen before and
cannot properly describe. She has Jewish blood in her, I
fancy; this, and her method of illustrating the axiom
“Post coitum animal triste” made me think of
Baudelaire's “Une nuit que j'etais prés d'une affreuse
Juive”: and the last line
Obscurcir la splendeur des tres froides prunelles.
and Barbey d'Aurevilly's “Rideau Cramoisi” suggested
to me the following poem. [We omit this poem.—ED.]
11.30. Done! i' th' rough! i' th' rough! Now let me go back to
my room, and Work!
(11.47.) Home—undressed—robed—attended to toilet—cut
cross of Blood once more to affirm mastery of Body—
sat down at 11.49 and ended the day with 10
Pranayamas, which caused me to perspire freely, but
were not altogether easy or satisfactory.
JOHN ST. JOHN
17
The Second Day
The Stroke of Twelve found me duly in my Asana,
practising Pranayama.
Let me continue this work; for it is written that unto
the persevering mortal the Blessed Immortals are
swift . . .
What then should happen to a persevering Immortal
like myself?
12.7. Trying meditation and mantra.
12.18. I find thoughts impossible to concentrate; and my
Asana, despite various cowardly attempts to “fudge” it,
is frightfully painful.
12.20. In the Hanged Man posture, meditating and willing the
Presence of Adonai by the Ritual “Thee I invoke, the
Bornless One” and mental formulæ.
12.28. I'm hopelessly sleepy! Invocation as bad as bad could
be—attention all over the place. Irrational
hallucinations, such as a vision of either Eliphaz Levi or
my father (I can't swear which!) at the most solemn
moment!
But the irrational character of said visions is not bad.
They come from nowhere; it is much worse when your
own controlled brain breaks loose.
12.33. I will therefore compose myself to sleep: is it not
written that He giveth unto His beloved even in sleep?
“Others, even in sleep, He makes fruitful from His own
strength.”
THE EQUINOX
18
7.29. Woke and forced myself to rise. I had a number of
rather pleasing dreams, as I seem to remember. But
their content is gone from me; and, in the absence of
the prophet Daniel, I shall let the matter slide.
7.44. Pranayama. 13 cycles. Very tiring; I began to sweat. A
mediocre performance.
8.0- Breakfast. Hatha Yogi—a pear and two gau-
8.20. frettes.
8.53. Have been meditating in Hanged Man position.
Thought dull and wandering; yet once “the conception
of the Glowing Fire” seen as a planet (perhaps Mars).
Just enough to destroy the concentration; then it went
out, dammit!
10.40. Have attended to correspondence and other business
and drunk a citron pressé.
The Voice of the Nadi began to resound.
10.50. Have done “Bornless One” in Asana. Good; yet I am
filled with utter despair at the hopelessness of the
Task. Especially do I get the Buddhist feeling, not
only that Asana is intensely painful, but that all
conceivable positions of the body are so.
11.0. Still sitting; quite sceptical; sticking to it just
because I am a man, and have decided to go through
with it.
11.13. Have done 10 P.Y. cycles. A bit better,and a slight hint
of the Bhuchari Siddhi foreshadowed. Have been
saying mantra; the question arises in my mind:
JOHN ST. JOHN
19
11.13. Am I mixing my drinks unduly? I think not; if one
didn't change to another mystic process, one would
have to read the newspaper.
11.20. This completes my half-hour of Asana. Legs very
painful; yet again I find myself wishing for Kandy
(not sugar candy, but the place where I did my first
Hindu practices and got my first Results) and a life
devoted entirely to meditation. But not for me! I'm
no Pratyeka-Buddha; a Dhamma-Buddha every inch
of me! [A Pratyeka-Buddha attains the Supreme
Reward for himself alone; a Dhamma-Buddha
renounces it and returns to hell (earth) to teach others
the Way.—ED.]
I now take a few minutes “off” to make “considerations.”
I firmly believe that the minutest dose of the Elixir
would operate as a “detonator.” I seem to be perfectly
ready for illumination, if only because I am so perfectly
dark. Yet my power to create magical images is still
with me.
11.40- Hanged Man posture. Will invoke Adonai once more
12.0. by pure thought. Got into a very curious state indeed;
part of me being quite perfectly asleep, and part quite
perfectly awake.
2.10. Have slept, and that soundly, though with many
dreams. Awaking with the utmost horror and loath-
ing of the Path of the Wise—it seemed somehow like a
vast dragon-demon with bronze green wings irides-
cent that rose up startled and angry. And I saw that
THE EQUINOX
20
2.10. the littlest courage is enough to rise and throw off
sleep, like a small soldier in complete armour of silver
advancing with sword and shield—at whose sight that
dragon, not daring to abide the shock, flees utterly away.
2.15. Lunch, 3 Garibaldis and 3 Gaufrettes. Wrote two
letters.
2.50. Going out walk with mantra.
8.3 This walk was in a way rather a success. I got the good
mantra effects, e.g., the brain taking it up of its own
accord; also the distaste for everything but Adonai
became stronger and stronger.
But when I returned from a visit to B–––e on an errand
of comradeship—1½ hours' talk to cut out of this mantrayoga
—I found all sorts of people at the Dôme, where I
drank a citron pressé: they detained me in talk, and at
6.30 Maryt turned up and I had to chew a sandwich and
drink coffee while she dined.
I feel a little headache; it will pass.
She is up here now with me, but I shall try to meditate.
Charming as she is, I don't want to make love to her.
8.40. Mixed mantra and caresses rather a success. (At her
request I gave M. a minimum dose of X.)
9.15. Asana and Meditation with mantra since 8.40. The
blackness seems breaking. For a moment I got a vague
glimpse of one's spine (or rather one's Sushumna) as a
galaxy of stars, thus suggesting the stars as the ganglia
of the Universe.
9.18 To continue.
10.18. Not very satisfactory. Asana got painful; like a
JOHN ST. JOHN
21
worm I gave up, and tried playing the fool; got amused
by the New Monster, but did not perform the “Vajroli
Mudra.” [For this see the Shiva Sanhita, and other of
the Holy Sanskrit Tantras.—ED.]
However, having got rid of her for the moment, one
may continue.
10.24- P.Y. [Prana Yama.—ED.] 14 cycles. Some effort re-
10.39. quired; sweating appears to have stopped and Bhuchari
hardly begun.
My head really aches a good deal.
I must add one or two remarks. In my walk I discovered
that my mantra Hua allahu, etc., really belongs to the
Visuddhi Cakkrâm; so I allowed the thought to
concentrate itself there. [The Visuddhi-Cakkrâm:
the “nerve centre,” in Hindu mystic physiology,
opposite the larynx.—ED.]
Also, since others are to read this, one must mention
that almost from the beginning of this Working of
Magick Art the changed aspect of the world whose
culmination is the keeping of the oath “I will interpret
every phenomenon as a particular dealing of God with
my soul” was present with me. This aspect is difficult
to describe; one is indifferent to everything and yet
interested in it. The meaning of things is lost, pending
the inception of their Spiritual Meaning; just as, on
putting one's eye to the microscope, the drop of water
on the slide is gone, and a world of life discovered,
though the real import of that world is not
apprehended, until one's knowledge becomes far
greater than a single glance can make it.
THE EQUINOX
22
10.55. Having written the above, I shall rest for a few
moments to try and get rid of my headache.
A good simile (by the way) for the Yogi is to say that he
watches his thought like a cat watching a mouse. The
paw ready to strike the instant Mr. Mouse stirs.
I have chewed a Gaufrette and drunk a little water, in
case the headache is from hunger. (P.S.—It was so; the
food cured it at once.)
11.2. I now lie down as Hanged Man and say mantra in
Visuddhi.
11.10. I must really note the curious confusion in my mind
between the Visuddhi Cakkrâm and that part of the
Boulevard Edgar Quinet which opens on to the
cemetery. It seems an identity.
In trying to look at the Cakkrâm, I saw that.
Query: What is the connection, which appeared
absolute and essential? I had been specially im-
pressed by that gate two days ago, with its knot of
mourners. Could the scene have been recorded in a
brain-cell adjoining that which records the Visuddhiidea?
Or did I at that time unconsciously think of
my throat for some other reason? Bother! These
things are all dog-faced demons! To work!
11.17. Work: Meditation and Mantra.
11.35. No good. Went off into a reverie about a castle and
men-at-arms. This had all the qualities of a true dream,
yet I was not in any other sense asleep. I soon will be,
though. It seems foolish to persist.
JOHN ST. JOHN
23
11.35. And indeed, though I tried to continue the mantra with
its high aspiration to know Adonai, I must have slept
almost at once.
The Third Day
6.55. Now the day being gloriously broken, I awoke with
some weariness, not feeling clean and happy, not
burning with love unto my Lord Adonai, though
ashamed indeed for that thrice of four times in the
night I had been awakened by this loyal body, urging
me to rise and meditate—and my weak will bade it be
at ease and take its rest—oh, wretched man! slave of
the hour and of the worm!
7.0- Fifteen cycles of Prana Yama put me right mentally
7.16. and physically: otherwise they had little apparent
success.
7.30. Have breakfasted—a pear and two Garibaldis. (These
by the way are the small size, half the big squares.)
7.50. Have smoked a pipe to show that I'm not in a hurry.
8.4 Hanged Man with mantra in Visuddhi. Thought I had
been much longer. At one point the Spirit began to
move—how the devil else can I express it? The
consciousness seemed to flow, instead of pattering. Is
that clear?
One should here note that there may perhaps be some
essential difference in the operation of the Moslem and
Hindu mantrams. The latter boom; the former ripple. I
have never tried the former at all seriously until now.
THE EQUINOX
24
8.10- Même jeu—no good at all. Think I'll get up and have
8.32. a Turker.
9.0. Am up, having read my letters. Continuing mantra all
the time in a more or less conscious way.
9.25. Wrote my letters and started out.
10.38. Have reached the Cafe de la Paix, walking slowly with
my mantra. I am beginning to forget it occasionally,
mispronouncing some of the words. A good sign! Now
and then I tried sending it up and down my spine, with
good effect.
10.40. I will drink a cup of coffee and then proceed to the
Hammam. This may ease my limbs, and afford an
opportunity for a real go-for-the-gloves effort to concentrate.
It cannot be too clearly understood that nearly all the
work hitherto has been preliminary; the intention is to
get the Chittam (thought-stuff) flowing evenly in one
direction. Also one practises detaching it from the
Virttis (impressions). One looks at everything without
seeing it.
O coffee! By the mighty Name of Power do I invoke
thee, consecrating thee to the Service of the Magic of
Light. Let the pulsations of my heart be strong and
regular and slow! Let my brain be wakeful and active
in its supreme task of self-control! That my desired
end may be effected through Thy strength, Adonai,
unto Whom be the Glory for ever! Amen without lie,
and Amen, and Amen of Amen.
11.0. I now proceed to the Hammam.
JOHN ST. JOHN
25
12.0. The Bath is over. I continued the mantra throughout,
which much alleviated the torture of massage. But I
could not get steady and easy in my Asana or even in
the Hanged Man or Shavasana, the “corpse-position.” I
think the heat is exciting, and makes me restless. I
continue in the cooling-room lying down.
12.10. I have ordered 12 oysters and coffee and bread and
butter.
O oysters! be ye unto me strength that I formulate the
12 rays of the Crown of HVA! I conjure ye, and very
potently command.
Even by Him who ruleth Life from the Throne of
Tahuti unto the Abyss of Amennti, even by Ptah the
swathed one, that unwrappeth the mortal from the
immortal, even by Amoun the giver of Life, and by
Khem the mighty, whose Phallus is like the Pillar in
Karnak! Even by myself and my male power do I
conjure ye. Amen.
12.20. I was getting sleepy when the oysters came.
I now eat them in a Yogin and ceremonial manner.
12.45. I have eaten my oysters, chewing them every one;
also some bread and butter in the same manner, giving
praise to Priapus the Lord of the oyster, to Demeter
the Lady of corn, and to Isis the Queen of the Cow.
Further, I pray symbolically in this meal for Virtue,
and Strength, and Gladness; as is appropriate to these
symbols. But I find it very difficult to keep the
mantra going, even in tune with the jaws; perhaps it
is that this peculiar method of eating (25 minutes
THE EQUINOX
26
12.45. for what could be done normally in 3) demands the
whole attention.
1.30. Drifted into a nap. Well! we shall try what Brother
Body really wants.
1.35. My attempt to go to sleep has made me supernaturally
wakeful.
I am—as often before—in the state described by Paul
(not my masseur; the other Paul!) in his Epistle to the
Romans, cap. vii. v. 19.
I shall rise and go forth.
1.55. I have a good mind to try violent excitement of the
Muladhara Cakkrâm; for the whole Sushumna seems
dead. This at the risk of being labelled a Black
Magician—by clergymen, Christian Scientists, and the
“self-reliant” classes in general.
2.15. Arrived (partly by cab) at the Place. Certain curious
phenomena which I have noticed at odd times—e.g., on
Thursday night—but did not think proper to record
must be investigated. It seems quite certain that
meditation-practices profoundly affect the sexual
process: how and why I do not yet certainly know.
2.45. Rubbish! everything perfectly normal.
Difficult, though, to keep mantram going.
3.0. Am sitting on the brink of the big fountain in the
Luxembourg. This deadness of the whole system
continues.
To explain. Normally, if the thought be energetically
directed to almost any point in the body, that point is
JOHN ST. JOHN
27
3.0. felt to pulse and even to ache. Especially this is the
case if one vibrates a mantra or Magical name in a
nerve-centre. At present I cannot do this at all. The
Prana seems equilibrated in the whole organism: I am
very peaceful—just as a corpse is.
It is terribly annoying, in a sense, because this
condition is just the opposite of Dharana; yet one
knows that it is a stage on the way to Samadhi.
So I rise and give confidently the Sign of Apophis and
Typhon, and will then regard the reflection of the
sweet October Sun in the kissing waters of the
fountain. (P.S.—I now remember that I forgot to rise
and give the Sign.)
3.15. In vain do I regard the Sun, broken up by the lips of
the water into countless glittering stars—abounding,
revolving, whirling forth, crying aloud—for He whom
my soul seeketh is not in these. Nor is He in the
fountain, eternally as it jets and falls in brilliance of
dew; for I desire the Dew Supernal. Nor is He in
the still depths of the water; their lips do not meet
His. Nor—O my soul!—is He anywhere to be found
in thy secret caverns, unluminous, formless, and void,
where I wander seeking Him—or seeking rest from
that Search! O my soul!—lift thyself up; play the man,
be strong; harden thyself against thy bitter Fate; for at
the End thou shalt find Him; and ye shall enter in
together into the Secret Palace of the King; even unto
the Garden of Lilies; and ye shall be One for evermore.
So mote it be!
THE EQUINOX
28
3.15. Yet now—ah now!—I am but a dead man. Within
me and without still stirs that life of sense that is not
life, but is as the worms that feast upon my corpse.
. . . Adonai! Adonai! my Lord Adonai! indeed, Thou
hast forsaken me. Nay! thou liest, O weak
soul! Abide in the meditation; unite all thy symbols
into the form of a Lion, and be lord of thy jungle,
travelling through the servile Universe even as Mau
the Lion very lordly, the Sun in His strength that
travelleth over the heaven of Nu in His bark in the
mid-career of Day.
For all these thoughts are vain; there is but One
thought, though that thought be not yet born—He only
is God, and there is none other God than He!
3.30. Walking home with mantra; suddenly a spasm of
weeping took me as I cried through the mantra—“My
God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?”—and I
have to stop and put it down!
A good thing; for it calms me.
3.45. At the Dome, master of myself. The Mantra goes just
30 times a minute, 1800 times an hour, 43,200 times
a day. To say it a million times would take longer
than Mrs. Glyn's heroine did to conceive. Yet I will
get the result if I have to say it a hundred and eleven
million times. But oh! fertilise my Akasic egg to-
day!
This remark, one should notice, is truly characteristic of
the man John St. John. I see how funny it is; but I'm
quite serious withal. Ye dull dogs!
JOHN ST. JOHN
29
3.45. [The “Akasic Egg” is the sphere of the personality of
man. A theosophic term.—ED.]
3.55. N.B.—Mantras might with advantage be palindromes.
3.56. I try to construct a magic square from the mantra. No
good. But the mantra is going much better, quite
mechanically and “without attachment” (i.e., without
conscious ulterior design. “Art for Art's sake” as it
were).
4.10. I drink a “citron pressé.”
4.25. Alas! here comes Maryt (with a sad tale of X. It
appears that she fainted and spent some hours at the
hospital. I should have insisted on her stying with me;
the symptoms began immediately on her drinking some
coffee. I have noticed with myself, that eating has
started the action).
5.30. An hour of mingled nap and mantra.
I now feel alive again. It was very strange how calm and
balanced I was: yet now I am again energised; may it be
to the point of Enthusiasm!
People will most assuredly smile at this exalted mystic;
his life seems made up of sleep and love-making.
Indeed, to-day I have been shockingly under the power
of Tamas, the dark sphere. But that is clearly a fatigueeffect
from having worked so hard.
Oh Lord, how long?
5.50. The Mantra still ripples on. I am so far from the Path
that I have a real good mind to get Maryt to let me
perform the Black Mass on her at midnight. I would
THE EQUINOX
30
5.50. just love to bring up Typhon, and curse Osiris and burn
his bones and his blood!
At least, I now solemnly express a pious wish that the
Crocodile of the West may eat up the Sun once and for
all, that Set may defile the Holy Place, that the
supreme Blasphemy may be spoken by Python in the
ears of Isis.
I want trouble. I want to say Indra's mantram till his
throne gets red-hot and burns his lotus-buttocks; I want
to pinch little Harpocrates till he fairly yells . . . and I
will too! Somehow!
6.15. I have now got into a sort of smug content, grinning all
over like some sleepy Chinese god. No reason for it,
Lord knows!
I can't make up my mind whether to starve or sandwich
or gorge the beast St. John. He's not the least bit
hungry, though he's had nothing to call a Meal since
Thursday lunch. The Hatha-Yoga feeding game is
certainly marvellous.
I should like to work marching and breathing with this
mantra as I did of old with Aum Tat Sat Aum. Perhaps
two steps to a mantra, and 4-8-16 steps to a breathcycle?
This would mean 28 seconds for a breath-cycle;
quite enough for a marching man. We might try 4-8-8
to start; or even 8-8-8 (for the Chariot, wherein the
Geburah of me rises to Binah—Strength winning the
Wings of Understanding). [These symbols, allusions,
and references will all be found in 777, just published
by “The Equinox”—see advt.—ED.]
JOHN ST. JOHN
31
6.55. I shall now ceremonially defile the Beyt Allah with Pig,
to express in some small measure my utter disgust and
indignation with Allah for not doing His job properly. I
say in vain “Labbaik!” [I am here.—ED.] He answers,
“But I'm not here, old boy—another leg-pull!” He
little knows His man, though, if He thinks He can
insult me with impunity. Andre, un sandwich!
[Beyt Allah, the Mosque at Mecca, means “House of
God”—ED.]
7.5. I shall stop mantra while I eat, so as to concentrate (a)
on the chewing, (b) on defiling the House of God. Not
so easy! the damned thing runs on like a prairie fire.
Important then to stop it absolutely at will: even the
Work itself may become an obsession.
11 hours with no real break—not bad.
