Moon Magic

by Dion Fortune

  “What sort of thoughts about your past lives did you have?”

  “Nothing edifying. On the contrary. Pretty gloomy, in fact. Quite the last sort of ideas you'd expect a lad to have. It seemed to me I was an outcast and a bad lot. Partly I resented the injustice of it, and partly I knew I deserved it. It played the dickens with my psychology as a child. I never got religion, but, my God, I got conviction of sin! But, Miss Le Fay, when I had a bit of psychoanalysis done recently, the content that dream yielded was just the usual Freudian muck.”

  “Did you have the psychoanalysis done in order to get rid of me?”

  “Well, yes, I'm afraid I did. I tried to look at myself impartially, and judged by the rules of psychology as I know them, it seemed to me I was getting pathological. So I had a second opinion, and it confirmed mine.”

  “Did the analysis help you?”

  “Not in the least. But apparently it wasn't expected to, under three years. It was purely diagnostic. The fellow tried suggestion, but I wasn't suggestible; so he sent me on to a woman who went in for New Thought. Grrr! I could have wrung her neck. Bilge! Talked to me—to me, mind you—about the power of the mind over the body. I told her to try a cerebral tumour and learn the power of the body over the mind. She didn't like me. I didn't like her. She smiled all the time like a Cheshire cat because it was in accordance with her principles to be amiable, but all the same she didn't like me. I don't smile like a Cheshire cat. If I don't like people, they know it, and I don't mind their knowing it.”

  I pitied that poor woman. My present labour of Hercules was as nothing to what she had undertaken in trying to convince her formidable patient that All is Love. I thought it much more likely that Malcolm had disillusioned her than that she had made any impression on him.

  “There is one thing I deeply regret, though, Miss Le Fay—I talked to her about you. God knows why I did it. God knows how I could have been such a fool. But anyway, I did, and I'm frightfully sorry about it.”

  “What did you tell her about me?

  “I told her how you attracted me, and how I'd let my imagination play the fool till it got out of hand.”

  “And what advice did she give you?”

  Told me to cut it out, naturally. She knew I was a married man.”

  “I thought of the usefulness of that advice. It was because Malcolm couldn't cut it out that he had come to her at all.

  “Tell me, Dr. Malcolm, what made you disregard her advice?”

  “Oh—you called me! The minute I knew you wanted me, I had to come. I'd do anything in the world for you, you know that, don't you?”

  “Yes, I know it. That was why I called you.”

  “But you don't feel about me as I feel about you. I've got no illusions on that score.”

  “No, I don't. That's true. It's just as well, too, don't you think? We couldn't work together if I did.”

  “No, of course we couldn't. I quite agree. And that brings us back to the point we started from. You were going to tell me about what your attitude is in this matter. So I understood, at any rate—but damn it all, madam, you've been psychoanalysing me! And with button-hooks, too!”

  “I'll do my best to tell you, Dr. Malcolm, but I cannot guarantee you will understand.”

  “Oh, go on. I'll understand all right. I'm not altogether a fool, though you might think it from the way I'm behaving.”

  “Very well. Listen. I told you you had magical power, and now it has been pointed out to you, I think you see it for yourself. It is that power I want to make use of. It is rare, in the degree you have it, at any rate. You are psychic, but psychics are common enough. But you also have, along with your psychism—and that combination is far from common—a degree of dynamism, of vital force, or energy and drive, that in my experience is unique. Some of it goes into your work, of course, and that is why you have arrived where you have in your profession, but what becomes of the rest of it, Dr. Malcolm?”

  “Goes to my head, I'm afraid, and I get following folk along the Embankment and making a fool of myself generally, as you ought to know.”

  “Are you in the habit of doing that sort of thing?”

  “No!—please, Miss Le Fay—no never. Never before. Never in my life. I give you my word of honour!”

  “I thought you weren't. I couldn't understand why you said that.”

  “I was just speaking generically, you know. Didn't want to be too personal.”

  “You can see for yourself, can't you, Dr. Malcolm, how the tremendous driving-force you put behind your fantasying made it come over as telepathy?”

  “Yes, I've realised that, and I'm very sorry about it. Unpleasant for you.”

  “Not in the least.”

  “You're beyond my comprehension. I should have thought a woman either liked that sort of thing or disliked it, and no half measures about it.”

  “Have you ever studied the ancient religions at all? The Hindu, the Egyptian?”

  “No, never. The Higher Thought woman talked about Yoga. I'm inclined to think there's something in Yoga. Not as she put it, though. Love! Spirit! Grrr!”

  “Never mind the Higher Thought woman. A maiden lady?”

  “She wore a wedding ring. But, oh yes, she was a maiden lady all right. I know what you mean.”

