chapter 18 Summoned by the Gods
SUMMONED BY THE GODS
Later that morning, at the kitchen table in Crowley’s flat, Jones and Bennett are having tea and discussing the properties of hallucinogenic drugs when Crowley enters and drops a large envelope of money on the table before Bennett.
Bennett doesn’t understand. “What’s this?”
Crowley can’t wait to answer. “Your Nirvana, old man! You’re moving to Ceylon.”
“Oh. No. No. No. I cannot . . . will not accept money from either of you. Magical oaths are series things. Thank you, but no!”
“Not from either of us, Allan. Let’s just say it’s a miracle and not a penny of it tainted with magical charity.”
“We went to hell to get it,” Jones adds with a silly grin.
Bennett looks at the cash, then rises and hugs Crowley and Jones. “I don’t know what to say, lads.”
“How about goodbye,” Crowley and Jones say in unison.
Bennett pauses to cough into a handkerchief, then excitedly gestures that he has something to announce. “This must be the day for good news, lads! A letter from Paris came in the post. For you, little brother. I think it’s from Mathers.”
Crowley rushes to the mantle and tears open the envelope. He reads out loud, very slowly at first. “Dear Brother Crowley, I have learned that you have successfully passed your examinations to be admitted to the Second Order. I have also learned that the London lodge has refused your advancement.”
Crowley looks to Jones and Bennett. “Is this true?”
Jones sadly confirms. “Afraid so, old man.”
Crowley continues to read. “I sincerely apologize for their unwarranted and unforgivable behavior. This is to inform you that I no longer recognize the authority of the rebels of the London temple to make such refusals to duly qualified candidates, and I will be happy to rectify this injustice by inviting you to come to Paris at the earliest date of our mutual convenience, where I will personally initiate you. Brothers Jones and Bennett, if they are willing, may accompany you and serve as officers in the ceremony—indeed it is my hope that they will. Congratulations, and I look forward to your response. Yours in the Bonds of the Order. Samuel L. MacGregor Mathers.”
Crowley looks up from the letter. Bennett and Jones both offer their congratulations. Bennett adds, “I told you it would work out, little brother. It will be my pleasure to join you in Paris before I sail for Ceylon.”
The stage of Paris’s Théatre La Bodinière has a magnificently painted backdrop representing the banks of the River Nile.
A profusion of palms, lilies of the Nile, and papyrus reeds adorn the stage.
A fullsized replica of an Egyptian barge, upon which rests an ornate coffin, is being “rowed” from right to left across the stage.
Moina Mathers, portraying the Egyptian High Priestess Anari, stands at the prow of the boat. She is breathtakingly beautiful. She is dressed as the goddess Isis herself—in transparent silks that accent her firm stomach and breasts. Her appearance alone causes the audience to sigh and applaud.
MacGregor Mathers, as High Priest of Isis, stands center stage and silently worships her. She recites her song over the harp music.
“Isis am I, and from my life are fed
All showers and suns, all moons that wax and wane;
All stars and streams, the living and the dead,
The mystery of pleasure and of pain.”
Mathers is dressed in an authentic white linen robe covered from one shoulder by a leopard skin. He is crowned with a golden band that has the spreading head of a cobra over his forehead. He holds a lotus-tipped staff. Over the hypnotic sounds of an Egyptian harp, he sings;
“Crown her, O crown her with stars as with flowers for a virginal gaud!”
Crowley, Jones, and Bennett sit enraptured in the audience.
“Crown her, O crown her with light and the flame of the down-rushing sword!”
Monsieur Babar of the Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal sits quietly a few rows directly behind Crowley, Jones, and Bennett.
“Crown her, O crown her with love for maiden and mother and wife! Hail unto Isis, hail! For she is the Lady of Life!”
The goddess responds to her devotee:
“I am the mother! I, the speaking sea!
I am the earth and its fertility!
Life, death, love, hatred, light, darkness, return to me—To me!”
The harp music concludes with an ecstatic flourish, and the curtain closes to thunderous applause. Crowley is in tears. He sighs under his breath. “Summoned by the gods themselves.”
Bennett and Jones gather themselves to exit. Crowley remains seated, talking to himself. “I know now. I’m in the very presence of the Secret Masters.”
He is startled by a hand on his shoulder. He turns to discover Monsieur Babar seated directly behind him.
“Excusez-moi, Monsieur Crowley. I must speak with you alone.”
“I beg your pardon, sir. I fear you have the advantage of me.
You seem to know my name, but I . . .”
Babar produces a card. “I am Maurice Jean-Baptist Plantard Babar. I am Directeur Principal of the Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal.”
Bennett overhears this conversation and becomes very interested. He stops to hear more.
Crowley is coldly polite. “How do you do, Monsieur Babar. May I ask how you know my name?”
“That is unimportant. I must speak to you alone. Perhaps we could meet later?”
Mathers, still wearing his High Priest costume, calls from the wings. “Brother Crowley! Gentlemen! We need to start soon.”
Crowley stands to acknowledge the summons. Jones and Bennett wave awkwardly. Crowley turns to excuse himself. “Forgive me, Monsieur Babar . . .”
Babar has disappeared. Crowley takes a quick glance at the card, then puts it in his pocket.