The bad part of to-day seems the Asana, and the
deadness. Or, perhaps worse, I fail to apprehend the true
magical purport of my work: hence all sort of aimless
formulae, leading—naturally enough—to no result.
It just strikes me—it may be this Isis Apophis Osiris
IAO formula that I have preached so often. Certainly
the first two days were Isis—natural, pleasant, easy
events. Most certainly too to-day has been Apophis!
Think of the wild cursing and black magic, etc. . . .
we must hope for the Osiris section to-morrow or next
day. Birth, death, resurrection! IAO!
7.35. The Sandwich duly chewed, and two Coffees drunk, I
resume the mystic Mantra. Why? Because I dam well
choose to.
THE EQUINOX
32
7.50. ’Tis a rash thing to say, and I burn incense to the
Infernal Gods that the Omen may be averted; but I
seem to have conquered the real Dweller of the
Threshold once and for all. For nowadays my blackest
despair is tempered by the certainty of coming through
it sooner or later, and that with flying colours.
9.30. The last ¾-hour I wasted talking to Dr. R——, that
most interesting man. I don't mean talking; I mean
listening. You are a bad, idle good-for-nothing fellow,
O.M.! Why not stick to that mantra?
10.40. Have drunk two citrons pressés and gone to my room to
work a mighty spell of magick Art.
11.0. Having got rid of Maryt (who, by the way, is Quite
mad), and thereby (one might hope) of Apophis and
Typhon, I perform the Great Ritual DCLXXI with
good results magically; i.e., I formulated things very
easily and forcibly; even at one time I got a hint of the
Glory of Adonai. But I made the absurd mistake of
going through the Ritual as if I was rehearsing it,
instead of staying at the Reception of the Candidate
and insisting upon being really received.
I will therefore now (11.50) sit down again and invoke
really hard on these same lines, while the Perfume and the
Vision are yet formulated, though insensibly, about me.
And thus shall end the Third day of my retirement.
The Fourth Day
12.15. So therefore begins the fourth day of this my great
magical retirement ; I bleed from the slashes of the
JOHN ST. JOHN
33
12.15. magick knife; I smart from the heat of the Holy Oil;
I am bruised by the scourge of Osiris that hath so
cruelly smitten me; the perfume yet fills the chamber
of Art;—and I?
Oh Adonai my Lord, surely I did invoke Thee with
fervour; yet Thou camest not utterly to the tryst. And
yet I know that Thou wast there; and it may be that the
morning may being rememberance of Thee which this
consciousness does not now contain.
But I swear by Thine own glory that I will not be
satisfied with this, that I will go on even unto madness
and death if it be Thy will—but I will know Thee as
Thou art.
It is strange how my cries died down; how I found
myself quite involuntarily swinging back to the old
mantra that I worked all yesterday.
However, I shall try a little longer in the Position of
the Hanged Man, although sleep is again attacking
me. I am weary, yet content, as if some great thing
had indeed happened. But if I lost consciousness—
a thing no man can be positive about from the nature
of things —it must have happened so quietly that I
never knew. Certainly I should not have thought that I
had gone on for 25 minutes, as I did.
But I do indeed ask for a Knowledge and Conversation
of the Holy Guardian Angel which is not left so much
to be inferred from the good results in my life and
work; I want the Perfume and the the Vision. . . .
Why am I so materially wallowing in grossness? It
matters little; the fact remains that I do wallow.
THE EQUINOX
34
12.15. I want that definite experience in the very same sense
as Abramelin had it; and what's more, I mean to go on
till I get it.
12.34. I begin, therefore, in Hanged Man posture, to invoke
the Angel, within the Pyramid already duly prepared by
DCLXXI.
12.57. Alas! in vain have I tried even the supreme ritual of
Awaiting the Beloved, although once I thought—Ah!
give unto Thy beloved in sleep!
How ashamed I should be, though! For an earthly lover
one would be on tiptoe of excitement, trembling at
every sound, eager, afraid . . .
I will, however, rise and open (as for a symbol) the door
and the window. Oh that the door of my heart were
ever open! For He is always there, and always eager to
come in.
1.0. I rise and open unto my Beloved.
. . . May it be granted unto me in the daylight of this
day to construct from DCLXXI a perfect ritual of
self-initiation, so as to avoid the constant difficulty of
assuming various God-forms. Then let that ritual be a
constant and perfect link between Us . . . so that at all
times I may be perfect in Thy Knowledge and
Conversation, O mine Holy Guardian Angel! to whom I
have aspired these ten years past.
1.5. And though as it may seem I now compose myself to
sleep, I await Thee . . . I await Thee!
7.35. I arise from sleep, mine eyes a little weary, my soul
fresh, my heart restored.
JOHN ST. JOHN
35
8.0. Accordingly, I continue in gentle and easy meditation
on my Lord Adonai, without fear or violence, quite
directly and naturally.
One of the matters that came up last night with Dr.
R——d was that of writing rubbish for magazines. He
thought that one could do it in the intervals of serious
work; but I do not think that one should take the risk. I
have spent these many years training my mind to think
cleanly and express beautifully. Am I to prostitute
myself for a handful of bread?
I swear by Thyself, O Thou who art myself, that I will
not write save to glorify Thee, that I will write only
in beauty and melody, that I will give unto the world
as Thou givest unto me, whether it be a consuming
fire, or a cup of the wine of Iacchus, or a glittering
dagger, or a disk brighter than the sun. I will starve in
the street before I pander to the vileness of the men
among whom I live—oh my Lord Adonai, be with me,
give me the purest poesy, keep me to this vow! And
if I turn aside, even for a moment, I pray Thee, warn
me by some signal chastisement, that Thou art a
jealous god, and that Thou wilt keep me veiled,
cherished, guarded in Thine harem a pure and perfect
spouse, like a slender fountain playing in Thy courts
of marble and of malachite, of jasper, of topaz, and of
lapis lazuli.
And by my magick power I summon all the inhabitants
of the ten thousand worlds to witness this mine oath.
8.15. I will rise, and break my fast. I think it as well to go on
with the mantra, as it started of its own accord.
THE EQUINOX
36
9.0. Arrived at Pantheon, to breakfast on coffee and biroche
and a peach.
I shall try and describe Ritual DCLXXI; since its
nature is important to this great ceremony of initiation.
Those who understand a little about the Path of the
Wise may receive some hint of the method of operation
of the L.V.X.
And I think that a description will help me to collect
myself for the proper adaptation of this Ritual to the
purpose of Self- initiation.
Oh, how soft is the air, and how serene the sky, to one
who has passed through the black rule of Apophis! How
infinitely musical are the voices of Nature, those that
are heard and those that are not heard! What
Understanding of the Universe, what Love is the prize
of him that hath performed all things and endured all
things!
The first operation of Ritual DCLXXI is the
preparation of the Place.
There are two forces; that of Death and that of Natural
Life.
Death begins the Operation by a knock, to which Life
answers.
Then Death, banishing all forces external to the
operation, declares the Speech in the Silence.
Both officers go from their thrones and form the base of
a triangle whose apex is the East. They invoke the
Divine Word, and then Death slays with the knife, and
embalms with the oil, his sister Life.
Life, thus prepared, invokes, at the summons of Death,
JOHN ST. JOHN
37
9.0. the forces necessary to the Operation. The Word takes
its station in the East and the officers salute it both by
speech and silence in their signs; and they pronounce
the secret Word of power that riseth from the Silence
and returneth thereunto.
All this they affirm; and in affirming the triangular base
of the Pyramid, find that they have mysteriously
affirmed the Apex thereof whose name is Ecstasy.
This also is sealed by that secret word; for that Word
containeth All.
Into this prepared Pyramid of divine Light there
cometh a certain darkling wight, who knoweth not
either his own nature, or his origin or destiny, or even
the name of that which he desireth. Before he can enter
the Pyramid, therefore, four ordeals are required of
him.
So, bound and blinded, he stumbles forward, and
passes through the wrath of the Four Great Princes of
the Evil of the World, whose Terror is about him on
every side. Yet since he has followed the voice of the
Officer who has prepared him, in this part of the Ritual
no longer merely Nature, the great Mother, but
Neschamah (his aspiration) and the representative of
Adonai, he may pass through all. Yea, in spite of the
menace of the Hiereus, whose function is now that of
his fear and of his courage, he goes on and enters the
Pyramid. But there he is seized and thrown down by
both officers as one unworthy to enter. His aspiration
purifies him with steel and fire; and there as he lies
shattered by the force of the ritual, he hears—even as a
THE EQUINOX
38
9.0. corpse that hears the voice of Israfel—the Hegemon
that chants a solemn hymn of praise to that glory
which is at the Apex, and who invisibly rules and
governs the whole Pyramid.
Now then that darkling wight is lifted by the officers
and brought to the altar in the centre; and there the
Hiereus accuses him of the two and twenty Basenesses,
while the Hegemon lifting up his chained arms cries
again and again against his enemy that he is under
the Shadow of the Eternal Wings of the Holy One.
Yet at the end, at the supreme accusation, the Hiereus
smites him into death. The same answer avails him,
and in its strength he is uplifted by his aspiration—
and now he stands upright.
Now then he makes a journey in his new house, and
perceives at stated times, each time preceded by a new
ordeal and equilibration, the forces that surround him.
Death he sees, and the Life of Nature whose name is
Sorrow, and the Word that quickeneth these, and his
own self—and when he hath recognised these four in
their true nature he passes to the altar once more and as
the apex of a descending triangle is admitted to the
lordship of the Double Kingdom. Thus is he a member
of the visible triad that is crossed with the invisible—
behold the hexagram of Solomon the King! All this the
Hiereus seals with a knock and at the Hegemon's new
summons he—to his surprise—finds himself as the
Hanged Man of the Tarot.
Each point of the figure thus formed they crown with
light, until he glitters with the Flame of the Spirit.
JOHN ST. JOHN
39
9.0. Thus and not otherwise is he made a partaker of the
Mysteries, and the Lightning Flash strikes him. The
Lord hath descended from heaven with a shout and
with the Voice of the Archangel, and the trump of
God.
He is installed in the Throne of the Double Kingdom,
and he wields the Wand of Double Power by the sings
of the grade.
He is recognized an initiate, and the word of Secret
Power, and the silent administration of the Sacrament
of Sword and Flame, acknowledge him.
Then, the words being duly spoken and the deeds duly
done, all is symbolically sealed by the Thirty Voices,
and the Word that vibrateth from the Silence to the
Speech, and from the Speech again unto the Silence.
Then the Pyramid is sealed up, even as it was opened;
yet in the sealing thereof the three men partake in a
certain mystical manner of the Eucharist of the Four
Elements that are consumed for the Perfection of the
Oil.
Konx Om Pax. [With these mystic words the Mysteries
Eleusinian were sealed.—ED.]
10.0. Having written out this explanation, I will read it
through and meditate solemnly thereupon. All this I
wrote in the Might of the Secret Ring committed unto
me by the Masters; so that all might be absolutely
correct.
One thing strikes me as worthy of mention. Last
night when I went into the restaurant to speak to
THE EQUINOX
40
10.0. R——d, my distaste for food was so intense that the
smell of it caused real nausea. To-day, I am perfectly
balanced, neither hungry nor nauseated. This is indeed
more important than it seems; it is a sure sign when one
sees a person take up fads that he is under the black
rule of Apophis. In the Kingdom of Osiris there is
freedom and light. To-day I shall eat neither with the
frank gluttony of Isis nor with the severe asceticism of
Apophis. I shall eat as much and as little as I fancy;
these violent means are no longer necessary. Like
Count Fosco, I shall “go on my way sustained by my
sublime confidence, self-balanced by my impenetrable
calm.”
10.50. I have spent half an hour wandering in the Musee du
Luxembourg.
I now sit down to meditate on this new ritual.
The following, so it appears, should be the outlines—
damn it, I've a good mind to write it straight off—no!
I'll be patient and tease the Spirit a little. I will be
coquettish as a Spanish catamite.
1. Death summons Life and clears away all other
forces.
2. The Invocation of the Word. Death consecrates
Life, who in her whirling dance invokes that
Word.
3. They salute the Word. The Signs and M——M
must be a Chorus, if anything.
4. The Miraculous appearance of Iacchus, uninvoked.
JOHN ST. JOHN
41
10.50 1. The 3 Questions.
2. The 4 ordeals. Warning and comfort as an
appeal to the Officers.
3. The Threshold.
The Chorus of Purification.
The Hymn “My heart, my mother!” as
already written, years ago.
4. At the altar. The accusation and defence as
antiphonies.
5. The journey. Bar and pass, and the 4 visions
even as a mighty music.
6. The Hanged Man—the descent of Adonai.
7. The installation—signs, etc.
Sealing as for opening; but insert Sacrament.
1.15. During a lunch of 12 oysters, Cêpes Bordelaise,
Tarte aux Cérises, Café Noir, dispatched without Yoga
or ceremonial, I wrote the Ritual in verse, in
the Egyptian Language. I don't think very well.
Time must show: also experience. I'd recite Tennyson
if I thought it would give Samadhi!
Now more mantra, though by the Lord I'm getting sick
of it.
1.40. It occurs to me, now that I am seeing my way in the
Operation a little more clearly, that one might consider
the First Day as Osiris Slain X, the Second as that of
the Mourning of Isis L, the third as that of the
Triumph of Apophis V, and to-day that of Osiris
Risen X; these four days being perfect in themselves as
a 5° = 6° operation (or possibly with one or two more
THE EQUINOX
42
1.40. to recapitulate L.V.X. Lux, the Light of the Cross).
Thence one might proceed to some symbolic passage
through the 6° = 5° grade—though of course that grade
is really symbolic of this soul-journey, not vice versâ—
and through 7° = 4°; so perhaps—if one could only
dare to hope it!—to the 8° = 3° attainment. Certainly
what little I have done so far pertains no higher than
Minor adeptship though I have used higher formulæ in
the course of my working.
1.55. My Prana is acting in a feverish manner; a mixture of
fatigue and energy. This is not good: it probably
comes from bolting that big lunch, and may mean
that I must sleep to recover equilibrium. I will,
however, use the Pentagram ritual on my Anahata
Cakkrâm [the heart; a nerve-centre in Hindu mystical
physiology.—ED.] and see if that steadies me. (P.S.—
Yes: instantly). Notice, please, how in this condition
of intense magical strain the most trifling things have
a great influence. Normally, I can eat anything in
any quantity without the slightest effect of any sort;
witness my expeditions and debauches; nothing
upsets me.
P.S.—But notice, please! Normally half a bottle of
Burgundy excites me notably; while doing this magic
it is like so much water. A “transvaluation of all
values!”
3.55. Over a citron pressé I have revised the new Ritual.
Also I have bought suitable materials for copying
it fair; and this I did without solemnity or ceremonial,
JOHN ST. JOHN
43
3.55. but quite simply, just as anybody else might buy them.
In short, I bought them in a truly Rosicrucian manner,
according to the custom of the country.
I add a few considerations on the grade of Adeptus
Major 6° = 5°.
(P.S.—Distinction is to be made between attainment of
this grade in the natural and in the spiritual world. The
former I long since possessed.)
1. It may perhaps mean severe asceticism. In
case I should be going out on that path I will
try and get a real good dinner to fortify
myself.
2. The paths leading to Geburah are from Hod,
that of the Hanged Man, and from Tiphereth,
that of Justice, both equilibrated aspects of
Severity, the one implying Self-Sacrifice, the
other involuntary suffering. One is Free-
will, the other Karma; and that in a wider
sense than that of Suffering.
The Ritual DCLXXI will still be applicable:
indeed, it may be considered sufficient; but
of course it must be lived as well as
performed.
(I must here complain of serious trouble with fountain
pens, and the waste of priceless time fixing them up.
They have been wrong throughout the whole
operation, a thing that has not happened to me for near
eight years. I hope I've got a good one at last—yes,
thank God! this one writes decently.)
THE EQUINOX
44
4.15. Somehow or other I have got off the track; have been
fooling about with too many odd things, necessary as
they may have been. I had better take a solid hour
willing the Tryst with Adonai.
5.40. Have done all this, and a Work of Kindness. I will
again revise the new ritual, dine, return and copy it fair
for use.
Let Adonai the Lord oversee the Work, that it be
perfect, a sure link with Him, a certain and infallible
Conjuration, and Spell, and Working of true Magick
Art, that I may invoke Him with success whenever
seemeth good unto Him.
Unto Him; not unto Me! Is it not written that
Except Adonai build the House, they labour in vain
that build it?
6.15. Chez Lavenue. Not feeling like revision, will read
through this record.
My dinner is to be Bisque d'Ecrevisses, Tournedos
Rossini, a Coupe Jack, half a bottle of Meursault, and
Coffee. All should now acquit adepts of the charge of
not knowing how to do themselves well.
7.20. Dinner over, I return the Mantra-Yoga. One may note
that I expected the wine to have an excessive effect on
me; on the contrary, it has much less effect than
usual.
This is rather important. I have purposely abstained
from anything that might be called a drug, until now,
for fear of confusing the effects.
With my knowledge of hashish-effects, I could very
JOHN ST. JOHN
45
7.20. likely have broken up the Apophis-kingdom of
yesterday in a moment, and the truth of it would have
been 5 per cent. drug and 95 per cent. magic; but
nobody would have believed me. Remember that this
record is for the British Public, “who may like me yet.”
God forbid! for I cannot echo Browning's hope. Their
greasiness, hypocrisy, and meanness are such that their
appreciation could only mean my vileness, not their
redemption. Sorry if I seem pessimistic about them! A
nasty one for me, by the way, if they suddenly started
buying me! I should have, in mere consistency, to cut
my throat!
Calm yourself, my friend! There is no danger.
7.40. At home again and robed. Am both tired and
oppressed, even in my peace; for the day has been, and
the evening is, close and hot, with a little fog, and, one
may suspect, the air is overcharged with electricity. I
will rest quietly with my mantra as Hanged Man, and
perhaps sleep for a little.
8.10. No sleep—no rest for the wicked! ’Tis curious how
totally independent is mantra-yoga of reverie. I can say
my mantra vigorously while my thought wanders
all over the world; yet I cannot write the simplest
sentence without stopping it, unless with a very
great effort, and then it is not satisfactory to either
party!
Meditation—of the “rational” sort—on this leads me
to suggest that active “radiant” thought may be incompatible
with the mantra, itself being (?) active. One can
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46
8.10. read and understand quite easily with the mantra going;
one can remember things.
For example, I see my watch chain; I think. “Gold.
Au, 196 atomic weight. AuCl3, £3 10s. 0d. an ounce”
and so on ad infinitum; but the act of writing down
these things stops the mantra. This may be (partly)
because I always say under my breath each word as I
write it. [P.S.—But I do so, though less possibly, as
I read.]
8.22. As I am really awake, I may as well do a little Pranayama.
8.40. How little I know of magic and the conditions of
success! My 17 cycles of breath were not absolutely
easy; yet I did them. After a big dinner!!! The
sweating was quite suppressed, in spite of the heat of
the night and the exercise; and the first symptoms of
the Bhuchari-Siddhi—the “jumping about like a frog”
—were well marked. I am encouraged to spend a few
minutes (still in Asana) reading the Shiva Sanhita.
9.0. Asana very painful again. True, I was doing it very
strictly.
I notice they give a second stage—trembling of the
body—as preliminary to the jumping about like a frog
—I had omitted this, as one is so obviously the germ of
the other.