  “Well, if you had studied the ancient religions, you would have seen that their outlook is quite different from ours. They worship the creative force, whereas we try to suppress it.”

  “The creative force?”

  “Isn't the reproductive force creative?”

  “I'm afraid I don't quite get you.”

  “Dr. Malcolm, I am going to ask you a question which you need not answer unless you want to. Does your marriage meet your need?”

  He sat silent.

  “My wife became an invalid after the birth of our child,” he said at length. “I owe her a heavy debt.”

  “And the child?”

  “They couldn't save both.”

  “They made you choose?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any other children?”

  “No, out of the question.”

  “Does your marriage meet your need, Dr. Malcolm?”

  He sat silent. At length:

  “No, of course it doesn't.”

  “What becomes of all that side of your nature that should have gone into your marriage?”

  “God knows. I don't. Churns around, I suppose, and works itself off in one way or another. Makes me bad-tempered, I expect.”

  “Sleep badly?”

  “Rottenly.”

  “Have I got my diagnosis?”

  “I expect so.”

  “Do you dream a lot?”

  “You ought to know.”

  “And after you have dreamt, are you happier?”

  “Oh, my dear, indeed I am.”

  “Do you see how the tremendous life force that is in you overflows into your dreams and passes telepathically to me? And because I know how to receive it, and take it in and absorb it, you are at peace? If I threw it back at you, it would be a sickening experience for you.”

  “Is such a thing possible?”

  “You have dreamt, and you have been at peace, isn't that so?”

  “How can I say it to you—? Yes—yes. Indeed I have. You know. You understand.”

  “And you have tried cutting yourself off from me. How have you been then?”

  “All to pieces—all to pieces. I couldn't stand it.”

  “Do you see how the force comes over?”

  “It comes over on the imagination. But you meet me half-way. It would be different if you didn't. And yet you don't care for me?”

  “That is the secret of it. I meet you half-way. I take that force from you and I use it in my magic. And that, Dr. Malcolm, is why you are at peace.”

  “But is it right? Is it fair to you?”

  “Does it injure anybody?”

  “No, I can't see that it does.”

  “Does it help you?”r />
  “Immeasurably.”

  “Have I, who would be considered a pagan, helped you more than the New Thought woman, who would be considered very spiritual?”

  “Oh—don't talk about her!”

  “Then—my friend, will you trust me to experiment with you?”

  “You know I will, surely I needn't tell you that. But—will you tell me this—what end have you in view?”

  “Not exactly research; I have done all that and know what I am about. But—I hardly know how to express it—”

  “Is it a working model you want me for?”

  “Not quite that either. And yet in a way it is. If you knew anything of magic you would understand, but you don't. Let me put it this way—you and I are part of our race, aren't we? and therefore our race is part of us. What is the British nation made up of? Norse and Kelt, mainly. I am a black-haired Keltic woman, you are a fair-skinned Nordic man; we are the two extreme types of our race.

  “We certainly are. Anything more contrary in type, character, outlook, than you and I, I should imagine you would go a long way before you would find. You've got one kind of skull and I've got another, to begin with.”

  “And it's in the diversity that the attraction lies.”

  “No, it lies deeper than that. It's not just your looks that attract me.”

  “Never mind personalities for the moment. Let me take my next point. We hold, we initiates, that you can bring a thing through from the Inner Planes into manifestation by acting it out symbolically. That is why ritual is used. Now if you and I were to work out together the particular problem I want to solve, it would be solved for the race because we are part of the race, and whatever is realised in our minds becomes part of the group mind and spreads like a ferment.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “It is indeed a fact, Dr. Malcolm, and the knowledge of it is part of the Secret Tradition.”

  “I get you. You want to make a culture from me.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Now what exactly is that going to involve? Is there any risk attached? I am not asking that because I shirk it, but because I want to know how to regulate my affairs. I must provide for my wife. I mustn't let the hospital down unexpectedly. Beyond that I am, as I have already told you, entirely at your service. I don't know a thing about it. You'll have to teach me everything, but I'll learn, if you'll have patience with me.”

  All this from one of the greatest scientific intellects of the day! I was amazed at the utter simplicity and modesty of the man. Perhaps it was in that that the secret of his greatness lay, for he had probably said the same to Nature as he had to me.

  “I find it difficult to know how to thank you for that,” I said.

  “Thank me? Don't be silly. You've got nothing to thank me for. Aren't I lucky beyond anything I had any reason to hope or expect? I am very honoured, Miss Le Fay, honoured far beyond my deserts. It is a case for gratitude on my side, not thanks on yours.” He paused. “Do you realise what this means to me? Now tell me what you want with me. Let's get down to practical business. How much of my time do you want, to begin with?”

  “A fair amount at the start, till you learn the technique. After that one night a week with occasional runs of work. It will always be in the evenings. I am a creature of the moon; I do not function till after sundown.”

