Well, it's October, so we can quite reasonably start to feature a bit of spookiness on the blog. And also, it's 'Crowleymass', as some people call it. Aleister Crowley, the celebrated enfant terrible of Twentieth Century Occultism, was born on 12th October 1875. To coincide with this date, we have an extract from The Compact, Charlie Raven's complex and creepy mystery novel, in which a lonely Dr Watson gets involved with Crowley as he attempts to clear an innocent man of murder.
In 1898, the 23 year old Crowley (above) was right at the beginning of his career. Brilliant, wealthy and flamboyant, he was already mastering the teachings of the Esoteric Order of the Golden Dawn. Secretly he was also in the midst of a passionate, short-lived love affair with the extraordinary Jerome Pollitt. Pollitt - the inspiration for a novel by E.F.Benson - was a rich patron of Aubrey Beardsley, a president of the Footlights Club in Cambridge, and celebrated as a remarkable female impersonator. In the section below, our Dr Watson visits Crowley's apartment for the first time. We have been assured that all the details of Crowley's decor and practices at this time are historically correct. H'mm. As Weird Sisters, we are not of nervous dispositions as a rule, but we're not sure that we would have felt entirely comfortable with the skeleton in the corner ...
We hope you enjoy this extract and, well, happy Crowleymass!🕷
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The afternoon had brightened with a whisper of early spring as Dr Watson stood on the doorstep of 67 Chancery Lane. He was not entirely sure what he was going to say to Crowley or even if he wanted to make the strange fellow’s acquaintance again.
In his published works, Watson often played up the fact that Holmes was wont to amuse himself at the expense of his friend’s slower intellect. It made for a lighter element in the stories, but the jibes were unjust - after all, very few minds could keep up with the intellect of Sherlock Holmes. But in truth, Dr Watson had the advantage not only of intelligence but also of sympathetic insight.
Consequently, he had already assessed Aleister Crowley in the following way:
(a) impulsive; (b) a show-off; (c) intent on épatant les bourgeois; (d) probably ingesting certain substances, affecting mood, energy, judgement; (e) unusual, brilliant, cocksure.
Having lived for so long with his detective friend, who happened to share most of these characteristics (including an occasionally substantial cocaine habit), Watson was quite prepared to deal with all of them.
Crowley seemed to be expecting him - or at least was not at all surprised to see him. He was wearing a black silk dressing gown draped over his clothes and had clearly been engaged in writing: there was a thick sheaf of yellow foolscap on the desk in front of the window and a silver fountain pen lying on the blotter. A pile of books lay beside it, their spines turned towards the room as if on display. Watson managed to read a couple of names discreetly: The Cloud upon the Sanctuary and The Book of Black Magic and of Pacts. Someone had also been burning incense and possibly something else, as the air was thick with a heavy fragrance. Watson’s quick glance round the room registered an ornate sheesha-pipe or hookah on a low table in the corner. The rest of the room boasted as extraordinary a collection of bizarrerie as Holmes himself could have displayed.
‘This is my London place,’ said Crowley, removing a newspaper and several periodicals from an armchair so that Watson could sit down. ‘I’m sorry Pollitt isn’t here to greet you. He thinks he needs a rest in the country and he took himself off this morning. Anyway, bit of peace and quiet, gives me a chance to get on with my work. I’m thinking of moving in here permanently, after I finish at Trinity. If I finish at Trinity.’
‘A medical student, are you?’ asked Watson, eyeing the human skeleton arranged in the corner.
‘Oh, no. Moral Science. But you refer to our friend over there? No, that is entirely part of an on-going experiment in ritual necromancy. My friend Bennett and I feed him songbirds and little cups of blood.’
Watson knew that Crowley was watching his reaction closely so he just smiled politely.
‘Do sit down!’ Crowley said. ‘Would you care for champagne, doctor? Absinthe? Cocaine?’
‘For a man who ingests so much poison, sir, you show no sign of muscle-wastage. I would hazard a guess that you enjoy a sport. Perhaps mountaineering?’
‘Clever guess,’ said Crowley cheerfully, settling onto a velvet couch. ‘No doubt you noticed the magazines I just stuffed into the rack?’
‘I will not deny it, Mr Crowley. Not to mention, if I may add, the equipment listed on the scrap of paper projecting from beneath your magic book. I notice the ink is smudged – perhaps it was not quite dry when you thrust it away? You need not be ashamed of good health and vigour,’ Watson smiled. ‘But let us work together honestly. Let you not try to shock and terrify me quite so much and I will not force middle-aged medical opinion upon you. Does that sound reasonable?’
Crowley looked at Watson with an amused air. ‘I predicted that you would come to me, Dr Watson. It is therefore reasonable to assume that you have information regarding George Arden.’
‘Indeed. A prediction – or a suggestion – which proves true. I know that Holmes would clear this matter up in a trice. But he is engaged in an investigation of the utmost secrecy, the ramifications of which may reach even to the Tsar in Russia. I cannot contact him now or divulge any clue as to his whereabouts.’
‘I imagine he’s in Russia, then? I was there last summer, learning the language. A beautiful city, St Petersburg. I’m thinking of becoming a spy, you know. Is he doing a little spying at the moment?’
‘No,’ said Watson. ‘I have no further information myself at present. Anyway, it’s beside the point. The desperate appeal of a friend of Mr Arden’s moved me to take a closer look at the case. Since you’ve made it clear that you have a keen interest in it yourself, it seemed logical to speak to you. But before we proceed, may I ask why the interest?’
‘Why should you ask why?’
‘Because it is important that both of us are as impartial and committed to uncovering the truth as a detective should be. What if, for example, we come across evidence that Arden is indeed guilty of this or worse crimes? We must then turn over our evidence to the police. Do you see?’