The Hindus seem to lack a sense of proportion. When
the Yogi, by turning his tongue back for one halfminute,
has conquered old age, disease and death;
then instead of having good time he patiently (and
rather pathetically, I think!) devotes his youthful
JOHN ST. JOHN
47
9.0. immortality to trying to “drink the air through the crowbill”
. . . . . . . . in the hope of curing a consumption of
the lungs which he probably never had and which was
in any case cured by his former effort!
9.40. Have been practising a number of these mudras and
asanas.
Concerning the Visuddi Cakkram which is “of brilliant
gold or smoke colour and has sixteen petals
corresponding to the sixteen vowel sounds,” one might
make a good mantra of the English vowel sounds, or
the Hebrew.
“Curiouser and curiouser!” The Yogis identify the
Varana (Ganges) with the Ida-Nadi, the Asi (?) with the
Pingala-Nadi, and Benares with the space between
them. Like my identification of my throat with the
Gate of the cimetière du Montparnasse.
Well, it requires very considerable discrimination and a
good sound foundation of knowledge, if one means to
get any sense at all out of these Hindu books.
10.20. A little Pranayama, I think.
10.22. Can't get steady and easy at all! Will try Hanged Man
again.
10.42. Not much good. The mantra goes on, but without
getting hold of the Chakkram.
’Tis difficult to explain; the best simile I can get is that
of a motor running with the clutch out; or of a man
cycling on a suspended machine.
There's no grip to it.
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10.42. The fact of the matter is, I am quite unconcentrated.
Evidently the Osiris Risen stage is over; and I think it
is a case for violent measures.
If one were to slack off now and hope for the morning,
like a shipwrecked Paul, one would probably wake up a
mere man of the world.
The Question then arises: What shall I do to be saved?
The only answer—and one which is quite unconnected
with the question—is that a Ritual of Adeptus Major
should display the Birth of Horus and Slaying of
Typhon. Here again Horus and Harpocrates—the
twins of the twin signs of 0° = 0° ritual—are the slayers
of Typhon. So all the rituals get mixed: the symbols
recur, though in a different aspect. Anyway, one wants
something a deal better than the path of Pe in 4° = 7°
ritual.
I think the postulant should be actually scourged,
tortured, branded by fire for his equilibrations at the
various “Stations of the Cross” or points upon his
mystic journey. He must assuredly drink blood for the
sacrament—ah! now I see it all so well! The Initiator
must kill him, Osiris; he must rise again as Horus and
kill the Initiator, taking his place in the ceremony
thence to the end. A bit awkward technically, but
'twill yield to science. They did it of old by a certain
lake in Italy!
Well, all this is dog-faced demon, ever seducing me
from the Sacred Mysteries. I can't go out and kill
anybody at this time o'night! We might make a start,
JOHN ST. JOHN
49
10.42. though, with a little scourging, torturing, and branding
by fire. . . .
Anything for a quiet life!
11.0. But scourging oneself is not easy with a robe on; and
though one could take it off, there is this point to be
considered: that one can never (except by a regrettable
accident) hurt oneself more than one wants to. In
other words, it is impossible thus to inflict pain, and so
flagellants have been rightly condemned as mere voluptuaries.
The only way to do so would be to inflict some
torture whose severity one could not gauge at the
time: e.g., one might dip oneself in petroleum and set
light to it, as the young lady mystic did—I suppose in
Brittany!—the other day. It's not the act that hurts,
but the consequences; so, although one knows only
roughly what will happen, one can force oneself to the
act.
This, then, is a possible form of self-martyrdom.
Similarly, mutilations; though it is perhaps just to
observe that all these people are mad when they do
these things, and their standard of pleasure and pain
consequently so different from the sane man's as to be
incomprehensible.
Look at my Uncle Tom! who goes about the world
bragging of his chastity. The maniac is probably happy
—a peacock who is all tail! And squawk. Look at the
Vegetarians and Wallaceites and all that crew of
lunatics. They are paid in the coin of self-conceit. I
shall waste no pity on them!
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50
11.3. Rather pity myself, who cannot even make sensible
“considerations” for a Ritual of Adeptus Major.
The only thing to do in short is to go steadily on, with a
little extra courage and energy—no harm in that!—
on the same old lines. The Winding of the Way must
necessarily lead me just where it may happen to go.
Why deliberately go off to Geburah? Why not aspire
direct by the Path of the Moon-Ray unto the Ineffable
Crown? Modesty is misplaced here!
Very good. Then how aspire? Who is it that
standeth in the Moon-Ray? The Holy Guardian Angel.
Aye! O my Lord Adonai, Thou art the Beginning
and the End of the Path. For as Thou hta thou art
also 406 = wt Tau the material world, the Omega. And
as He awh Thou art 12, the rays of the Ineffable Crown.
(A disaster has occurred; viz., a sudden and violent
attack of that which demands a tabloid of Pepsin, Bismuth,
and Charcoal—and gets it. On my return, 11.34,
I continue.)
And as yna Ani “I” thou art also }ya the Negative, that is
beyond these on either side!
But this illness is a nuisance. I must have got a little
chill somehow. Its imminence would account for my
lack of concentration. And I could doubtless go on
gloriously, but that another disaster has occurred!
Enter Maryt, sitting and clothed and in her right mind
—or comparatively so!
11.38. I suppose, then, I must quit the game for a minute or
two.
JOHN ST. JOHN
51
11.56. Got rid of her, thank God. I may say in self-defence that
I would never have let her in but for the accident of my
being outside the room and the door left open, so that
she was inside on my return.
Let me get into Asana.
The Fifth Day
12.26. So beginneth the Fifth Day of this great Magical
Retirement. With two and twenty breath-cycles did I
begin. This practice was a little easier; but not much
better. It ought to become quite simple and natural
before one devotes the half-minute of Kam-
bhakam (breath held-in), when one is rigid to a strong
projection of Will toward Adonai, as has been my custom.
I hope to-day will be more hard definite magical Work,
less discourse, less beatific state of mind—which is the
very devil! the real Calypso, none the less temptress
because her name happens to be Penelope. Ah Lord
Adonai, my Lord! Grant unto me the Perfume and the
Vision; let me attain the desirable harbour; for my little
ship is tossed by divers tempests, even by Euroclydon,
in the Place where Four Winds meet.
12.35. Therefore I shall go to rest, letting my mind rest ever in
the Will toward Adonai. Let my sleep be toward
Him, or annihilation; let my waking be to the music
of His name; let the day be full to the uttermost of
Him only.
2.18. My good friend the body woke me at this hour by
means of disturbed dreams about a quite imaginary
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52
2.18. relative of whom nobody for years had ever seen
anything but his head, which he would poke out of a
waterproof sheet. He was supposed to be an invalid. I
am glad to say that I woke properly and got quite
automatically on to the mantra.
My Prana, however, seems feverish and unbalanced. So
I eat a biscuit or two and drink some water and will put
it right with the Pentagram Ritual.
Done, but oh! how hard. Sleep fights me as Apollyon
fought Christian! but I will up and take him by the
throat.
(See; 'tis 2.30. Twelve minutes to do that little in!)
And look at the handwriting!
3.6. How excellent is Prana Yama, a comfort to the soul! I
did thirty-two cycles, easy and pleasant; could have
gone on indefinitely. The muscles went rigid, practically
of their own accord; so light did I feel that I
almost thought myself to be “that wise one” who
“can balance himself on his thumb.” Sleep is conquered
right away from the word “jump.” Indeed, if
Satan trembles when he sees
The weakest saint upon his knees;
then surely:
Satan flees, exclaiming “Damn!”
When any saint starts Pranayam!
So happy, indeed, was I in the practice that I devoted
myself by the Waiting formula to Adonai; and that I got
to “neighbourhood- concentration” is shewn by the fact
that I several times forgot altogether about Adonai, and
found myself saying the silly old Mantram.
JOHN ST. JOHN
53
3.6. I despair of asking my readers to distinguish between
the common phenomenon of wandering thought and
this phenomenon which is at the very portal of true
and perfect concentration; yet it is most important that
the distinction should be seized. The further difficulty
will occur—I hope!—of distinguishing between the
vacancy of the idiot, and that destruction of thought
which we call Shivadarshana, or Nirvikalpa-samadhi.
[We must again refer the reader to the Hindu classics.
—ED.]
The only diagnostic I can think of is this; that there is (I
can't be sure about it) no rational connection between
the thought one left behind one and the new thought.
In a simple wandering during the practice of
concentration one can very nearly always (especially
with a little experience) trace the chain. With neighbourhood-
concentration this is not so. Perhaps there is
a chain, but so great already is the power of prevent-
ing the impressions from rising into consciousness that
one has no knowledge of the links, each one
having been automatically slaughtered on the threshold
of the consciousness.
Of course, the honest and wary practitioner will have no
difficulty in recognising the right kind of wandering;
with this explanation there is no excuse for him if he
does.
I have another theory, though. Perhaps this is not a
wandering at all, but a complete annihilation of all
thought. Affirming Adonai, I lop off the heads of all
others ; and Adonai's own head falls . But in the
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3.6. momentary pause which this causes, some old habitual
thought (to-night my mantra) rises up. A case of the
Closure followed by the Moving of the Previous
Question.
Oh Lord! when wilt Thou carry a Motion to Adjourn,
nay, to Prorogue, nay! to Dissolve this Parliament?
3.32. I am not sleepy; yet will I again compose myself,
devoting myself to Adonai.
7.7. Again woke and continued mantra.
8.10. I ought to have made more of it at 7.7; I went off again
to sleep; the result is that I am rather difficult to wake
again.
However, let me be vigilant now.
8.45. I have dressed and from 8.35-8.45 performed the Ritual
of the Bornless One.
Though I performed it none too well (failing, e.g., to
make use of the Geometric Progression on the Mahalingam
formula in the Ieou section [We cannot understand
this passage. It presumably refers to the “Preliminary
Invocation” in the “Goetia” of King Solomon,
published S.P.R.T., Boleskine Foyers, N.B., 1904.—
ED], and not troubling even to formulate carefully the
Elemental Hosts, or to marshal them about the circle) I
yet, by the favour of IAO, obtained a really good effect,
losing all sense of personality and being exalted in the
Pillar. Peace and ecstasy enfolded me. It is well.
8.50. But as I was ill last night, and as the morning has
broken chill and damp, I will go to the Café du Dôme
JOHN ST. JOHN
55
8.50. and break my fast humbly with Coffee and Sandwich.
May it strengthen me in my search for the Quintessece,
the Stone of the Wise, the Summum Bonum, True
Wisdom and Perfect Happiness!
9.0. I hope (by the way) that I have made it quite clear that
all this time even a momentary cessation of active
thought has been accompanied by the rising-up of the
mantra. The rhythm, in short, perpetually dominates
the brain; and becomes active on every opportunity.
The liquid Moslem mantra is much easier to get on to
than is the usual Hindu type with its m and n sounds
predominating: but it does not shake the brain up so
forcibly. Perhaps 'tis none the worse for that. I think
the unconscious training of the brain to an even rhythm
better than startling it into the same by a series of
shocks.
I should like, to to remark that the suggestions in the
“Herb Dangerous” [We hope to publish this essay
in No. 2 of “The Equinox”—ED.] for a ritual seem
the wrong way round. It seems to me that the
Eastern methods are very arid, and chiefly valuable as a
training of the Will, while the Ceremonies of the
Magic of Light tune up the soul to that harmony when
it is but one step to the Crown.
The real plan is, then, to train the Will into as formidable
an engine as possible, and then, at the moment in
the Ritual when the real work should be done, to fling
forth flying that concentrated Will “whirling forth
with re-echoing Roar, so that it may comprehend with
THE EQUINOX
56
9.0. invincible Will ideas omniform, which flying forth from
that one Fountain issued: whose Foundation is One,
One and Alone.”
As therefore Discipline of whatever kind is only one
way of going into a wood at midnight on Easter Eve
and cutting the magic wand with a single blow of the
magic knife, etc. etc. etc., we can regard the Western
system as the essential one. Yet of course Pranayama,
for one thing, has its own definite magical effect, apart
from teaching the practitioner that he must last out
those three seconds—those deadly long last three
seconds—even if he burst in the process.
All this I am writing during breakfast.
My devotees may note, by the way, how the desire to
sleep is breaking up.
Night I. 7½ hours, unbroken from 12.30.
,, II. 7 hours nearly, with dreams.
,, III. 8 hours nearly; but woke three or four
times, and if I had not been a worm
would have scattered it like chaff!
,, IV. 6 1/2 hours; and I wake fresh.
,, V. 1¾ + 4½ + 1 hour; and real good work done
in the intervals.
[P.S. ,, VI. Probably 4 hours.
,, VII. 2 + 2 + ½ hours.
,, VIII. 6 hours much broken.
,, IX. 1 ½ + 2 + 2 hours.
,, X. 4 + 1 ¼ hours.
,, XI. 1¾ + 4½ hours.
,, XII. Back to the normal—7 hours perfect sleep.]
JOHN ST. JOHN
57
11.30. Have been walks with the mantra arranging for and
modelling a “saddle” whereby to get Asana really
steady and easy; also for some photographs illustrating
some of the more absurd positions, for the instruction
of my devotees.
I must now copy out the new Ritual.
This, you will readily perceive, is all wrong. Theoretically,
everything should be ready by the beginning of
the Operation; and one should simply do it and be done
with it.
But this is a very shallow view. One never knows
what may be required; i.e., a beginner like myself
doesn't. Further, one cannot write an effective Ritual
till one is already in a fairly exalted state . . . and
so on.
We must just do the best we can, now as always.
2.0 I have been concentrating solely on the Revision
and copying of the Ritual. Therefore I now live
just as I always live in order to get a definite piece
of work done: concentrating as it were off the
Work. As Levi also adjures us by the Holy
Names.
Coming back from lunch (a dozen Marennes Vertes and
an Andouillette aux Pommes) I met Zelina Visconti,
more lovely-ugly than ever in her wild way. She says
that she is favourably disposed towards me, on the
recommendation of her concierge ! ! ! “The tongue of
good report hath already been heard in his
favour.Advance, free and of good report!”
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58
4.45. And only two pages done! but the decorations
“marvelious”!
5.15. Another half-hour gone! in mere titivating the Opus!
and now I'm too tired to as much as start Prana
Yama. I will go to the Dôme and see what a citron
pressé and a sandwich does for me, at the same time
taking over the MS. of Liber DCCCCLXIII., which has
been given me to correct, and doing it.
Please the pigs, the Visconti will cheer me up in the
evening; and I shall get a good day in to-morrow.
6.35. Still at Liber DCCCCLXIII. [To be published shortly
by “The Equinox.”—ED.] I should like to write
mantrams for each chapter.
7.20. Still at Liber DCCCCLXIII. I need hardly say that I
am perfectly aware that in one sense all this working
and ritual making and copying and illuminating is but a
crowd of dog-faced demons, since the One Thought of
Unity with Adonai is absent.
But I do it on purpose, making each thing I do into that
Magic Will.
So if you ask me “Are you correcting Liber
DCCCCLXIII.?” I reply, “No! I am Adonai!”
7.50. Arrival of the Visconti.
8.50. Departure of the Visconti. Really a necessary rest: for
my head had begun to ache, and her kiss, half given
and half taken, much refreshed me.
9.50. Have done Liber DCCCCLXIII. 'Tis hardly
thinkable that one could have read it (merely) in the
JOHN ST. JOHN
59
9.50. time. Say three and a half hours! Well, if it doesn't
count as Tapas, and Jap, and Yama, and Niyama, and
all the rest of it, all I can say is that I think They don't
play fair. I will now go and get something to eat, and
(God willing) on my return settle down to real work, for
I need daylight to copy my Ritual.
11.30. A sandwich and two coffees at the Versailles and a
citron pressé at the Dome, some little chatter with
M——e, B——e, H——s, and others. In fact, I'm a
lazy unconcentrated hound. I started Mantra again,
though; of course it goes quite easily.
11.50. Undressed, and the mantra going, and the Will toward
Adonai less unapparent.
To-day I began ill, full of spiritual pride—look at the
records of my early hours! One might have thought
me a great master of magic loftily condescending to
explain a few elementary truths suited to the capacity
of his disciples.
The fact is that I am a toad, ugly and venomous, and if
I do wear a precious jewel in my hand, that jewel is
Adonai, and—well, come to think of it, I am Adonai.
But St. John is not Adonai; and St. John had better do a
little humiliation to-morrow.
Nothing being more humiliating than Prana Yama, I
will begin with that.
The Sixth Day
12.5. Thus then—oh ye great gods of Heaven!—begins the
Sixth Day of the Great Magical Retirement of that
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12.5. Holy Illuminated Man of God our Greatly Honoured
Frater, O.M., Adeptus Exemptus 7° = 4° Brother-Elect
of the Most Secret and Sublime Order A\ A\
He does with great difficulty (and no interior
performance) just four breath-cycles.
Somebody once remarked that it had taken a hundred
million years to produce me; I may add that I hope it
will be another hundred million before God makes
such another cur.
12.15. Have performed the Equilibrating Ritual of the
Scourge, the Dagger, and the Chain; with the Holy
Anointing Oil that bringeth the informing Fire into
their Lustral Water.
12.35. I am so sleepy that I cannot concentrate at all. (I was
trying the “Bornless One.”) The magic goes well; good
images and powerful, but I slack right off into sleep.
It's the hour for heroic measures or else to say: A good
night's rest, and start fresh in the morning! I suppose,
as usual, I shall say the first and do the second.
12.45. Have risen, washed, performed the ritual “Thee I
invoke, the Bornless One” physically.
The result fair. One gets better magical sight and
feeling when one is performing a ritual in one's Astral
Body, so called. For one is on the same plane as the
things one's dealing with.
If, however, serious work is wanted, one must be all
there. To get “materialized” “spirits”—pardon the
absurd language!—one should (nay, must!) work inside
JOHN ST. JOHN
61
12.45. one's body. So, too, I think, for the highest spiritual
work; for that Work extends from Malkuth to
Kether.
Here is the great value of the rationalistic Eastern
systems. [P.S. Of course scientifically worked with
pencil, note-book, and stop-watch. The Yogi is usually
in practice just as vague a dreamer as the mystic.]
They keep one always balanced by common sense.
One might go off on lines of pleasing illusion for years,
until one was lost on the “Astral Plane.”
All this, observe, is very meaningless, very vague at the
best. What is the Astral Plane? Is there such a thing?
How do its phantoms differ from those of absinthe,
reverie, and love, and so on?
We may admit their unsubstantiality without denying
their power; the phantoms of absinthe and love are
potent enough to drive a man to death or marriage;
while reverie may end in anti-vivisectionism or nutfood-
madness.
On the whole, I prefer to explain the many terrible
catastrophes I have seen caused by magic misunderstood
by supposing that in magic one is working with
some very subtle and essential function of the brain,
whose disease may mean for one man paralysis, for
another mania, for a third melancholia, for a fourth
death. It is not à priori absurd to suggest that there
may be some one particular thought that would cause
death. In the man with heart disease, for instance, the
thought “I will run quickly upstairs” might cause
death quite as directly as “I will shoot myself.” Yet of
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62
12.45. course this thought acts through the will and the
apparatus of nerves and muscles. But might not a
sudden fear cause the heart to stop? I think cases are
on record.
