chapter 12 Allan Bennett’s Lecture
ALLAN BENNETT’S LECTURE
On Wednesday morning, Jones and Crowley take a deluxe Hansom cab to Bennett’s East End flat. Jones orders the coachman to wait for them while Crowley surveys the neighborhood.
“My god, George! What a dreadful part of town. Are you sure this is the address?”
“Not everyone’s inherited a fortune, old man.”
“If he’s such a great magician, why can’t he conjure up some money for a decent flat?”
“Magicians have strange personal priorities; no telling what they are for adepts like Bennett.
Inside the darkened hallway, they reach a door marked only with the Hebrew letter Daleth.
Bennett opens the door before they knock. He wears a lightgrey robe, styled like the robes worn by Buddhist monks.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Please, remove your shoes and come in.” Crowley and Jones are a bit confused by this request, but they comply.
Bennett’s flat is the picture of spartan elegance: one small room, immaculately clean. The walls are covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves. Two freestanding bookcases serve to partition floor space for a sleeping area, washing table, and a tiny coal stove.
Several pieces of Asian and Hindu art adorn the bookshelves wherever space permits.
There are no chairs or tables. A half dozen Turkish-style cushions form a ring on a worn Persian rug.
Three stacks of oversized books serve as lamp and tea tables.
Resting against one of these book tables is Bennett’s walking stick.
He seems in a cheerful mood. “Please. Make yourselves comfortable.”
The three sit down on the cushions. There is a moment of uncomfortable silence that Jones awkwardly attempts to break. “Allan, this is so very good of you.”
Crowley plucks the top book from one of the stacks. It is The Book of the Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage.
“I just recently acquired a copy of this book. I’ve yet to finish—”
Bennett interrupts. “A most dangerous book; or at least many believe that. Mathers translated it a year or two before he established the order.”
“Why is it so dangerous?” Crowley asks.
Jones answers first. “It has the nasty habit of killing its owners—or driving them mad.”
Bennett smiles warmly. “George! Let’s not unduly frighten Brother Crowley. Actually, the first part of the book outlines a six-month procedure to purify and make oneself holy enough to achieve an exalted level of consciousness the book calls Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel.”
“And my Holy Guardian Angel is so dangerous it kills people?” Crowley chuckles.
Bennett pauses for a moment before answering.
“No, but you are dangerous to yourself and others if you presume to play with the second section of the book without the guidance of your angel. There you’ll find the key to conjuring the four great princes of hell—Lucifer, Beelzebub, Satan, and Belial—and all their minions. ”
“Lucifer, Satan? Why on earth would my Holy Guardian Angel want me to conjure these evil fellows?”
Bennett seemed absolutely anxious to answer Crowley’s question. “Because evil spirits are only evil if they are not properly directed. Like it or not, evil spirits do all the heavy lifting here on the material plane. You don’t blow your nose without the help of evil spirits.”
“A spirit labor guild,” Jones injects and laughs. No one joins him.
Bennett adds, “One can only safely order those fellows around if one has the authority and guidance of one’s angel.”
Crowley reverently closes the book and puts it back on the stack of other books. He pats it respectfully and clears his throat.
“Right then. It seems this Holy Guardian Angel is a magician’s first order of business.”
Bennett seems pleased that Crowley has caught on so fast. “Precisely.”
Crowley now notices Bennett’s walking stick resting on the floor. He reaches for it. “Your walking stick . . . I noticed the other night when you—”
“Please, don’t touch that, Brother Crowley!” Bennett quickly grabs the stick and carefully places it on his other side.
Jones seems anxious for Crowley to see the stick in action. “Allan, won’t you please demonstrate the rod?”
Bennett smiles, then has a short coughing episode. “Very well, George. I did promise our little brother a proper magical orientation.”
Bennett unscrews the bulbous handle of the stick and removes a long glass prism from the hollow shaft.
He polishes it lovingly on his robe. He gets up, goes to the window and pulls down a blackened shade.
The room is completely dark except for a thin ray of sunlight that penetrates the room from the edge of the shade.
He sticks the tip of the prism in the ray of sunlight, creating a magnificent rainbow effect throughout the room.
“Little brother, in the so-called real world, living things are living things. A man is a man . . .” He turns the prism slightly, and the rainbow colors project the image of a man near the window.
“A lion is a lion . . .” He again turns the prism slightly, and the image of a lion appears near the southern wall of the room.
“An eagle is an eagle . . .” He turns the prism once more, and the image of an eagle appears on the top of the bookshelves in the west.
“And a bull is a bull.” He again turns the prism, and the image of bull stands and snorts near the wall in the north. He pulls the prism out of the light. The images remain suspended in the air. They move in place as if they are actually alive.
Crowley and Jones stare in wonder as Bennett continues. “On the magical plane, it is just the opposite. Living things in a vision are symbols—and symbols are living things.”
Crowley can only nod his head in wonder. At the words “living things,” Bennett thrusts the tip of the prism into the light. He catches a tiny piece of rainbow on the tip.
“The pentagram is the symbol of man’s conquest of the four elements that these animals symbolize.
The top point of the pentagram is quintessential Spirit itself.
Spirit is the force that does two things at once.
It attracts the four elements and pulls them together; and at the same time, it repels or pushes them apart so that each element retains its individual nature. ”
With the rainbow light at the end of the prism tip, Bennett draws (with breathtaking speed) a flaming pentagram in the face of each of the four creatures.
As he does so, each creature’s image recoils in horror then vanishes—the man in a burst of wind, the lion in flames, the eagle in a gush of water.
The floor of the room seems to actually open up and swallow the bull. Jones and Crowley are speechless.
Bennett coughs. He opens the shade and sits down.
“Any questions?”
After a moment of stunned silence, Crowley jumps to his feet, then kneels madly as he once did to Jones at Redway’s bookstore.
“Brother Allan, will you please, please accept me as your student? I’ll pay you anything you ask.”
Bennett looks disgusted. “Oh dear god, man! Get up. You’ll pay me nothing! Magic knowledge is priceless.”
He coughs again. His breath is visible in the cold air of his little room. This time, he can’t stop; he collapses to the floor in a violent fit of coughing. Crowley and Jones attend him the best they can.
They finally manage to get him to sit up. Crowley takes his coat off and wraps it around Bennett’s shoulders. He rubs Bennett’s back while Jones fetches a cup of tea.
Bennett can finally speak. “You must forgive me.”
Crowley hands him the steaming cup of tea and pulls the coat more tightly around Bennett’s shoulders.
“Brother Allan, hear me out,” Crowley pleads.
“I have a large, comfortable double flat on Chancery Lane; more than enough room for you and your things. Move in with me. You can teach me magic. I would love to study your library. Please. I’ll swear a magical oath that I will not pay you one penny.
You can’t stay another day in this dark, freezing cave. ”
The steam from Bennett’s tea meets the steam of his breath. Jones leans in. “Allan, please. Crowley’s right. It will be good for you both. At least have a look. We’ve a cab waiting. We’ll squeeze you in.”
“All right, lads. Perhaps I will take a look.”