‘Of course I see. And I understand your line of reasoning. I agree we must be impartial, although we aren’t. We know George is innocent and that’s our starting point. I do see what you mean though.’ Crowley propped himself on an elbow and added thoughtfully, ‘But, doctor, what if you and I do not agree on what constitutes a crime? We may not agree on what constitutes evidence either.’
‘I think we need not argue about that,’ said Watson indulgently. ‘After all, there’s no need to get into the ethics of it all. The law of the land sorts out for us what is defined as a crime. We just observe the facts and the prosecution takes care of presenting the evidence in court.’
‘I understand that. Your methods are purely scientific – yes, I have researched you, doctor, and have been most amused by your stories. I liked them very much – but there are gaping holes in your methodology. It troubled me all the way through reading your accounts because they are so very materialist. My studies have confirmed to me again and again that only spiritual affairs count for anything, even in the grossest concerns of life. That’s why I have to point out, respectfully of course, that your methods are limited.’
Watson bridled at this but decided not to pursue it: it seemed to be a twist on Holmes’s own criticisms of the more old-fashioned police procedures. He said calmly, ‘Holmes’s methods are based not on presumptions or circumstance, nor on false inductive reasoning. They are tethered to the observable facts.’
Crowley leaned forward. ‘But just what are observable facts for you? And can you even begin to imagine that they might differ from observable facts for me – or for a George Arden? Don’t mistake me, doctor, I’m really not being rude, but it strikes me that we end up with limited results when we have limited information. We confirm our own bias, don’t we?
‘Well, that is precisely why Holmes’s methods are so useful. They are impartial,’ said Watson. ‘He observes and he deduces. He doesn’t go in with a presupposition already in place. He lets the facts lead to a conclusion.’
‘Yes, yes. But what if you can’t see the evidence in the first place? Let me give you an example. You walked into this room and perceived the observable facts of a skeleton in the corner, my notes under the book and so on and made your deductions from observations of my physique.’ He paused and waved towards the skeleton, ‘But, doctor, all the time you failed to sense the presence of various Qlippoth of the demonic order A’areb Tzereq over there in that same corner.’
Involuntarily, Watson looked towards the corner. Of course he could see nothing unusual.
Crowley continued, ‘They are particularly clustered over there, like blowflies, round our thin friend. Can you see them now? Or can you perhaps hear them speaking to each other? And to you now, because they will, you know: now that you’ve started to think about them? They have started to become aware of you. It seems to me like a creaking, buzzing sound just on the edge of hearing. Listen!’
Watson was sure he could not hear anything he wouldn’t expect to hear in a room of this size and situation; nevertheless something seemed to cast a shade across the afternoon light.
‘Now the reason for that,’ Crowley went on softly, as if he didn’t want the skeleton to hear, ‘is that there is a problem in the experiment being conducted. Don’t worry, the flaw is deliberate because it amuses me to observe the behaviour of these entities. Demons interest me and I have no desire to banish them for now.’ He laughed. ‘Did you ever have a chemistry set, doctor? I once nearly blew up my entire school. This is science, you see, like monitoring a petrie dish full of strange growths. An unguarded person who stayed for too long in this room would eventually become subject to destructive impulses, because of those demons. It even affects Pollitt and me.’
‘But the presence of the so-called demons could not be proved in a court of law, Crowley!’ exclaimed Watson. ‘This isn’t the Dark Ages when unfortunate old women were accused of hexing the milk. Thank heavens!’
Crowley ignored him. ‘I may try it soon. What do you say? Should I leave some ordinary, innocent people locked in here to see what they did? I wouldn’t tell them why, or what to expect. Interesting, isn’t it? Would they kill each other, do you think? I am inclined to think that the most scientific and reliable way of experimenting on people’s unconscious mind would be to watch their reactions to a well-thought-out series of unforeseen circumstances. And whatever happened, the police, coming in later, would never, never know why.’ He chuckled as if amused at the thought. ‘A curse is the perfect weapon, you know. I killed my headmaster when I was a boy like that.’
‘These things are debatable, Mr Crowley, and quite unprovable,’ said Watson. He was beginning to regret his decision to further involve Crowley in the Arden case. Part of him was wondering what kind of a schoolboy Crowley had been and another part was outraged that Crowley would think it acceptable to lock up innocent people with a skeleton and demons, however imaginary.
‘Oh I think they’re very provable. Science hasn’t developed the instruments to measure them yet, that’s all. Do you know, when several people who have developed what I hate to call "the psychic senses" are attuned, they can verify each others’ findings? They can communicate without words. We do it all the time. These are the unseen muscles that I choose to develop. And that brings me in a very roundabout way to the answer to your question: why am I interested in George? Because his vision, his senses, are as superior to mine as your Mr Holmes’s powers are superior to yours. That, Dr Watson, is what it’s all about. I wish him to assist us in our experiments.’
‘Us?’
‘My society. They would be most interested in Arden’s abilities.’
‘I see. And your associates are?’
Crowley shrugged. ‘I belong to several organisations, doctor. My associates study the works of Hermes Trismegistus and the three branches of subtle knowledge.’
Watson said shortly, ‘I believe that alchemy, magic and the conjuring of spirits will not be required in these investigations, Mr Crowley.’
‘Let’s see, shall we? Let’s keep an open mind. All I ask is that you let me at least tell you if I notice the kind of evidence I was talking about. The kind that wouldn’t be admissible in a court of law.’
Dr Watson saw that there would be no advantage in arguing with an opponent who claimed to be the sole possessor of unverifiable facts. ‘I feel sure that we can contribute in our own particular ways,’ he said diplomatically, ‘as long as we try for impartiality.’
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