But all this is unknown ground, or, as Frank Harris
would say, Unpath'd Waters. We are getting
dangerously near “mental arsenic” and “all—god—
good—bones—truth—lights—liver—mind—blessing—
heart—one and not of a series—ante and pass the
buck.”
The common sense of the practical man of the world is
good enough for me!
1.10. Will G. R. S. Mead or somebody wise like that tell
me why it is that if I get out of my body and face
(say) East, I can turn (in the “astral body”) as far as
West-Sou'-West or thereabouts, but no further except
with very great difficulty and after long practice?
In making the circle, just as I got to West, I
would swing right back to West-Nor'-West: turn
easily enough, in short, to any point but due West,
within perhaps 5°, but never pass that point. I
have taught myself to do it, but always with an
effort.
Is this a common experience?
I connect it with my faculty of knowing direction,
which all mountaineers and travellers who have been
with me admit to be quite exceptional.
If I leave my tent or hut by a door facing, say, South-
West, throughout that whole day, over all kinds of
ground , through any imaginable jungle , in all kinds
JOHN ST. JOHN
63
1.10. of weather, fog, blizzard, blight, by night or day, I know
within 5° (usually within 2°) the direction in which I
faced when I left that tent or hut. And if I happen to
have observed its compass bearing, of course I can
deduce North by mere judgment of angle, at which I
am very accurate.
Further, I keep a mental record, quite unconsciously, of
the time occupied on a march; so that I can always tell
the time within five minutes or so without consulting
my watch.
Further, I have another automatic recorder which maps
out distance plus direction. Suppose I were to start
from Scott's and walk (or drive; it's all the same to me)
to Haggerston Town Hall (wherever Haggerston may
be; but say it's N.E.), thence to Maida Vale. From
Maida Vale I could take a true line for Piccadilly again
and not go five minutes walk out of my way, bar blind
alleys, etc., and I should know when I got close to
Scott's again before I recognised any of the
surroundings.
It always seems to me that I get an intuition of the
direction and length of line A (Scott's to Haggerston
bee-line; in spite of any winding, it would make little
odds if I went via Poplar), another intuition of line B
(Haggerston to Maida Vale), and obtained my line C
(back to Scott's) by “Subliminal trigonometry.”
In this example I am assuming that I had never been
in London before. I have done precisely similar work
in dozens of strange cities, even a twisted warren
like Tangier or Cairo . I am worse in Paris than
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64
1.10. anywhere else; I think because the main thoroughfares
radiate from stars, and so the angles puzzle one. The
power, too, suits ill with civilized life; it fades as I live
in towns, revives as I get back to God's good earth. A
seven-foot tent and the starlight—who wants more?
1.35. Well, I've woke myself writing this. The point that
really struck me was this: what would happen if by
severe training I forced my “astral body”—damn it!
isn't there a term for it free from L. . . . –pro-
stitution? (One speaks of “les deux prostitutions”;
so it's all right.) My Scin-Laeca, then—what would
happen if I forced my Scin-Laeca to become a Whirling
Dervish? I couldn't get giddy, because my Semicircular
canals would be at rest.
I must really try the experiment.
[Scin-Laeca. See Lord Lytton's “Strange Story.”—ED.]
1.58. I will now devote myself to sleep, willing Adonai. Lord
Adonai, give me deep rest like death, so that in very
few hours I may be awake and active, full of lionstrength
of purpose toward Thee!
7.35. My heroic conduct was nearly worth a “Nuit Blanche.”
For, being so thoroughly awake, I had all my Prana
irritated, a feeling like the onset of a malarial attack,
twelve hours before the temperature rises. I dare say it
was after 3 o'clock when I slept; I woke too, several
times, and ought to have risen and done Prana Yama:
but I did not. O worm! the sleepiest bird can easily
catch thee! . . . I am not nicely awake, though it is to
JOHN ST. JOHN
65
7.35. my credit that I woke saying my mantra with vigour.
'Tis a bitter chill and damp the morn; yet must I rise
and toil at my fair Ritual.
7.55. Settling down to copy.
10.12. Have completed my two prescribed pages of illumination.
Will go and break my fast and do my business.
10.30. After writing letters went out and had coffee and two
brioches.
11.50. At Louvre looking up some odd points in the lore of
Khemi [Egypt.—ED.] for my Ritual.
12.20. I cannot understand it; but I feel faint for lack of food; I
must get back to strict Hatha-Yoga feeding.
1.00. Half-dozen oysters and an entrecôte aux pommes.
2.05. Back to work. I am in a very low physical condition;
quite equilibrated, but exhausted. I can hardly walk
upright!
Lord Adonai, how far I wander from the gardens of thy
beauty, where play the fountains of the Elixir!
2.55. Wrote two pages; the previous were not really dry; so I
must wait a little before illuminating.
I will rest—if I can! In the Hanged Man posture.
4.30. I soon went to sleep and stayed there.
It is useless to persist. . . . Yet I persist.
5.40. I was so shockingly cold that I went to the Dôme and
had milk, coffee, and sandwich, eaten in Yogin manner.
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66
5.40. But it has done no good as far as energy is concerned.
I'm just as bad or worse than I was on the day which I
have called the day of Apophis (third day). The only
thing to my credit is the way I've kept the mantra
going.
5.57. One thing at least is good; if anything does come of this
great magical retirement—which I am beginning to
doubt—it will not be mixed up with any other
enthusiasm, poetic, venereal, or bacchanalian. It will
be purely mystic. But as it has not happened yet—
and just at present it seems incredible that it should
happen—I think we may change the subject.
. . . . What a fool I am, by the way! I say that “He is
God, and that there is no other God than He” 1800
times an hour; but I don't think it even once a day.
6.30. All my energy has suddenly come back.
Was it that Hatha-Yoga sandwich?
I go on copying the Ritual.
7.10. Copying finished. I will go and dine, and learn it by
heart, humbly and thoughtfully. The illumination of
it can be finished, with a little luck, in two more
days.
I am disinclined to use the Ritual until it is beautifully
coloured. As Zoroaster saith: “God is never so much
turned away from man, and never so much sendeth him
new paths, as when he maketh ascent to divine
speculations or works, in a confused or disordered
manner, and (as the oracle adds) with unhallowed
lips , or unwashed feet . For of those who are thus
JOHN ST. JOHN
67
7.10. negligent the progress in imperfect, the impulses are
vain, and the paths are dark.”
7.40. Chez Lavenue. Bisque d'Ecrevisses, demi-perdreau à
la Gelée, Cêpes Bordelaise, Coupe Jack. Demi Clos du
Roi. I am sure I made a serious mistake in the
beginning of this Operation of Magick Art. I ought to
have performed a true Equilibration by an hour's Prana
Yama in Asana (even if I had to do it without
Kambhakham) at midnight, dawn, noon, and sunset,
and I should have allowed nothing in heaven above, or
in earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth, to
have interfered with its due performance.
Instead I thought myself such a fine fellow that to get
into Asana for a few minutes every midnight and the
rest go-as-you-please would be enough. I am well
punished.
8.30. This food, eaten in a Yogin and ceremonial manner, is
doing me good. I shall end, God willing, with coffee,
cognac, and cigar. It is a fatal error to knock the
body to pieces and leave the consciousness intact, as
has been the case with me all day. It is true that
some people find that if they hurt the body, they make
the mind unstable. True; they predispose it to hallucination.
One should use strictly corporeal methods to tame the
body; strictly mental methods to control the mind.
This latter restriction is not so vitally important. Any
weapon is legitimate against a public enemy like the
mind. No truce nor quarter!
THE EQUINOX
68
8.30. On the contrary, to use the spiritual forces to secure
health, as certain persons attempt to do to-day, is the
vilest black magic. This is one of the numerous reasons
for supposing that Jesus Christ was a Brother of the
Left-Hand Path.
Now my body has been treating me well, waking nicely
at convenient hours, sleeping at suitable times, keeping
itself to itself . . . an admirable body. Then why
shouldn't I take it out and give it the best dinner
Lavenue can serve? . . . Provided that it doesn't stop
saying that mantra!
It would be so easy to trick myself into the belief that
I had attained! It would be so easy to starve myself
until there was “visions about”! It would be so easy
to write a sun-splendid tale of Adonai my Lord and my
lover, so as to convince the world and myself that I
had found Him! With my poetic genius, could I not
outwrite St. John (my namesake) and Mrs. Dr. Anna
Bonus Kingsford? Yea, I could deceive myself if
I did not train and fortify my scepticism at every point.
That is the great usefulness of this record; one will be
able to see afterwards whether there is any trace of
poetic or other influence. But this is my sheet-anchor: I
cannot wrote a lie, either in poetry or about magic.
These are serious things that constitute my personality;
and I could more easily blow out my brains that write a
poem which I did not feel. The apparent exception is
in case of irony.
[P.S. I wonder whether it would be possible to draw up
a mathematical table, showing curves of food (and
JOHN ST. JOHN
69
8.30. digestion), drink, other physical impulses, weather, and
so on, and comparing them with the curve of mystic
enthusiasm and attainment.
Through it is perhaps true that perfect health and bienêtre
are the bases of any true trance or rapture, it seems
unlikely that mere exuberance of the former can excite
the latter.
In other words there is probably some first matter of
the work which is not anything we know of as bodily.
On my return to London, I must certainly put the
matter before more experienced mathematicians, and
if possible, get a graphic analysis of the kind indicated.]
9.20. How difficult and expensive it is to get drunk, when
one is doing magic! Nothing exhilarates or otherwise
affects one. Oh, the pathos and tragedy of those lines:
Come where the booze is cheaper !
Come where the pots hold more !
How I wish I had written them!
10.08. Having drunk a citron pressé and watched the poker
game at the Dôme for a little, I now return home. I
thought to myself, “Let me chuck the whole thing
overboard and be sensible, and get a good night's
rest”—and perceived that it would be impossible. I
am so far into this Operation that
pausing to cast one last glance back
O'er the safe road—'twas gone!
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70
10.08. I must come out of it either an Adept or a maniac.
Thank the Lord for that! It saves trouble.
10.20. Undressed and robed. Will do an Aspiration in the
Hanged Man position, hoping to feel rested and fit by
midnight.
The Incense has arrived from London; and I feel its
magical effects most favourable.
O creature of Incense! I conjure thee by Him that
sitteth upon the Holy Throne and liveth and reigneth
for ever as the Balance of Righteousness and Truth,
that thou comfort and exalt my soul with Thy sweet
perfume, that I may be utterly devoted to this Work of
the Invocation of my Lord Adonai, that I may fully
attain thereto, beholding Him face to face—as it is
written “Before there was Equilibrium, Countenance
beheld not Countenance”—yea, being utterly absorbed
in His ineffable Glory—yea, being That of which there
is no Image either in speech or thought.
10.55. What a weary world we live in! No sooner am I
betrayed into making a few flattering remarks about
my body that I find everything wrong with it, and
two grains of Cascara Sagrada necessary to its
welfare!
. . . . I wish I knew where I was! I don't at all
recognise what Path I am on; it doesn't seem like a
Path at all. As far as I can see, I am drifting rudder-
less and sailless on a sea of no shore—the False Sea of
the Qliphoth. For in my stupidity I began to try a
certain ritual of the Evil Magic , so called. . . . Not
JOHN ST. JOHN
71
10.55. evil in truth, because only that is evil (in one sense)
which does not lead to Adonai. (In another sense, all is
evil which is not Adonai.) And of course I had the
insane idea that this ritual would serve to stimulate my
devotion. For the information of the Z.A.M., I may
explain that this ritual pertained to Saturn in Libra;
and, though right enough in its own plane, is a dogfaced
demon in this operation. Is it, though? I am so
blind that I can no longer decide the simplest
problems. Else, I see so well, and am so balanced, that
I see both sides of every question.
In chess-blindness one used to abjure the game. I
never tried to stick it through; I wish I had. Anyhow, I
have to stick this through!
O Lord of the Eye, let thine Eye be ever open upon
me! For He that watcheth Israel doth not slumber nor
sleep!
Lord Shiva, open Thou the Eye upon me, and consume
me altogether in its brilliance!
Destroy this Universe! Eat up thine hermit in thy
terrible jaws! Dance Thou upon this prostrate saint of
Thine!
. . . I suffer from thirst . . . it is a thirst of the
body . . . yet the thirst of the soul is deeper, and
impossible to quench.
Lord Adonai! Let the Powers of Geburah plunge me
again and again into the Fires of Pain, so that my steel
may be tempered to that Sword of Magic that invoketh
Thy Knowledge and Thy Conversation.
Hoor! Elohim Gibor! Kamael! Seraphim! Graphiel!
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72
10.55. Bartzabel! Madim! I conjure ye in the Number
Five.
By the Flaming Star of my Will! By the Senses of my
Body! By the Five Elements of my Being!
Rise! Move! Appear! Come ye forth unto me and
torture me with your fierce pangs . . . for why? because
I am the Servant of the Same your God, the True
Worshipper of the Highest.
Ol sonuf vaoresaji, gono Iadapiel, elonusaha cælazod.
I rule above ye, said the Lord of Lords, exalted in power.
[From Dr. Dee's MSS.—ED.]
11.17. Will now try the Hanged Man again.
11.30. Very vigorous and good, my willing of Adonai. . . . I
should like to explain the difficulty. It would be easy
enough to form a magical Image of Adonai: and He
would doubtless inform it. But it would only be an
Image. This may be the meaning of the commandment
“Thou shalt not make any graven image,” etc.,
just as “Thou shalt not have any other Gods but me”
implies single-minded devotion (Ekâgrata) to Adonai.
So any mental or magical Image must necessarily fall
short of the Truth. Consequently one has to will that
which is formless; and this is very difficult. To
concentrate the mind upon a definite thing is hard
enough; yet at least there is something to grasp, and
some means of checking one's result. But in this case,
the moment one's will takes a magical shape—and the
will simply revels in creating shapes—at the moment
one knows that one has gone off the track.
JOHN ST. JOHN
73
11.30. This is of course (nearly enough) another way of
expressing the Hindu Meditation whose method is to
kill all thoughts as they arise in the mind. The
difference is that I am aiming at a target, while they
are preventing arrows from striking one. In my
aspiration to know Adonai, I resemble their Yogis
who concentrate on their “personal Lord”; but at
the same time it must be remembered that I am not
going to be content with what would content them.
In other words, I am going to define “the Knowledge
and Conversation of my Holy Guardian Angel” as equal
to Neroda-Samapatti, the trance of Nibbana.
I hope I shall be able to live up to this!
11.55. Have been practising Asana, etc. I forgot one thing in
the last entry: I had been reproaching Adonai that for
six days I had evoked Him in vain. . . . I got the reply,
“The Seventh Day shall be the Sabbath of the Lord
thy God.”
So mote it be!
The Seventh Day.
12.17. I began this great day with Eight breath-cycles; was
stopped by the indigestion trouble in its other form.
(P.S.—Evidently the introduction of the Cascara into
my sensitive aura made its action instantaneous.) My
breathing passages were none too clear, either; I have
evidently taken a chill.
Now, O, my Lord Adonai, thou Self-Glittering One,
wilt Thou not manifest unto Thy chosen one? For see
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74
12.17. me! I am as a little white dove trembling upon thine
altar, its throat stretched out to the knife. I am as a
young child bought in the slave market . . . and night
is fallen! I await Thee, O my Lord, with a great
longing, stronger than Life; yet am I as patient as
Death.
There was a certain Darwesh whose turban a thief
stole. But when they said to him, “See! he hath taken
the road to Damascus!” that holy man answered,
as he went quietly to the cemetery, “I will await him
here!”
So, therefore, there is one place, O thou thief of my
heart's love, Adonai, to which thou must come at last;
and that place is the tomb in which lie buried all my
thoughts and emotions, all that which is “I, and Me,
and Mine.” There will I lay myself and await thee,
even as our Father Christian Rosenkreutz that laid
himself in the Pastos in the Vault of the Mountain of
the Caverns, Abiegnus, on whose portal did he cause to
be written the words, “Post Lux Crucis Annos Patebo.”
So Thou wilt enter in (as did Frater N. N. and his
companions) and open the Pastos; and with thy Winged
Globe thou wilt touch the Rosy Cross upon my breast,
and I shall wake into life—the true life that is Union
with Thee.
So therefore—perinde ac cadaver—I await Thee.
12.43. I wrote, by the way, on some previous day (IV. 12.57
A.M.) that I used the Supreme formula of Awaiting. . . .
Ridiculous mouse! is it not written in the Book of the
JOHN ST. JOHN
75
12.43. Heart that is girt about with the Serpent that “To await
Thee is the End, not the Beginning”?
It is as silly as rising at midnight, and saying, "I will go
out and sleep in the sun."
But I am an Irishman, and if you offer me a donkeyride
at a shilling the first hour and sixpence the second,
you must not be surprised at the shrewd silliness of my
replying that I will take the second hour first.
But that is always the way; the love of besting our
dearest friends in a bargain is native to us: and so, even
in religion, when we are dealing with our own souls, we
try to cheat. I go out to cut an almond rod at midnight,
and, finding it inconvenient, I “magically affirm” that
ash is almond and that seven o'clock is twelve. It
seems a pity to have become a magician, capable of
forcing Nature to accommodate herself to your
statements, for no better use to be made of the power
than this!
Miracles are only legitimate when there is no other
issue possible. It is waste of power (the most expensive
kind of power) to “make the spirits bring us all kinds of
food” when we live next door to the Savoy; that Yogi
was a fool who spent forty years learning to walk across
the Ganges when all his friends did it daily for two pice;
and that man does ill when he invokes Tahuti to cure a
cold in the head while Mr. Lowe's shop is so handy in
Stafford Street.
But miracles may be performed in an extremity; and
are.
This brings us round in a circle ; the miracle of the
THE EQUINOX
76
12.43. Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian
Angel is only to be performed when the magus has
rowed himself completely out; in the language of the
Tarot, when the Magus has become the Fool.
But for my faith in the Ritual DCLXXI. I should be at
the end of my spells.
Well? We shall see in the upshot.
1.25. I really almost begin to believe IT will happen.
For I lay down quite free of worry or anxiety (hugging
myself, as it were), perfectly sure of Him in the simple
non-assertive way that a child is sure of its mother, in a
state of pleased expectancy, my thoughts quite
suppressed in an intent listening, as it were for the
noise of the wind of His chariot, as it were for the rustle
of His wings.
For lo! through the heaven of Nu He rideth in His
chariot—soon, soon He will be here!
Into this state of listening come certain curious things—
formless flittings, I know not what. Also, what I
used to call “telephone-cross” voices—voices of strange
people saying quite absurd commonplace things—
“Here, let's feel it!” “What about lunch?” “So I
said to him: Did you . . .” and so on; just as if one
were overhearing a conversation in a railway carriage. I
beheld also Kephra, the Beetle God, the Glory of
Midnight. But let me compose myself again to sleep,
as did the child Samuel.
If He should choose to come, He can easily awaken
me.
JOHN ST. JOHN
77
3.35. I have been asleep a good deal—one long dream in
which P——t, Lord M——y of B——n and my wife
are all staying with me in my mother's house. My
room the old room, with one page torn out—for I
conceived it as part of a book, somehow! Oh such a
lot of this dream! Most of it clearly due to obvious
sources—I don't see where Lord M——y comes in.
Very likely he is dead. I have had that happen now and
again. [P.S.—this was not the case.]
The dream changed, too, to a liner; where Japanese
stole my pipe in a series of adventures of an annoying
type—every one acted as badly as he knew how, and
as unexpectedly.
Waking just now, and instantly concentrating on
Adonai, I found my body seized with a little quivering,
very curious and pleasant, like
trembling leaves in a continuous air.
I think I have heard this state of Interior Trembling
described in some mystic books. I think the Shakers
and Quakers had violent shudderings. Abdullah Haji of
Shiraz writes:—
Just as the body shudders when the Soul
Gives up to Allah in its quick career
Itself. . . .
It is the tiniest, most intimate trembling, not unlike
that of Kambhakham or “Vindu-siddhi” [see the
Shiva Sanhita.—ED.] properly performed; but of a
female quality . I feel as if I were being shaken; in
THE EQUINOX
78
3.35. the other cases I recognize my own ardour as the cause.
It is very gentle and sweet.
So now I may turn back to wait for Him.
3.50. The Voice of the Nadi has changed to a music faint yet
very full and very sweet, with a bell-like tone more
insistent than the other notes at intervals.
5.45. Again awake, and patient-eager. The dreams flow
through me ceaselessly.
This time a house where I, like a new Bluebeard, have
got to conceal my wives from each other. But my
foolish omission to knife them brings it about that I
have thirty-nine secret chambers, and only one open
one in each case.
Oh, yards of it! And all sorts of people come in to
supper—which there isn't any, and we have to do all
sorts of shifts—and all the wives think themselves
neglected—as they are bound to do, if one is insane
enough to have forty—and I loathed them all so! it
was terrible having to fly round and comfort and
explain; the difficulty increases (I should judge) as
about the fifth power of the number of wives . . .
I'm glad I'm awake!
Yea, and how glad when I am indeed awake from this
glamour life, awake to the love my Lord Adonai!
It is bitter chill at dawn. A consecrating cold it seems to
me—yet I will not confront it and rejoice in it—I am
already content, having ceased to strive.
7.15. Again awake, deliciously rested and refreshed.
9.45. Again awake, ditto.
JOHN ST. JOHN
79
11.35. I will now break my fast with a sandwich and coffee,
eaten Yogin- wise.
I seem like one convalescent after a fever; very calm,
very clean, rather weak, too weak, indeed, to be
actually happy: but content.
I spent the morning posing for Michael Brenner, a
sculptor who will one day be heard of. Very young yet,
but I think the best man of his generation—of those
whose work I have seen. By the way, I am suffering
from a swollen finger, since yesterday morning or
possibly earlier. I have given it little attention, but it is
painful.
I want to explain why I have so carefully recorded the
somewhat banal details of all I have eaten and drunk.
1. All food is a species of intoxicant; hence a fruitful
source of error. Should I obtain any good
result, I might say “You were starved” or
“You were drunk.” It is very easy to get
visions of sorts by either process, and to
delude oneself into the idea that one has
attained, mistaking the Qliphoth for Kether.
2. In keeping the vow “I will interpret every
phenomenon as a particular dealing of God
with my soul” the mere animal actions are
the most resistant. One cannot see the
nature of the phenomenon; it seems so unimportant;
one is inclined to despise it.
Hence I enter it in the record as a correc-
tive.
THE EQUINOX
80
3. If others are to read this, I should like them to see
that elaborate codes of morality have nothing
to do with my system. No question of sin and
grace ever enters it.
If a chemist wants to prepare copper sulphate from its
oxide, he does not hesitate on the ground that sulphuric
acid, thrown in the eyes, hurts people. So I use the
moral drug which will produce the desired result,
whether that drug be what people commonly call
poison or no. In short, I act like a sensible man; and I
think I deserve every credit for introducing this
completely new idea into religion.
12.25. That function of my brain which says “You ought to
be willing Adonai” sometimes acts. But I am willing
Him! It is so active because all this week it has been
working hard, and doesn't realise that its work is done.
Just as a retired grocer wakes up and thinks “I must go
and open the shop.”
In Hindu phrase, the thought-stuff, painfully forced
all these days into one channel, has acquired the habit
[i.e., of flowing naturally in it.—ED.] I am Ekâgrata—
one-pointed.
Just as if one arranges a siphon, one has to suck and
suck for a while, and then when the balance in the two
arms of the tube is attained, the fluid goes on softly and
silently of its own act. Gravitation which was against us
is now for us.
So now the whole destiny of the Universe is by me
overcome; I am impelled, with ever-gathering and
irresistible force, toward Adonai.
JOHN ST. JOHN
81
12.25. Vi Veri Vniversvm Vivvs Vici!
12.57. Back home to illuminate my beautiful Ritual.
3.30. Two pages done and set aside to dry. I think I will go
for a little walk and enjoy the beautiful sun.
Also to the chemist's to have my finger attended to.
4.05. The chemist refused to do anything; and so I did it
myself. It is the romantic malady of ingrowing nail; a
little abscess had formed. Devilish painful after the
clean-up. Will go the walk aforesaid.
4.17. I ought to note how on this day there is a complete
absence of all one's magical apparatus. The mantra has
slowed down to (at a guess) a quarter of its old pace.
The rest in unison. This is because the feeling of great
power, etc. etc., is the mere evidence of conflict—the
thunder of the guns. Now all is at peace; the power of
the river, no more a torrent.
The Concourse of the Forces has become the Harmony
of the Forces; the word Tetragrammation is spoken and
ended; the holy letter Shin is descended into it. For
the roaring God of Sinai we have the sleeping Babe of
Bethlehem. A fulfilment, not a destroying, of the Law.
4.45. Am at home again. I will lie down in the Position of the
Hanged Man, and await the coming of my Lord.
6.00. Arisen again to go out to diner. I was half-asleep some
of the time.
6.15. Dinner—Hors d'Œuvre—Tripes à la Mode de Caen—
Filet de Porc—Glace—½ Graves. Oh, how the world
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82
6.15. hath inflexible intellectual rulers! I eat it in a semi-
Yogin manner.
6.20. I am wondering whether I have not made a mistake in
allowing myself to sleep.
It would be just like me, if there were only one possible
mistake to make, to make it! I was perfect, had I only
watched. But I let my faith run away with me. . . . I
wonder.
6.45. Dinner over, I go on as I am in calm faith and love.
Why should I expect a catastrophic effect? Why
should not the circumstances of Union with God be
compatible with the normal consciousness? Interpenetrating
and illuminating it, if you like; but not
destroying it. Well, I don't know why it shouldn't be;
but I bet it isn't! All the spiritual experience I have
had argues against such a theory.
On the contrary, it will leave the reason quite intact,
supreme Lord of its own plane. Mixing up the planes
is the sad fate of many a mystic. How many do I know
in my own experience who tell me that, obedient to the
Heavenly Vision, they will shoot no more rabbits!
Thus they found a system on trifles, and their Lord and
God is some trumpery little elemental masquerading as
the Almighty.
I remember my Uncle Tom telling me that he was sure
God would be displeased to see me in a blue coat on
Sunday. And to-day he is surprised and grieved that I
do not worship his god—or even my own tailor, as
would be surely more reasonable!
JOHN ST. JOHN
83
7.32. How is it that I expect the reward at once? Surely I am
presuming on my magical power, which is an active
thing, and therefore my passivity is not perfect. Of
course, when IT happens, it happens out of time and
space—now or ten years hence it is all the same. All
the same to IT; not all the same to me, O.M. So
O.M. (the dog!) persists irrationally in wanting IT, here
and now. Surely, indeed, it is a lack of faith, a
pandering to the time-illusion . . . and so forth. Yes, no
doubt it is all magically wrong, even magically
absurd; yet, though I see the snare, I deliberately walk
into it. I suppose I shall be punished somehow . . .
Good! there's the excuse I wanted. Fear is failure: I
must dare to do wrong. Good!
7.50. It has just occurred to me that this Waiting and
Watching is the supreme Magical strain. Every slight
sound or other impression shocks one tremendously. It
is easy enough to shut out sounds and such when one is
concentrating in active magic: I did all my early
evocations in Chancery Lane. But now one is
deliberately opening all the avenues of sense to admit
Adonai! One has destroyed one's own Magic Circle.
The whole of that great Building is thrown down. . . .
Therefore I am in a worse hole that I ever was before—
and I've only just realized it. A footfall on the pavement
is most acute agony—because it is not Adonai. My
hearing, normally rather dull, is intensely sharpened;
and I am thirty yards from the electric trams of the
Boulevard Montparnasse at the busiest hour of the
evening. . . .
THE EQUINOX
84
7.50. And the Visconti may turn up! . . .
Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani!
8.45. I went out to the Dôme to drink my final citron pressé
and to avoid the Visconti. Am returned, and in bed. I
shall try and sleep now, waking in time for midnight
and the quiet hours.
8.53. I have endured the supreme temptation and assault of
the Enemy.
In this wise. First, I found that I did not want sleep—I
couldn't stop “Waiting.” Next, I said “Since last night
that Black Ritual (see entry 10.55) did at least serve to
turn all my thoughts to the One Thought, I will try it
again . . .”
Then I said: “No; to do so is not pure ‘waiting.;’ ”
And then—as by a flash of lightning—the Abyss of
the Pit opened, and my whole position was turned. I
saw my life from the dawn of consciousness till now as
a gigantic “pose”; my very love of truth assumed for
the benefit of my biographer! All these strange things
suffered and enjoyed for no better purpose than to
seem a great man. One cannot express the horror of
this thought; it is The thought that murders the
soul—and there is no answer to it. So universal is it
that it is impossible to prove the contrary. So one must
play the man, and master it and kill it utterly,
burying it in that putrid hell from which it sprang.
Luckily I have dealt with it before. Once when I
lived at Paddington J——s and F——r were with me
talking, and, when they went, thoughtfully left this
devil-thought behind—the agony is with me yet.
JOHN ST. JOHN
85
8.53. That, though, was only a young mild devil, though of
the same bad brood. It said: “Is there any Path or
Attainment? Have you been fooled all along?”
But to-night's thought struck at my own integrity, at
the inmost truth of the soul and of Adonai.
As I said, there is no answer to it; and as these seven
days have left me fairly master of the fortress, I
caught him young, and assigned him promptly to the
oubliette.
I put down this—not as a “pose”—but because the
business is so gigantic. It encourages me immensely;
for if my Dweller on the Threshold be that most
formidable devil, how vast must be the Pylon that
shelters him, and how glorious must be the Temple
just beyond!
9.30. It seems that there was one more mistake to make; for
I've made it!
I started to attempt to awaken the Kundalini—the
magical serpent that sleeps at the base of the spine;
coiled in three coils and a half around the Sushumna;
and instead of pumping the Prana up and down the
Sushumna until Siva was united with Sakti in the
Sahasrara-Cakkram, I tried—God knows why; I'm
stupider than an ass or H . . . C . . . .—to work the
whole operation in Muladhara—with the obvious
result.
There are only two more idiocies to perform—one, to
take a big dose of Hashish and record the ravings as if
they were Samadhi; and two, to go to church. I may as
well give up.
THE EQUINOX
86
9.30. Yet here answers me the everlasting Yea and Amen:
Thou canst not give up, for I will bring thee through.
Yet here I lie, stripped of all magic force, doubting my
own peace and faith, farther from Adonai than ever
before—and yet—and yet—
Do I not know that every error is a necessary step in
the Path? The longest way round is the shortest way
home. But it is disgusting! There's a grim humour
in it, too. The real Devil of the Operation must be
sitting with sardonic grin upon his face, enjoying my
perplexity—
For that Dweller-of-the-Threshold-thought was not as
dead as I supposed; as I write he comes again and again,
urging me to quit the Path, to abandon the unequal
contest. Luckily, friend Dweller, you prove too much!
Your anxiety shows me that I am not as far from
attainment as my own feelings would have me think.
At least, though, I am thrown into the active again; I
shall rise and chant the Enochian Calls and invoke the
Bornless One, and clear a few of the devils away, and
get an army of mighty angels around me—in short,
make another kind of fool of myself, I wonder?
Anyway, I'll do it. Not a bad idea to ask Thoth to send
me Taphtatharath with a little information as to the
route—I do not know where I am at all. This is a
strange country, and I am very lonely.
This shall be my ritual.
1. Banishing Pentagram Ritual.
2. Invoking ditto. [These will appear in No. 2,
“Liber O.” --- ED.]
JOHN ST. JOHN
87
3. “The Bornless One.” [See the “Goetia.”—ED.]
4. The Calls I—VI with the rituals of the five
Grades. [From Dr. Dee's and the G\ D\
MSS.—ED.]
5. Invocation of Thoth.
6. (No: I will not use the New Ritual, nor will I
discuss th matter.) An impromptu invocation
of Adonai.
7. Closing formulae.
To work, then!
11.15. The ceremony went well enough; the forces invoked
came readily and visibly; Thoth in particular as friendly
as ever—I fancy He takes this record as a compliment
to Him—He's welcome to it, poor God!
The L.V.X. came, too but not enough to pierce the
awful shroud of darkness that by my folly I have woven
for myself.
So at the end I found myself on the floor, so like
Rodin's Cruche Cassée Danaide Girl as never was . . .
As I ought to have been in the beginning! Well, one
thing I got (again!), that is, that when all is said and
done, I am that I am, and all these thoughts of mine,
angels and devils both, are only fleeting moods of me.
The one true self of me is Adonai. Simple! Yet I
cannot remain in that simplicity.
I got this “revelation” through the Egyptian plane, a
partial illumination of the reason. It has cleared up the
mind; but alas! the mind is still there. This is the
strength and weakness both of the Egyptian plane,
THE EQUINOX
88
11.15. that it is so lucid and spiritual and yet so practical.
When I say weakness, I mean that it appeals to my
weakness; I am easily content with the smaller results, so
that they seduce me from going on to the really big ones.
I am quite happy as a result of my little ceremony—
whereas I ought to be taking new and terrible oaths!
Yet why should Tahuti be so kind to me, and Asar Unnefer
so unkind?
The answer comes direct from Tahuti himself: Because
you have learned to write perfectly, but have not yet
taught yourself to suffer.
True enough, the last part!
Asar Un-nefer, thou perfected One, teach me Thy
mysteries! Let my members be torn by Set and
devoured by Sebek and Typhon! Let my blood be
poured out upon Nile, and my flesh be given to Besz to
devour! Let my Phallus be concealed in the maw of
Mati, and my Crown be divided among my brethren!
Let the jaws of Apep grind me into poison! Let the sea
of poison swallow me wholly up!
Let Asi my mother rend her robes in anguish, and
Nepti weep for me unavailing.
Then shall Asi being forth Hoor, and Heru-pa-kraat
shall leap glad from her womb. The Lord of Vengeance
shall awaken; Sekhet shall roar, and Pasht cry
aloud. Then shall my members be gathered together,
and my bonds shall be unloosed; and my khu shall be
mighty in Khem for ever and ever!
11.37. I return to he place of the Evil Triad, of Ommo Satan,
that is before the altar. There to expiate my folly in
JOHN ST. JOHN
89
11.37. attaching myself to all this great concourse of ideas that
I have here recorded, instead of remaining fixed in the
single stronghold of Unity with Myself.
11.54. And so this great day draws to its end.
These are indeed the Qliphoth, the Qliphoth of
Kether, the Thaumiel, twin giant heads that hate and
tear each other.
For the horror and darkness have been unbelievable;
yet again, the light and brilliance have been almost
insupportable.
I was never so far, and never so near . . . But the hour
approaches. Let me collect myself, and begin the new
day in affirmation of my Unity with my Lord Adonai!
The Eighth Day
12.3. Thus the Eighth day, the Second Week, begins. I am
in Asana. For some reason or other, Pranayama is quite
easy. Concentrating on Adonai, I was in Kambhakham
for a whole minute without distress.
It is true, by the way. I was—and am—in some danger
of looking on this Record as a Book; i.e., of emphasising
things for their literary effect, and diminishing the
importance of others which lend themselves less
obviously.
But the answer to this, friend Satan! is that the
Canon of Art is Truth, and the Canon of Magic is
Truth; my true record will make a good book, and my
true book will make a good record.
THE EQUINOX
90
12.3. Ekam evam advaitam ! friend Satan! One and not
two. Hua allahu alazi lailaha illa Hua!
But what shall by my “considerations” for this week?
I am so absolutely become as a pantomorphous Iynx
that all things look alike to me; there are just as many
pros and cons to Pranayama as to Ceremonial, etc. etc.,
—and the pros and cons are so numerous and far
reaching that I simply dare not start discussing even
one. I can see an endless avenue in every case. In
short, like the hashish-drunkard in full blast, I am
overwhelmed by the multitude of my own magical
Images. I have become the great Magician—Mayan,
the Maker of Illusion—the Lord of the Brethren of the
Left-hand Path.
I don't “wear my iniquity as an aureole, deathless in
Spiritual Evil,” as Mr. Waite thinks; but it's nearly
as bad as that. There seems only one reply to this
great question of the Hunchback (I like to symbolize
the spirit of Questioning by “?”—a little crooked thing
that asks questions) and that is to keep on affirming
Adonai, and refusing to be obsessed by any images of
discipline or magic.
Of course! but this is just the difficulty—as it was in the
Beginning, is now, and every shall be, world without
end! My beautiful answer to the question, How will
you become a millionaire? is: I will possess a million
pounds. The “answer” is not an answer; it is a begging
of the question.
What a fool I am! and people think me clever. Ergo,
perhaps!
JOHN ST. JOHN
91
12.3. Anyhow I will now (12.37) go quietly to sleep—as I am
always saying, and never do when I say it!—in the hope
that daylight may bring counsel.
7.40. Woke fresh and comfortable. Sleep filled with dreams
and broken into short lengths. I ought to observe that
this is a very striking result of forging this magic chain;
for in my normal life I am one of the soundest sleepers
imaginable. Nine solid hours without turning once is
my irreducible minimum.
9.10. Having done an hour's illumination of the New Ritual,
will go and break my fast with coffee and a brioche, and
thence proceed to Michael Brenner's studio.
12.15. I have spent the morning in modelling Siddhasana—a
more difficult task than appeared. Rather like THE
task!
But I went on with the mantra, and made some
Reflections upon Kamma.
I will now have a Yogin coffee and sandwich, and return
to my illumination of the Ritual.
In the desert of my soul, where no herb grows, there is
yet one little spring. I am still one-pointed, at least in
the lower sense that I have no desire or ambition but
this of accomplishing the Great Work.
Barren is this soul of mine, in these 3½ years
of drought (the 3½ coils of the Kundalini are
implied by this) and this Ekâgrata is the little
cloud like a hand (Yod, the Lingam of great
Shiva). And, though I catch up my robe and run
before the chariot of the King into Jezreel, it may be
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92
12.15. that before I reach those gates the whole sky may be
one black flame of thundercloud, and the violet swords
of the lightning may split asunder its heavy womb, and
the rain, laughing like a young child, may dance upon
the desert!
12.58. The Light beginneth to dawn upon the Path, so that I
see a little better where I stand. This whole journey
seems under some other formula than IAO—perhaps a
Pentagram formula with which I am not clearly
acquainted. If I knew the Word of the Grade, I could
foretell things: but I don't.
I think I will read through the whole Record to date
and see if I can find an Ariadne-clue.
1.15. Back, and settled to Ritual-painting.
2.30. Finished: bar frontispiece and colophon, which I can
design and execute to-morrow.
3.0. Took half an hour off, making a silly sketch of a
sunset. Will now read through the Record, and
Reflect upon it.
4.15. “Before I was blind; now I see!” Yesterday I was
right up to the Threshold, right enough; but got turned
back by the Dweller. I did not see the Dweller
till afterwards (8.53 entry) for he was too subtle. I will
look carefully back to try and spot him; for if I “knew
his Name” I could pass by—i.e., next time I climb up to
the Threshold of the Pylon.
I think the entries 1.25 and 3.35 A.M. explain it.
“HUGGING MYSELF , AS IT WERE. ” How fatally
JOHN ST. JOHN
93
4.15. accurate! I wrote it and never saw the hellish snare!
I ought to have risen up and prepared myself ceremonially
as a bride, and waited in the proper magical
manner. Also I was too pleased with the Heralds of
my Lord's coming—the vision of Khephra, etc. It was
perhaps this subtle self-satisfaction that lost me . . . so I
fell to the shocking abyss of last night!
The Dweller of the Threshold is never visible until
after one has fallen; he is a Veiled God and smites like
the Evil Knight in Malory, riding and slaying—and no
man seeth him.
But when you are tumbled headlong into Hell, where
he lives, then he unveils his Face, and blasts you with
its horror!
Very good, John St. John, now you know! You are
plain John St. John and you have to climb right
up again through the paths to the Threshold; and
remember this time to mortify that self-satisfaction!
Go at it more reverently and humbly—oh, you dog,
how I loathe you for your Vileness! To have risen so
high, and—now—to be thus fallen!
4.40. The question arises: how to mortify this selfsatisfaction?
Asceticism notoriously fosters egoism; how good am I to
go without dinner! How noble! What renuncia-
tion!
On the other hand, the good wine in one says: “A fine
fellow I have made my coffin of!”
The answer is simple , the old answer: Think not of
THE EQUINOX
94
4.40. St. John and his foolishness; think of Adonai!
Exactly: the one difficulty!
My best way out will be to concentrate on the New
Ritual, learn it perfectly by heart, work it at the right
moment. . . .
I will go, with this idea, to have a Citron pressé;
thence to my Secret Restaurant, and dine, always
learning the Ritual.
I will leave off the mantra, though it is nearly as much
part of me as my head by now; and instead repeat over
and over again the words of the Ritual so that I can do it
in the end with perfect fluency and comprehension.
And this time may Adonai build the House!
6.10. Instead I met Dr. R——, who kindly offered to teach
me how to obtain astral visions! (P.S.—The tone of
this entry wrongs me. I sat patiently and reverently,
like a chela with his guru, hoping to hear the Word I
needed.) Thence I went my long and lonely walk to
my Secret Restaurant, learning the Ritual as I went.
7.15. Arrived at the Secret Restaurant. Ordered 6 oysters,
Rable de Lièvre poivrade purée de marrons, and Glace
“Casserole” with a small bottle of Perrier Water.
I know the New Ritual down to the end of the Confession.
It was hard to stop the mantra—the moment my
thought wandered, up it popped!
8.3. I shall add Café Cognac Cigare to this debauch.
I continue learning the Ritual.
8.40. I will return and humble myself before the Lord
JOHN ST. JOHN
95
8.40. Adonai. It is near the night of the Full Moon; in my life
the Full Moon hath ever been of great augury. But tonight
I am too poor in spirit to hope.
Lo! I was travelling on the paths of Lamed and of
Mem, of Justice and the Hanged Man, and I fell into
both the pitfalls thereof. Instead of the Great Balance
firmly held, I found only Libra, the house of Venus and
of the exaltation of Saturn; and these evil planets,
smiling and frowning, overcame me. And so for the
sublime Path of Man; instead of that symbol of the
Adept, his foot set firmly upon heaven, his whole
figure showing forth the Reconciler with the Invisible,
I found but the stagnant and bitter water of selfishness,
the Dead Sea of the Soul. For all is Illusion. Who
saith “I” denieth Adonai, save only if he mean Adonai.
And Daleth the Door of the Pylon, is that Tree whereon
the Adept of Man hangeth, and Daleth is Love
Supernal, that if it be inserted in the word ANI, “I,”
giveth ADNI, Adonai.
Subtle art thou and deadly, O Dweller of the Threshold
(P.S.—This name is a bad one. Dweller beside
the Pylon is a better term; for he is not in the straight
path, which is simple and easy and open. He is never
“overcome”; to meet him is the proof of having
strayed. The Key fits the Door perfectly; but he who is
drunken on the bad wine of Sense and Thought
fumbles thereat. And of course there is a great deal of
door, and very little key- hole), who dost use my very
love of Adonai to destroy me!
Yet how shall I approach Him, if not with reverent
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8.40. joy, with a delicious awe? I must wash His feet with
my tears; I must die at His gateway; I must . . . I know
not what . . .
Adonai, be thou tender unto me Thy slave, and keep
my footsteps in the Way of Truth! . . . I will return and
humble myself before the Lord Adonai.
10.18. Home again; have done odd necessary things, and am
ready to work. I feel slack; and I feel that I have
been slack, though probably the Record shows a fair
amount of work done. But I am terribly bruised by
the Great Fall; these big things leave the body and
mind no worse, apparently; but they hurt the Self, and
later that is reflected into the lower parts of the man as
insanity or death.
I must attain, or . . . an end of John St. John.
An end of him, one way or the other, then!
Good-bye, John!
10.30. Ten minutes wasted in sheer mooning! I'm getting
worse every minute.
10.40. Fooled away ten minutes more!
10.57. Humiliation enough! For though I made the cross
with Blood and Flame, I cannot even remain concentrated
in humiliation, which yet I feel so acutely.
What a wormy worm I am! I tried the new strict
Siddhasana, only to find that I had hurt myself so this
morning with it that I cannot bear it at all, even with
the pillow to support the instep.
I will just try and do a little Pranayama, to see if I can
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10.57. stay doing any one simple thing for ten minutes at a
stretch!
11.30. Twenty-five Breath-Cycles . . . But it nearly killed
me. I was saying over the Ritual, and did so want to get
to the Formulation of the Hexagram at least, if not to
the Reception. As it was, I broke down during the
Passage of the Pylons, luckily not till I had reached that
of Tahuti.
But it is a good rule; when in doubt play Pranayama.
For one can no longer worry about the Path: the
Question is reduced to the simple problem: Am, I, or
am I not, going to burst?
I got all the sweating and trembling of the body that
heart could desire; but no “jumping about like a frog”
or levitation. A pity!
11.45. I shall read for a little in the Yoga-Shastra as a rest.
Then for the end of the day and the Beginning of the
Ninth Day. Zoroaster (or Pythagoras?) informs us that
the number Nine is sacred, and attains the summit of
Philosophy. I'm sure I hope so!
11.56. I get into Asana . . . and so endeth the Eighth Lesson.
The Ninth Day
12.2. Thus I began this great day, being in my Asana firm
and easy, and holding in my breath for a full minute
while I threw my will with all my might towards
Adonai.
12.19. Have settled myself for the night. Will continue a little,
learning the Ritual.
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12.37. Having learnt a few passages of a suitable nature to go
to sleep upon, I will do so.
. . . Now I hope that I shall; surely the Reaction of
Nature against the Magical Will must be wearing down
at last!
2.12. I wake. It takes me a little while to shake off the
dominion of sleep, very intense and bitter.
3.4 Thus John St. John—for it is not convenient further to
speak as “I”—performed 45 Breath-cycles; for
20 minutes he had to struggle against the Root of
the Powers of Sleep, and the obstruction of his left
nostril.
During his Kambhakham he willed Adonai with all his
might.
Let him sleep, invoking Adonai!
5.40. Well hath he slept, and well awakened.
The last entry should extend to 3.30 or thereabouts;
probably later; for, invoking Adonai, he again got the
beginnings of the Light, and the “telephone-cross”
voices very strongly. But this time he was fortunately
able to concentrate on Adonai with some fervour, and
these things ceased to trouble. But the Perfume and
the Vision came not, nor any full manifestation of the
L.V.X., the Secret Light, the light that shineth in
darkness.
John St. John is again very sleepy. He will try and
concentrate on Adonai without doing Pranayama—
much harder of course. It is a supreme effort to keep
both eyes open together.
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99
5.40. He must do his best. He does not wish to wake too
thoroughly, either, lest afterward he oversleep himself,
and miss his appointment with Michael Brenner to
continue moulding Siddhasana.
7.45. Again I awake. . . . [O swine! thou hast felt in thyself
“Good! Good! the night is broken up nicely; all goes
very well”—and thou hast written “I!” O swine, John
St. John! When wilt thou learn that the least stirring of
thy smug content is the great Fall from the Path?]
It will be best to get up and do some kind of work; for
the beast would sleep.
8.25. John St. John has arisen, after doing 20 breath-cycles,
reciting internally the ritual, 70 per cent. of which he
now knows by heart.
8.35. To the Dôme—a café-croissant. Some proofs to correct
during the meal.
10.25. Having walked over to the studio reciting the Ritual
(9.25-9.55 approximately), John St. John got into his
pose, and began going for the gloves. The Interior
Trembling began, and the room filled with the Subtle
Light. He was within an ace of Concentration; the
Violet Lotus of Ajna appeared, flashing like some
marvellous comet; the Dawn began to break, as he
slew with the Lightning-Flash every thought that
arose in him, especially this Vision of Ajna; but fear
—dread fear!—gripped his heart. Annihilation stood
before him, annihilation of John St. John that he had
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10.25. so long striven to obtain: yet he dared not. He had
the loaded pistol to his head; he could not pull the
trigger. This must have gone on for some time; his
agony of failure was awful; for he knew that he was
failing; but though he cried a thousand times unto
Adonai with the Voice of Death, he could not—he
could not. Again and again he stood at the gate, and
could not enter. And the Violet Flames of Ajna
triumphed over him.
Then Brenner said: “Let us take a little rest!”—oh
irony!—and he came down from his throne, staggering
with fatigue. . . .
If you can conceive all his anger and despair! His pen,
writing this, forms a letter badly, and through clenched
teeth he utters a fierce curse.
Oh Lord Adonai, look with favour upon him!
11.30 After five minutes rest (to the body, that is), John St.
John was too exhausted on resuming his pose, which,
by the way, happens to be the Sign of the Grade
7° = 4°, to strive consciously.
But his nature itself, forced through these days into
the one channel of Will towards Adonai, went on
struggling on its own account. Later, the conscious
man took heart and strove, though not so fiercely as
before. He passed through the Lightnings of Ajna,
whose two petals now spread out like wings above his
head, and the awful Corona of the Interior Sun with
its flashing fires appeared, and declared itself to be his
Self. This he rejected; and the Formless Ocean of
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11.30 White Brilliance absorbed him, overcame him; for he
could not pass therethrough. This went on repeating
itself, the man transformed (as it were) into a mighty
Battering Ram hurling itself again and again against
the Walls of the City of God to breach them.—And
as yet he has failed. Failed. Failed. Physical and
mental exhaustion are fairly complete.
Adonai, look with favour upon Thy slave!
12.20. He has walked, reciting the Ritual, to Dr. R—— and
H—— for lunch. They have forgotten the appointment,
so he continues and reaches Lavenue's at 12.4
after reading his letters and doing one or two necessary
things. He orders Epinards, Tarte aux Fraises, Glace
au Café, and ½ Evian. The distaste for food is great; and
for meat amounts to loathing. The weather is
exceedingly hot; it may be arranged thus by Adonai to
enable John St. John to meditate in comfort. For he is
vowed solemnly “to interpret every phenomenon as a
particular dealing of God with his soul.”
12.50. During lunch he will go on correcting his proofs.
1.35. Lunch over, and the proofs read through.
1.45. He will make a few decorations further in his Ritual,
and perhaps design the Fontispiece and Colophon. He
is very weary, and may sleep.
2.25. He has done the illumination, as far as may be. He
will now lie down as Hanged Man, and invoke
Adonai.
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4.45. He was too tired to reach nearer than the
neighbourhood of that tremendous Threshold;
wherefore he fell from meditation into sleep, and there
his Lord gave him sweet rest thereof.
He will arise, and take a drink—a citron pressé—at the
Dôme; for the day is yet exceeding hot, and he has had
little.
4.53. One ought to remark that all this sleep is full
extravagant dreams; rarely irrational and never (of
course) unpleasant, or one would be up and working
with a circle every night. But O.M. thinks that they
show an excited and unbalanced condition of John St.
John's brain, though he is almost too cowed to express
an opinion at all, even were the question, Is grass
green?
Every small snatch of sleep, without exception, in the
last three or four days, has these images.
The ideal condition seems likely to be perfect oblivion
—or (in the Adept) is the Tamo-Guna, the Power of
elemental Darkness, broken once and for ever, so that
His sleep is vivid and rational as another man's waking;
His waking another man's Samadhi; His Samadhi—to
which He ever strives—— ? ? ? ? ?
At least this later view is suggested by the Rosicrucian
formula of Reception:
May thy mind be open unto the Higher!
May thy heart be the Centre of Light!
May thy body be the Temple of the Rosy Cross!
and by the Hindu statement that in the attained Yogin
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103
4.53. the Kundalini sleeps in the Svadistthana, no more in
the Muladhara Cakkrâm.
See also the Rosicrucian lecture on the Microcosmos,
where this view is certainly upheld, the Qliphoth of an
Adept being balanced and trained to fill his Malkuth,
vacated by the purified Nephesch which has gone up to
live in Tiphereth.
Or so O.M. read it.
The other idea of the Light descending and filling each
principle with its glory is, it seems to him, less fertile,
and less in accord with any idea of Evolution.
(What would Judas McCabbage think?)
And one can so readily understand how tremendous a
task is that of the postulant, since he has to glorify and
initiate all his principles and train them to their new
and superior tasks. This surely explains better the
terrible dangers of the path. . . .
Some years back, on the Red River in China, John St.
John saw at every corner of that swift and dangerous
stream a heap of wreckage.
. . . He, himself in danger, thought of his magical career.
Alcoholism, insanity, disease, faddism, death, knavery,
prison—every earthly hell, reflection of some spiritual
blunder, had seized his companions. By dozens had
that band been swept away, dashed to pieces on one
rock or another. He, alone almost upon that angry
stream, still held on, his life each moment the plaything
of giant forces, so enormous as to be (once they were
loose) quite out of proportion to all human wit or
courage or address—and he held on his course, humbly,
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4.53. not hopelessly, not fearfully, but with an abiding
certainty that he would endure unto the end.
And now?
In this great Magical Retirement he has struck many
rocks, sprung many leaks; the waters of the False Sea
foam over the bow, ride and carry the quarter—is he
perchance already wrecked, his hopeless plight concealed
from him as yet by his own darkness? For,
dazzled as he is by the blinding brilliance of this
morning's Spiritual Sun, which yet he beheld but
darkly, to him now even the light of earth seems dark.
Reason the rudder was long since unshipped; the
power of his personality has broken down, yet under
the tiny storm-sail of his Will to Adonai, the crazy bark
holds way, steered by the oar of Discipline—Yea, he
holds his course. Adonai! Adonai! is not the harbour yet
in sight?
6.7. He has returned home and burnt (as every night since
its arrival) the holy incense of Abramelin the Mage.
The atmosphere is full of vitality, sweetened and
strengthened; the soul naturally and simply turns to the
holy task with vigour and confidence; the black demons
of doubt and despair flee away; one respires already a
foretaste of the Perfume, and obtains almost a
premonition of the Vision.
So, let the work go on.
6.23. 7 Breath-cycles, rather difficult. Clothes are a nuisance,
and make all the difference.
6.31. John St. John is more broken up by this morning's
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105
6.31. failure than he was ready to admit. But the fact stands;
he cannot concentrate his mind for three seconds
together. How utterly hopeless it makes one feel! One
thinks one is at least always good for a fair average
performance—and one is undeceived.
This, by the way, is the supreme use of a record like
this. It makes it impossible to cheat oneself.
Well, he has got to get up more steam somehow,
though the boiler bursts. Perhaps early dinner, with
Ritual, may induce that Enthusiastic Energy of which
the Gnostics write.
This morning the whole Sankhara-dhatu (the tendency
of the being John St. John) was operating aright.
Now by no effort of will can he flog his tired cattle
along the trail.
So poor a thing is he that he will even seek an Oracle
from the book of Zoroaster.
Done. Zoroaster respectfully wishes to point out that
“The most mystic of discourses informs us—his
wholeness is in the Supra-Mundane Order; for there a
Solar World and Boundless light subsist, as the Oracles
of the Chaldeans affirm.”
Not very helpful, is it?
As if divination could ever help on such exalted planes!
As if the trumpery elementals that operate these things
possessed the Secrets of the Destiny of an Adept, or
could help him in his agony!
For this reason, divination should be discarded from the
start: it is only a “mere toy, the basis of mercenary
fraud” as Zoroaster more practically assures us.
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6.31. Yet one can get the right stuff out of the Tarot (or other
inconvenient method) by spiritualising away all the
meaning, until the intuition pierces that blank wall of
ignorance.
Let O.M. meditate upon this Oracle on his way to feed
John St. John's body—and thus feed his own!
6.52. Out, out, to feed!
6.57. Trimming his beard in preparation for going out, he
reflects that the deplorable tone (as one's Dean would
say) of the last entry is not the cry of the famished
beast, but that of the over-driven slave.
“Adonai, ply Thou thy scourge! Adonai, load Thou the
chain!”
7.25. What the devil is the matter with the time? The hours
flit just like butterflies—the moon, dead full, shines
down the Boulevard. My moon—full moon of my
desire! (Ha, ha, thou beast! are “I and Me and Mine”
not dead yet?)
Yea, Lord Adonai! but the full moon means much to
John St. John; he fears (fears, O Lord of the Western
Pylon!) lest, of once that full moon pass, he may not
win through. . . .
“The harvest is over, the summer is ended, and we are
not saved!”
Yet hath not Abramelin lashed the folly of limiting the
spiritual paths by the motions of the planets? And
Zoroaster, in that same oracle just quoted?
7.35. Hors d'Œuvres, Bouillabaisse, contrefilet rôti, Glace. ½
Graves.
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107
7.35. The truth is that the Chittam is excited and racing,
the control being impaired; and the Ego is springing
up again.
7.50. This racing of the Chittam is simply shocking. John St.
John must stop it somehow. Hours and hours seem to
have passed since the last entry.
7.57. ! ! ! He is in such a deuce of a hurry that (in a lucid
moment) he finds himself trying to eat bread, radish,
beef and potato at a mouthful.
Worse, the beast is pleased and excited at the novelty
of the sensation, and takes delight in recording it.
Beast! Beast!
8.3. ! ! ! ! After myriads of æons. He has drunk only about
one third of his half-bottle of light white wine; yet he's
like a hashish- drunkard, only more so. The loss of the
time-sense which occurs with hashish he got during his
experiments with that drug in 1906, but in an
unimportant way. (Damn him! he is so glad. He calls
this a Result. A result! Damn him!) O.M. who writes
this is so angry with him that he wants to scrawl the
page over with the most fearful curses! and John St.
John has nearly thrown a bottle at the waiter for not
bringing the next course. He will not be allowed to
finish his wine! He orders cold water.
8.12. Things a little better. But he tries 100 small muscular
movements, pressing on the table with his fingers in
tune, and finds the tendency to hurry almost irresistible.
This record is here written at lightning speed. . . .
Attempt to write slowly is painful.
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8.20. The thought too, is wandering all over the world. Since
the last entry, very likely, the beast has not thought
even once of Adonai.
8.35. The Reading of the Ritual has done much service,
though things are still far from calm. Yet the mighty
flood of the Chittam is again rolling its tremendous tide
toward the sea—the Sea of annihilation. Amen.
9.0. Returning home, with his eyes fixed on the supreme
glory of the Moon, in his heart and brain invoking
Adonai, he hath now entered into his little chamber,
and will prepare all things for the due performance of
the New Ritual which he hath got by heart.
9.35. Nearly ready. In a state of very intense magical strain—
anything might happen.
9.48. Washed, robed, temple in order. Will wait until 10
o'clock and begin upon the stroke. O.M. 7° = 4° will
begin; and then solemnly renounce all his robes,
weapons, dignities, etc., renouncing his grades even by
giving the Signs of them backwards and downwards
toward the outer. He will keep only one thing, the
Secret Ring that hath been committed unto him by the
Masters; for from that he cannot part, even if he would.
That is his Password into the Ritual itself; and on his
finger it shall be put at the moment when all else is gone.
11.5. Ceremony works admirably. Magical Images strong. At
Reception behold! the Sigil of the Supreme Order itself
in a blaze of glory not to be spoken of. And the halfseen
symbol of my Lord Adonai therewith as a mighty
angel glittering with infinite light.
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109
11.5. According to the the Ritual, O.M. withdrew himself
from the Vision; the Vision of the Universe, a whirling
abyss of coruscating suns in all the colours, yet
informed and dominated by that supernal brilliance.
Yet O. M. refused the Vision; and a conflict began
and was waged through many ages—so it seemed.
And now all the enemies of O. M. banded themselves
against him. The petty affairs of the day; even the
irritations of his body, the emotions of him, the plans of
him, worry about the Record and the Ritual and—
O! everything!—then, too, the thoughts which are
closer yet to the great Enemy, the sense of separateness;
that sense itself at last—so O. M. withdrew from
the conflict for a moment so that the duty of this
Record done might leave him free for the fight.
It may have been a snare—may the Lord Adonai keep
him in the Path.
Adonai! Adonai!
(P.S.—Add that the “ultra-violet” or “astral” light in
the room was such that it seemed bright as daylight.
He hath never seen the like, even in the ceremony
which he performed in the Great Pyramid of Gizeh.)
11.14-
11.34.
O. M. then passed from vision unto vision of unexampled
splendour. The infinite abyss of space, a
rayless orb of liquid and colourless brilliance fading
beyond the edges into a flame of white and gold. . . .
The Rosy Cross flashing with lustre ineffable. . . . and
more, much more which ten scribes could hardly
catalogue in a century.
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110
11.14 The Vision of the Holy Guardian Angel itself; yet was
He seen as from afar, not intimately. . . .
Therefore is O. M. not content with all this wonder; but
will now orderly close the temple, that at the Beginning
of the Tenth Day—and Ten are the Holy Sephiroth,
the Emanations of the Crown; Blessed be He! . . . He
may make new considerations of this Operation
whereby he may discover through what error he is thus
betrayed again and again into failure.
Failure. Failure.
11.49. The Temple is closed.
Now then, O Lord Adonai! Let the Tenth Day be
favourable unto O. M. For in the struggle he is as
nothing worth. Nor valiant, nor fortunate, nor skilful
—except Thou fight by his side, cover his breast with
Thy shield, second his blows with Thy spear and with
Thy sword.
Aye! let the Ninth Day close in silence and in darkness,
and let O.M. be found watching and waiting and willing
Thy Presence.
Adonai! Adonai! O Lord Adonai! Let Thy Light
illumine the Path of that darkling wight John St.
John, that being who, separate from Thee, is separate
from all
Light, Life, Love.
Adonai! Adonai! let it be written of O. M. that “The
Lord Adonai is about him like a thunderbolt and like
a Pylon and like a Serpent and like a Phallus—and in
the midst thereof like the Woman that jetteth the Milk
JOHN ST. JOHN
111
11.49. of the Stars from Her paps; yea, the Milk of the Stars
from Her paps.”
The Tenth Day
12.17. Now that the perfume of the incense is clearly away,
one may most potently perceive the Invoked Perfume
of the Ceremony Itself. And this mystical perfume of
Adonai is like pure Musk, but infinitely subtilised—
far stronger, and at the same time far more delicate.
(P.S.—Doubt has arisen about this perfume, as to
whether there was not a commonplace cause. On the
balance of the evidence, carefully considered, one
would pronounce for the mystic theory.)
One should add a curious omen. On sitting down for
the great struggle (11.14) John St. John found a nail
upon the floor, at his feet. Now a nail is Vau in
Hebrew, and the Tarot Trump corresponding to Vau
is the Hierophant or Initiator—whereby is O. M.
greatly comforted.
So poor a thing hath he become!
Even as a little child groping feebly for the breast of
its mother, so gropeth Thy little child after Thee, O
Thou Self-Glittering One!
12.55. He hath read through Days VIII. and IX.
. . . He is too tired to understand what he reads. He will,
despite of all, do a little Pranayama, and then sleep,
ever willing Adonai.
For Pranayama with its intense physical strain is a
great medicine for the mind. Even as the long trail
of the desert and the life with the winds and the stars,
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12.55. the daily march and its strife with heat, thirst, fatigue,
cure all the ills of the soul, so does Pranayama clear
away the phantoms that Mayan, dread maker of
Illusion, hath cumbered it withal.
1.13. 10 Breath-Cycles; calm, perfect, without the least effort;
enough to go to sleep upon.
He will read through the Ritual once, and then sleep.
(The Pranayama precipitated a short attack of diarrhœa,
started by the chill of the Ceremony.)
6.23. He slept from 1.45 (approximately) till now. The morn
is cold and damp; rain has fallen.
John St. John is horribly tired; the “control” is worn to a
thread. He takes five minutes to make up his mind to
go through with it, five more to wash and write this up.
And he has a million excuses for not doing Pranayama.
6.51. 15 Breath-cycles, steady and easy enough.
The brain is cool and lucid; but no energy is in it. At
least no Sammaváyamo. And at present the
Superscription on John St. John's Cross is
FAILURE.
Marvellous and manifold as are his results, he hath renounced
them and esteemeth them as dross. . . . This
is right, John St. John! yet how is it that there is place
for the great hunchbacked devil to whisper in thine ear
the doubt: Is there in truth any mystic path at all? Is it
all disappointment and illusion?
And the “Poor Thing” John St. John moves off
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113
6.51. shivering and sad, like a sot who has tried to get credit
at a tavern and is turned away—and that on Christmas
Eve!
There is no money in his purse, no steam in his boilers
—that's what's the matter with John St. John.
It is clear enough, what happened yesterday. He failed
at the four Pylons in turn; in the morning Fear stopped
him at that of Horus and so on; while in the evening he
either failed at the Pylon of Thoth, i.e., was obsessed by
the necessity (alleged) of recording his results, or failed
to overcome the duality of Thoth. Otherwise, even if
he comprehended the base, he certainly failed at the
apex of the Pyramid.
In any case, he cannot blame the Ceremony, which is
most potent; one or two small details may need
correction, but no more.
Here then he is down at the bottom of the hill again, a
Rosicrucian Sisyphus with the Stone of the Philosophers!
An Ixion bound to the Wheel of Destiny
and of the Samsara, unable to reach the centre, where
is Rest.
He must add to the entry 1.13 that the “telephonecross”
voices came as he composed himself to sleep, in
the Will to Adonai. This time he detached a body of
cavalry to chase them to oblivion. Perhaps an unwise
division of his forces; yet he was so justly indignant at
the eternal illusions that he may be excused.
Excused! To whom? Thou must succeed or fail! O
Batsman, with thy frail fortress of Three-in-One, the
Umpire cries “Out”; and thou explainest to thy friends
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6.51. in the pavilion. But thy friends have heard that story
before, and thy explanation will not appear in the score.
Mr. J. St. John, b. Maya, 0, they will read in the local
newspaper. There is no getting away from that!
Failure! Failure! Failure!
Now then let me (7.35) take the position of the Hanged
Man and invoke Adonai.
9.0. Probably sleep returned shortly. Not a good night,
through dreamless, so far as memory serves.
The rain comes wearily down, not chasing the dryness,
but soddening the streets.
The rain of autumn, not the rain of spring!
So is it in this soul, Lord Adonai. The thought of Thee
is heavy and uneasy, flabby and loose, like an old fat
woman stupid-drunk in her slum; which was as a young
maiden in a field of lilies, arrow-straight, sun-strong,
moon-pure, a form all litheness and eagerness, dancing,
dancing for her own excess of life.
Adonai! Adonai!
9.17. Rose, dressed, etc., reflecting on the Path. Blinder than
ever! The brain is in revolt; it has been compressed too
long. Yet it is impossible to rest. It is too late. The
Irresistible God, whose name is Destiny, has been
invoked, and He hath answered.
The matter is in His hands; He must end it, either
with that mighty spiritual Experience which I have
sought, or else with black madness, or with death. By
the Body of God, swear thou that death would come—
welcome, welcome, welcome!
JOHN ST. JOHN
115
9.17. And to Thee, and from Thee, O thou great god
Destiny, there is no appeal. Thou turnest not one hair's
breadth from Thy path appointed.
That which “John St. John” means (else is it a blank
name) is that which he must be—and what is that?
The issue is with Thee—cannot one wait with fortitude,
whether it be for the King's Banqueting-House or for
the Headsman and the Block?
9.45. Breakfast—croissant, sandwich, 2 coffees. Concentrating
off the Work as well as possible.
10.10. Arrived at Brenner's studio. The rest has produced one
luminous idea: why not end it all with destruction? Say
a great ritual of Geburah, curses, curses, curses! John
St. John ought not to have forgotten how to curse. In
his early days at Wastdale Head people would travel
miles to hear him!
Curse all the Gods and all the demons—all those
things in short which go to make up John St. John.
For that—as he now knows—is the Name of the great
Enemy, the Dweller upon the Threshold. It was that
mighty spirit whose formless horror beat him back, for
it was he!
So now to return to concentration and the Will toward
Adonai.
10.20. One thing is well; the vow of “interpreting every
phenomenon as a particular dealing of God with my
soul” is keeping itself. Whatever impression reaches
the consciousness is turned by it into a symbol or a
simile of the Work.
THE EQUINOX
116
11.18. The pose over; recited Ritual, now known by heart;
then willed Adonai; hopelessly unconcentrated.
. . . To interpret this Record aright, it must, however,
be understood that the “Standard of Living” goes up at
an incredible rate. The same achievement would, say
five days ago, have been entered as “High degree of
concentration; unhoped-for success.”
The phenomena which to-day one dismisses with
annoyed contempt are the same which John St. John
worked four years continuously to attain, and when
attained seemed almost to outstrip the possible of glory.
The flood of the Chittam is again being heaped up by
the dam of Discipline. There is less headache, and
more sense of being on the Path—that is the only way
one finds of expressing it.
11.45. Worse and worse; though pose even better held.
In despair returned to a simple practice, the holding of
the mind to a single imagined object; in this case the
Triangle surmounted by the Cross. It seems quite easy
to do nowadays; why shouldn't it lead to the Result? It
used to be supposed to do so.
Might be worth trying anyway; things can hardly be
worse than they are.
Or, one might go over to the Hammam, and have a long
bath and sleep—but who can tell whether it would
refresh, or merely destroy the whole edifice built up so
laboriously in these ten days?
12.15. At Panthéon. ½ dozen Marennes, Rognons Brochette,
Lait chaud.
JOHN ST. JOHN
117
12.15. John St. John is aching all over, cannot get comfortable
anyhow; is hungry, and has no appetite; thirsty, and
loathes the thought of drinking!
He must do something—something pretty drastic, or he
will find himself in serious trouble of body and mind,
the shadows of his soul, that is sick unto death. For
“where are now their gods?” Where is the Lord, the
Lord Adonai?
12.35. The beast feels decidedly better; but whether he is
more concentrated one may doubt. Honestly, he is now
so blind that he cannot tell!
Perhaps a “café, cognac, et cigare” may tune him up to
the point of either going back to work, or across Paris to
the Hammam. He will make the experiment, reading
through his proofs the while.
One good thing; the Chittam is moving slowly. The
waiters all hurry him—what a contrast to last night!
1.15. Proofs read through again. John St. John feels far from
well.
2.15. A stroll down the Boul' Mich' and a visit to M——'s
studio improve matters a good deal.
3.30. The cure continued. No worry about the Work, but an
effort to put it altogether out of the mind.
A café crême, forty minutes at the Academie
Marcelle—a gruelling bout without gloves—and J. St. J.
is at the Luxembourg to look at the pretty pictures.
3.40. The proof of the pudding, observes the most mystic of
discourses (surely!), is in the Eating.
THE EQUINOX
118
3.40. One might justly object to any Results of this Ten
days' strain. But if abundant health and new capacity
to do great work be the after-effect, who then will dare
to cast a stone?
Not that it matters a turnip-top to the Adept himself.
But others may be deterred from entering the Path by
the foolish talk of the ignorant, and thus may flowers be
lost that should go to make the fadeless wreath of Adonai.
Ah, Lord, pluck me up utterly by the root, and set that
which Thou pluckest as a flower upon thy brow!
4.10. Walked back to the Dôme to drink a citron pressé‚
through the lovely gardens, sad with their fallen leaves.
Reflecting on what Dr. Henry Maudsley once wrote to
him about mysticism “Like other bad habits (he might
have said ‘Like all living beings') it grows by what it
feeds on.” Most important, then, to use the constant
critical check on all one's work. The devotion to
Adonai might itself fall under suspicion, where it not
for the definition of Adonai.
Adonai is that thought which informs and strengthens
and purifies, supreme sanity in supreme genius.
Anything that is not that is not Adonai.
Hence the refusal of all other Results, however
glorious; for they are all relative, partial, impure.
Anicca, Dukkha, Anatta: Change, sorrow, Unsubstantiality;
these are their characteristics, however much
they may appear to be Atman, Sat, Chit, Ananda, Soul,
Being, Knowledge, Bliss.
But the main consideration was one of expediency.
JOHN ST. JOHN
119
4.10. Has not John St. John possibly been stuffing himself
both with Methods and Results?
Certainly this morning was more like the engorgement
of the stomach with too much food than like the
headache after a bout of drunkenness.
A less grave fault, by far; it is easy and absurd to get a
kind of hysterical ecstasy over religion, love, or wine.
A German will take off his hat and dance and jodel to
the sunrise—and nothing comes of it! Darwin studies
Nature with more reverence and enthusiasm, but
without antics—and out comes the Law of Evolution.
So it is written “By their fruits ye shall know them.”
But about this question of spiritual overfeeding --- what
did Darwin do when he got to the stage (as he did, be
sure! many a time) when he wished every pigeon in the
world at the devil?
Now this wish has never really arisen in John St. John;
however bad he feels, he always feels that Attainment
is the only possible way out of it. This is the good
Karma of his ten years' constant striving.
Well, in the upshot, he will get back to Work at once,
and hope that his few hours in the world may prove a
true strategic movement to the rear, and not a
euphemism for rout!
5.4. There are further serious considerations to be made
concerning Adonai. This title for the Unknown
Thought was adopted by O. M. in November, 19—, in
Upper Burma, on the occasion of his passing through
the ordeal and receiving the grade which should be
really attributed to Daath (on account of its nature, the
THE EQUINOX
120
5.4. Mastery of the Reason), though it is commonly called
7° = 4°.
It appeared to him at that period that so much talk and
time were wasted on discussing the nature of the
Attainment—a discussion foredoomed to failure, in the
absence of all Knowledge, and in view of the Self-
Contradictory Nature of the Reasoning Faculty, as
applied to Metaphysics—that it would be wiser to drop
the whole question, and concentrate on a simple
Magical Progress.
The Next Step for humanity in general was then “the
Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian
Angel.”
One thing at a time.
But here he finds himself discussing and disputing with
himself the nature of that Knowledge.
Better far act as hitherto, and aspire simply and directly,
as one person to another, careless of the critical
objections (quite insuperable, of course) to this or any
other conception.
For as this experience transcends reason, it is fruitless
to argue about it.
Adonai, I invoke Thee!
Simpler, then, to go back to the Egoistic diction, only
remembering always that by “I” is meant John St. John,
or O. M., or Adonai according to the context.
5.30. Having read some of THE Books to induct myself again
into the Work.
Therefore will I kindle the holy Incense, and turn
myself again to the One Thought.
JOHN ST. JOHN
121
6.27. All this time in Hanged Man position, and thinking of
everything else.
As bad as it was on the very first day!
7.10. More waste time aimlessly watching a poker game.
Walked down to Café de Versailles. Dinner. Hors
d'Œuvre, Escargots, Cassoulet de Castelnaudry, Glace,
½ Evian. Am quite washed-out. I have not even the
courage of despair. There is not enough left in me to
despair.
I don't care.
7.35. One gleam of light illumines the dark path—I can't
enjoy my dinner. The snails, as I prong them forth, are
such ugly, slimy, greasy black horrors—oh! so like my
soul! . . . Ugh!
I write a letter to F——r and sign myself with a broken
pentagram.
It makes me think of a “busted flush.” . . .
But through all the sunlight peeps: e.g., These six snails
were my six inferior souls; the seventh, the real soul,
cannot be eaten by the devourer.
How's that for high?
8.3. Possibly a rousing mantra would fix things up; say the
Old Favorite:
Aum Tat Sat Aum
and give the Hindus a chance.
We can but try.
So I begin at once.
9.10. This is past all bearing. Another hour wasted chat-
ting to Nina and H——. The mantra hardly remem-
THE EQUINOX
122
9.10. bered at all. I have gone to bed, and shall take things in
hand seriously, if it kills me.
9.53. Since 9.17 have done Pranayama, though allowing
myself some irregularities in the way of occasional
omission of a Kambhakham.
'Tis very hard to stick to it. I find myself, at the end
of above sentence, automatically crawling into bed.
No, John!
10.14 Have been trying to extract some sense from that
extraordinary treatise on mysticism, “Konx Om Pax.”
Another failure, but an excusable one.
I will now beseech Adonai as best I may to give me
back my lost powers.
For I am no more even a magician! So lost am I in the
illusions that I have made in the Search for Adonai, that
I am become the vilest of them all!
10.27. A strange and unpleasant experience. My thought
suddenly transmuted itself into a muscular cry, so that
my legs gave a violent jerk. This I expect is at bottom
the explanation of the Bhuchari-Siddhi. A very bad
form of uncontrolled thought. I was on the edge of
sleep; it woke me.
The fact is, all is over! I am done! I have tried for the
Great Initiation and I have failed: I am swept away into
strange hells.
Lord Adonai! let the fires be informing; let them
“balance, assain assoil.”
I suppose this rash attempt will end in Locomotor
Ataxia or G. P. I.
JOHN ST. JOHN
123
10.27. Let it! I'm going on.
11.47. The first power to return is the power to suffer.
The shame of it! The torture of it!
I slept in patches as a man sleeps that is deadly ill. I
am only afraid of failing to wake for the End of the
day.
God! what a day!
. . . I dare not trust my will to keep me awake; so I rise,
wash, and will walk about till time to get into my Asana.
Thirst! Oh how I thirst!
I had not thought that there could be such suffering.
The Eleventh Day
12.19. It seems a poor thing to be proud of, merely to be
awake. Yet I was flushed with triumph as a boy that
wins his first race.
The powers of Asana and Pranayama return. I did 21
Breath-cycles without fatigue.
Energy returns, and Keenness to pursue the Path—all
fruits of that one little victory over sleep.
How delicate are these powers, so simple as they seem!
Let me be very humble, now and for every more!
Surely at least that lesson has been burnt into me.
And how gladly I would give all these powers for the
One Power!
12.33. Another smart attack of diarrhœa. I take 4 gr.
Plumb c. Opio and alter my determination to stay out
of bed all night, as chill is doubtless the chief cause.
. . . It is really extraordinary how the smallest success
THE EQUINOX
124
12.33. awakes a monstrous horde of egoistic devils, vain,
strutting peacocks, preening and screaming!
This is simply damnable. Egoism is the spur of all
energy, in a way; and in this particular case it is the one
thing that is not Adonai (whatever else may be) and so
the antithesis of the Work.
Bricks without straw, indeed! That's nothing to it.
This job is like being asked to judge a Band contest
and being told that one may do anything but listen.
Only worse! One could form some idea of how they
were playing through other senses; in this case every
faculty is the enemy of the Work. At first sight the
problem seems insoluble. It may be so, for me. At
least, I have not solved it. Yet I have come very near it,
many a time, of old; have solved it indeed, though in a
less important sense than now I seek. I am not to be
content with little or with much; but only with the
Ultimate Attainment.
Apparently the method is just this; to store up—no
matter how—great treasures of energy and purity,
until they begin to do the work themselves (in the way
that the Hindus call Sukshma).
Just so the engineer—five feet six in his boots—and his
men build the dam. The snows melt on the mountains,
the river rises, and the land is irrigated, in a way that
is quite independent of the physical strength of that
Five foot Six of engineer. The engineer might
even be swept away and drowned by the forces he
had himself organized. So also the Kingdom of
Heaven.
JOHN ST. JOHN
125
12.33. And now (12.57) John St. John will turn himself to
sleep, invoking Adonai.
1.17. Can neither sleep nor concentrate.
Instead grotesque "astral" images of a quite base
gargoylish type.
I suppose I shall have to pentagram them off like a
damned neophyte.
Je m'emmerde!
3.8. Praise the Lord, I wake! If that can be called waking
which is a mere desperate struggle to keep the eyes
open.
3.18. Pranayama all wrong—very difficult. Rose, washed,
drank a few drops of water. (N.B.—To-night have
drunk several times, a mouthful at a time; other nights,
and days, no. All entries into body recorded duly.)
3.30. Have done 10 Breath-Cycles; am quite awake.
It will therefore now be lawful again to sleep.
8.12. Awoke at 7.40, read a letter which arrived, and tried
quite vainly to concentrate.
8.52. Have risen, written a letter. Will break my fast—
café croissant—and go a walk with the New Mantra,
using my recently invented method of doing Pranayama
on the march. The weather is again perfect.
9.14. Breakfast—eaten Yogin-wise—at an end. The walk
begins.
11.15. The walk over. Kept mantra going well enough.
THE EQUINOX
126
11.15. Made also considerations concerning the Nature of the
Path.
The upshot is that it does not matter. Acquire full
power of Concentration; the rest is only leather and
prunella.
Don't worry; work!
I shall now make a pantacle to aid the said faculty of
concentration.
The Voice of the Nadi (by the way) is resounding well,
and the Chittam is a little better under control.
1.5. Have worked well on the Pantacle, thinking of Adonai.
Of course we are now reduced to a “low anthropomorphic
conception”—but what odds? Once the
Right Thought comes it will transcend any and all
conceptions. The objection is as silly as the objection
to illustrating Geometry by Diagrams, on the ground
that printed lines are thick—and so on.
This is the imbecility of the “Protestant” objection to
images. What fools these mortals be!
The Greeks, too, after exhausting all their sublimest
thoughts of Zeus and Hades and Poseidon, found that
they could not find a fitting image of the All, the
supreme—so they just carved a goat-man, saying: Let
this represent Pan!
Also in the holiest place of the most secret temple there
is an empty shrine.
But whoso goes there in the first instance thinks; There
is no God.
He who goes there at the End, when he has adored all
the other deities, knoweth that No God.
JOHN ST. JOHN
127
1.5. So also I go through all the Ritual, and try all the
Means; at the End it may be I shall find No rituals and
No means, but an act or a silence so simple that it
cannot be told or understood.
Lord Adonai, bring me to the End!
1.25. After writing above, and adding a few touches to the
Pantacle, am ready to go to lunch.
1.45. Arrived at Panthéon, with mantra.
Rumpsteak aux pommes soufflées, poire, ½ Evian, and
the three Cs.
Was meditating on asceticism. John Tweed once told
me that Swami Vivekananda, towards the end of his
life, wrote a most pathetic letter deploring that his
sanctity forbad his “going on the bust.”
What a farce is such sanctity! How much wiser for the
man to behave as a man, the God as a God!
This is my real bed-rock objection to the Eastern
systems. They decry all manly virtue as dangerous
and wicked; and they look upon Nature as evil. True
enough, everything is evil relatively to Adonai; for all
stain is impurity. A bee's swarm is evil—inside one's
clothes. “Dirt is matter in the wrong place.” It is
dirt to connect sex with statuary, morals with art.
Only Adonai, who is in a sense the True Meaning of
everything, cannot defile any idea. This is a hard
saying, though true, for nothing of course is dirtier
than to try and use Adonai as a fig-leaf for one's
shame.
To seduce women under pretence of religion is un-
THE EQUINOX
128
1.45. utterable foulness; though both adultery and religion
are themselves clean.
To mix jam and mustard is a messy mistake.
2.5. It also struck me that this Operation is (among other
things) an attempt to prove the proposition:
Reward is the direct and immediate consequence of
Work.
Of all the holy illuminated Men of God of my
acquaintance, I am the only one that holds this
opinion.
But I think that this Record, when I have time to go
through it, and stand at some distance, to get the perspective,
will be proved a conclusive proof of my thesis.
I think that every failure will be certainly traceable to
my own dam foolishness; every little success to
courage, skill, wit, tenacity.
If I had but a little more of these!
2.22. I further take this opportunity of asserting my Atheism.
I believe that all these phenomena are as explicable as
the formation of hoar-frost or of glacier tables.
I believe “Attainment” to be a simple supreme sane
state of the human brain. I do not believe in miracles; I
do not think that God could cause a monkey, clergyman,
or rationalist to attain.
I am taking all this trouble of the Record principally in
hope that it will show exactly what mental and physical
conditions precede, accompany, and follow
“attainment” so that others may reproduce, through
those conditions, that Result.
JOHN ST. JOHN
129
2.22. I believe in the Law of Cause and Effect—and I
loathe the cant alike of the Superstitionist and the
Rationalist.
The Confession of St. Judas McCabbage
I believe in Charles Darwin Almighty, maker of
Evolution; and in Ernst Haeckel, his only son our Lord
Who for us men and for our salvation came down from
Germany: who was conceived of Weissmann, born of
Büchner, suffered under du Bois-Raymond, was
printed, bound, and shelved: who was raised again into
English (of sorts), ascended into the Pantheon of the
Literary Guide and sitteth on the right hand of Edward
Clodd: whence he shall come to judge the thick in the
head.
I believe in Charles Watts; the Rationalist Press
Association; the annual dinner at the Trocadero
Restaurant; the regularity of subscriptions, the
resurrection in a sixpenny edition, and the Book-stall
everlasting.
AMEN.
3.0. Arrived at Brenner's studio, and went on with the
“moulage” of my Asana.
4.20. Left the Studio; walk with mantra.
4.55. Mantra-march. Pranayama; quick-time. Very bracing
and fatiguing, both.
At Dôme to drink a citron press‚.
Reflections have been in my mind upon the grossness
of the Theistic conception, as shewn even in such
pictures as Raphael's and Fra Angelico's.
THE EQUINOX
130
4.55. How infinitely subtler and nobler is the contempla-
tion of
The Utmost God
Hid i' th' middle o'matter,
the inscrutable mystery of the nature of common
things. With what awe does the wise man approach a
speck of dust!
And it is this Mystery that I approach!
For Thou, Adonai, art the immanent and essential
Soul of Things; not separate from them, or from me;
but That which is behind the shadow-show, the Cause
of all, the Quintessence of all, the Transcender
of all.
And Thee I seek insistently; though Thou hide
Thyself in the Heaven, there will I seek Thee out;
though Thou wrap Thyself in the Flames of the Abyss,
even there will I pursue Thee; Though Thou make
Thee a secret place in the Heart of the Rose or at the
Arms of the Cross that spanneth all-embracing Space;
though Thou be in the inmost part of matter, or behind
the Veil of mind; Thee will I follow; Thee will I
overtake; Thee will I gather into my being.
So thus as I chase Thee from fastness to fastness of my
brain, as Thou throwest out against me Veil after Magic
Veil of glory, or of fear, or of despair, or of desire; it
matters nothing; at the End I shall attain to Thee—oh
my Lord Adonai!
And even as the Capture is delight, is not the Chase
also delight? For we are lovers from the Beginning,
though it pleasure Thee to play the Syrinx to my Pan.
JOHN ST. JOHN
131
4.55. Is it not the springtide, and are these not the Arcadian
groves?
5.31. At home; settling to strictest meditation upon Adonai
my Lord; willing His presence, the Perfume and the
Vision, even as it is written in the Book of the Sacred
Magick of Abramelin the Mage.
8.6. Soon this became a sleep, though the will was eager
and concentrated.
The sleep, too, was deep and refreshing. I will go to
dinner.
8.22. Arrived, with mantra, at the Caf‚ de Versailles.
9.10. ½ doz. Marennes, Rable de Liévre, citron pressé.
I am now able to concentrate OFF the Path for a little.
Whether this means that I am simply slipping back into
the world, or that I am more balanced on, and master of,
the Path, I cannot say.
10.4. Have walked home, drunk a citron pressé at the Dôme,
and prepare for the night.
As I crossed the boulevard, I looked to the bright
moon, high and stately in the east, for a message. And
there came to me this passage from the Book of
Abramelin:
”And thou wilt begin to inflame thyself in pray-
ing” . . .
It is the sentence which goes on to declare the Result.
(P.S.—With this rose that curious feeling of confidence,
sure premonition of success, that one gets in most
physical tasks, but especially when one is going to get
THE EQUINOX
132
10.4. down a long putt or a tricky one. Whether it means
more than that perception and execution have got into
unison (for once) and know it, I cannot say.)
It is well that thus should close this eleventh day of my
Retirement, and the thirty-third year of my life.
Thirty and three years was this temple in building. . . .
It has always been my custom on this night to look back
over the year, and to ask: What have I done?
The answer is invariably “Nothing.”
Yet of what men count deeds I have done no small
share. I have travelled a bit, written a bit . . . I seem to
have been hard at it all the time—and to have got
nothing finished or successful.
One Tragedy—one little comedy—two essays—a dozen
poems or so—two or three short stories—odds and ends
of one sort and another: it's a miserable record, though
the Tragedy is good enough to last a life. It marks an
epoch in literature, though nobody else will guess it for
fifty years yet.
The travel, too, has been rubbish. It's been a petty,
peddling year.
The one absolute indication is: on no account live
otherwise than alone.
But it is 10.35; these considerations, though in a way
pertaining to the Work, are not the Work itself.
Let me begin to inflame myself in praying!
The Twelfth Day
12.17. When therefore I had made ready the chamber, so that
all was dark, save for the Lamp upon the Altar, I
JOHN ST. JOHN
133
12.17. began as recorded above, to inflame myself in praying,
calling upon my Lord; and I burned in the Lamp that
Pantacle which I had made of Him, renouncing the
Images, destroying the Images, that Himself might
arise in me.
And the Chamber was filled with that wondrous glow of
ultra- violet light self-luminous, without a source, that
hath no counterpart in Nature unless it be in that Dawn
of the North. . . .
And there were reveled unto me certain Words of
Power . . .
And I invoked my Lord and recited the Book Ararita at
the Altar . . .
This holy inspired book (delivered unto me in the
winter of last year) was now at last understanded of me;
for it is, though I knew it not, a complete scheme of
this Operation.
For this cause I will add this book Ararita at the end of
the Manuscript. [This has not been permitted. The
Book Ararita will be issued by the A\ A\ in due
course.—ED.] I also demanded of mine Angel the
Writing upon the Lamen of Silver; a Writing of the
veritable Elixir and supernal Dew. And it was granted
unto me.
Then subtly, easily, simply, imperceptibly gliding, I
passed away into nothing. And I was wrapped in the
black brilliance of my Lord, that interpenetrated me in
every part, fusing its light with my darkness, and
leaving there no darkness, but pure light.
Also I beheld my Lord in a figure and I felt the interior
THE EQUINOX
134
12.17. trembling kindle itself into a Kiss—and I perceived the
true Sacraments—and I beheld in one moment all the
mystic visions in one; and the Holy Graal appeared
unto me, and many other inexpressible things were
know of me.
Also I was given to enjoy the subtle Presence of my
Lord interiorly during the whole of this twelfth day.
Then I besought the Lord that He would take me into
His presence eternally even now.
But He withdrew Himself, for that I must do that
which I was sent hither to do; namely, to rule the
earth.
Therefore with sweetness ineffable He parted from
me; yet leaving a comfort not to be told, a Peace . . . the
Peace. And the Light and the Perfume do certainly yet
remain with me in the little Chamber, and I know that
my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the
latter day upon the earth.
For I am He that liveth, and was dead; and behold! I
am alive for evermore, and have the Keys of Hell and of
Death. I am Amoun the Sun in His rising; I have
passed from darkness into Light. I am Asar Un-nefer
the Perfected One. I am the Lord of Life, triumphant
over death. . . .
There is no part of me that is not of the Gods. . . .
The dead man Ankh-af-na-khonsu
Saith with his voice of truth and calm:
Oh Thou that has a single arm!
O Thou that glitterest in the moon!
I weave Thee in the spinning charm;
I lure thee with the billowy tune.
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The dead man Ankh-af-na-khonsu
Hath parted from the darkling crowds,
Hath joined the dwellers of the light,
Opening Duant, the star-abodes;
Their keys receiving.
The dead man Ankh-af-na-khonsu
Hath made his passage into night,
His pleasure on the earth to do
Among the living.
Amen
Amen without lie
Amen, and Amen of Amen.
12.40. I shall lie down to sleep in my robes, still wearing the
Ring of the Masters, and bearing my wand in my
hand.
For to me now sleep is the same as waking, and life the
same as death.
In Thy L.V.X. are not light and darkness but twin
children that chase each other in their play?
7.55. Awoke from long sweet dreamless sleep, like a young
eagle that soars to greet the dawn.
9.20. After breakfast, have strolled, on my way to the studio,
through the garden of the Luxembourg to my favourite
fountain. It is useless to attempt to write of the dew
and the flowers in the clear October sunlight.
Yet the light which I behold is still more than sunlight.
My eyes too are quite weak from the Vision; I cannot
bear the brilliance of things.
The clock of the Senate strikes; and my ears are
ravished with its mysterious melody. It is the Infinite
interior movement of things, secured by the co-exten-
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136
9.20. sion of their sum with the all, that transcends the
deadly opposites; change which implies decay, stability
which spells monotony.
I understand all the Psalms of Benediction; there is
spontaneous praise, a fountain in my heart. The
authors of the Psalms must have known something of
this Illumination when they wrote them.
9.30. It seems, too, that this Operation is transformed. I
suppose it must read as a patchwork of most inharmonious
colour, a thing without continuity or cohesion.
To me, now, it appears from the very start a simple
direct progress in one straight line. I can hardly
remember that there were checks.
Of course my rational memory picking out details finds
otherwise. But I seem to have two memories almost as
if belonging to two strata of being. In Qabalastic
language, my native consciousness is now Neschamah,
not Ruach or Nephesch.
. . . I really cannot write more. This writing is a descent
into Ruach, and I want to abide where I am.
11.17. At 10.0 arrived at Brenner's studio, and took the
pose. At once, automatically, the interior trembling
began again, and again the subtle brilliance flowed
through me.
The consciousness again died and was reborn as the
divine, always without shock or stress.
How easy is magic, once the way is found!
How still is the soul! The turbid spate of emotion
has ceased; the heavy particles of thought have sunk to
JOHN ST. JOHN
137
11.17. the bottom; how limpid, how lucid is its glimmer.
Only from above, from the overshadowing Tree of Life,
whose leaves glisten and quiver in the shining wind of
the Spirit, drops ever and anon, self- luminous, the
Dew of Immortality.
Many and wonderful also were the Visions and powers
offered unto me in this hour; but I refused them all; for
being in my Lord and He in me, there is no need of
these toys.
12.0. The pose over. On this second sitting, practically no
thoughts arose at all to cloud the Sun; but a curious
feeling that there was something more to come.
Possibly the Proof, that I had demanded, the Writing
on the Lamen . . .
12.40. Chez Lavenue. Certain practical considerations suggest
themselves.
One would have been much better off with a proper
Magical Cabinet, a disciple to look after things, proper
magical food ceremonially prepared, a private garden to
walk in . . . and so on.
But at least it is useful and important to know that
things can be done at a pinch in a great city and a
small room.
1.14. The lunch is good; the kidneys were well cooked; the
tarte aux fraises was excellent; the Burgundy came
straight from the Vat of Bacchus. The Coffee and
Cognac are beyond all praise; the cigar is the best
Cabaña I ever smoked.
THE EQUINOX
138
1.14. I read through this volume of the Record; and I dissolve
my being into quintessential laughter.
The entries are some of them so funny! . . . Previously,
this had escaped me.
1.32. And now the Rapture of it takes me!
1.25. The exquisite beauty of the women in the Restaurant
. . . what John St. John would have called old hags!
1.27. My soul is singing . . . my soul is singing!
1.30. It matters nothing what I do . . . everything goes
infinitely, incredibly right!
“The Lord Adonai is about me as a Thunderbolt and as
a Pylon and as a Serpent and as a Phallus.” . . .
3.17. Have had a long talk of Art with B——. “The master
considers himself always a student.” So, therefore,
whatever one may have attained, in this as in Art, there
is always so much more possible that one can never be
satisfied.
Much less, then, satiated.
11.15. Having gone back into the life of the world—yet
a world transfigured!—I did all my little work, my little
amusements, all the things that one does, very quietly
and beatifically.
About 10.30 the rapture began to carry me away; yet I
withstood it and went on with my game of Billiards, for
politeness' sake.
And even there in the Café du Dôme was the glory
within me, and I therein; so that every time that
I failed at a stroke and stood up and drank in that
JOHN ST. JOHN
139
11.15. ambrosial air, I was night falling for that intense
sweetness that dissolved away the soul. Even as a lover
that swoons with excess of pleasure at the first kiss of
the belovéd, even so was I, oh my Lord Adonai!
Wherefore I am come hither to my chamber to enflame
myself in praying at the Altar that I have set up.
And I am ready, robed, armed, anointed . . . .
11.35. Ardesco ! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Thirteenth Day.
It is Eight o'clock in the morning.
Being entered into the Silence, let me abide in the
Silence!

AMEN