  “I'm a night worker myself, so that will suit me nicely. When do we start?”

  “Now, if you like.”

  “Certainly, so far as I am concerned; but ought I not to see my affairs in order first?”

  “My dear Dr. Malcolm, do you think I mean to murder you?”

  “How do I know? I gather there is a not unappreciable degree of risk.”

  “But not to life or limb. The risk, the only risk you run, is of a rather unpleasant emotional upheaval; it might possibly go to the length of a nervous breakdown, but I think you have too much stamina for that. But it would not do you any permanent damage.”

  “Supposing the worst occurred, for how long would it put me out of action? I am simply asking that so I can arrange accordingly—I don't want to let folks down. Someone's got to do my work if I can't.”

  “If the worst came to the worst, you would be upheaved for a sun-tide, that is, till the next Equinox; but I do not think you would be out of action and unable to do your work for more than a moon-tide, which is till the next new moon.”

  “I'm used to being upheaved. I don't suppose I shall notice any difference. But if the only risk to me is a nerve storm, who is going to take the real risk in the affair? For risk I am convinced there is, although you are so matter of fact about it.”

  “I take that, Dr. Malcolm, but it isn't so very terrible. I know what I am about, and am thoroughly used to it. The only real risk is loss of nerve. I am unlikely to lose mine, I am too habituated. The thing I really fear is loss of nerve on your part because you have never had any experience of this sort of thing before, and you and I cannot help working at a high voltage.”

  “My dear child, it is my business to have a nerve. What do you take me for? Old lady doing tatting?”

  “When I said loss of nerve I did not mean failure of courage; I am quite satisfied that would never occur in your case. What I fear with you is a sudden attack of conscience. As you truly said just now, you and I have very different outlooks on life, and we shall be working with and on life. I am in the habit of taking all my corners on one wheel—it is the only way corners like mine can be taken. It looks dangerous, but it isn't, not for me, at any rate. You might suddenly get an idea I was leading you into sin. We shall sail pretty near the wind, I admit it. But any damage we do, we shall do to ourselves. There will be no injury to any one else.”

  “I am glad to hear you say that. I wouldn't be willing to do anything that would hurt my wife.”

  “I should never ask you to.”

  “Very good, go ahead. We will take the risks as read. I don't know why you have got the idea I am so strait-laced. I don't want to get put off the register, but short of that, I'm your man,”

  “You have got certain inflexible principles, have you not? Supposing we came up against one of those?”

  “Then I'd just cut my loss and take myself off.”

  “Then in that case you would spend a sun-tide getting over it. But if, instead of that, you would trust me to steer you through, even if I had to drive a coach and six through your principles, I should simply blow the safety fuse we always have in magic, and there would be no loss to cut beyond that of the experiment.”

  “Who would take the brunt?”

  “I should take the brunt, but I know how to take it. It wouldn't hurt me.”

  “How would you take it, Miss Le Fay?”

  “Like a lightning-conductor. Give the force free passage through me to earth. It ends the experiment, for the time being, at any rate, but does no damage.”

  “I think I understand. It's like boat-sailing. Never belay the sheet. If a squall came, you'd let the gear carry away to save capsizing, is that it?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I understand. But I don't see why you think I would necessarily carry away along with the gear.”

  “You won't, if you know when to let go.”

  “And you think my principles are so rigid that I'll go overboard with the mast before I'll surrender them?”

  “That is precisely what I fear.”

  “But surely you carry an axe to cut the gear adrift?”

  “Do you think I'd cut you adrift, Dr. Malcolm, if you went overboard?”

  “No point in my dragging you under if my principles are likely to drown me.”

  “I am the captain of this ship, if it goes down, I go down with it.”

  “Why must you?”

  “Point of honour, my friend. My principles are as rigid as yours, though after another manner.”

  Malcolm ruffled his red hair.

  “I don't see any occasion for such rigidity,” he said.

  “T
hat is because we are discussing my principles and not yours. If we were discussing yours and not mine, I should feel just the same as you do—no occasion for such rigidity.”

  “It seems to me a suicidal sort of expedition. When do we start?”

  “When you like.”

  “No time like the present. I suppose you feel about me like I feel about the animals I vivisect—do the best you can for the poor brute and get on with the job. The job's worth more than he is.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  I took Malcolm up to the robing-room. In order to get there, we had to pass through my bedroom. Malcolm gave one startled look round and cast down his eyes. Beyond that, he did not flinch, though I think he breathed more freely on the stairs, steep as they were.

  I left him in the robing-room, and taking from the cupboard the black velvet vestment and silver head-dress of a moon priestess, went up to the temple to robe, for it was not fitting to appear in the presence of the Goddess in mundane garments. Having robed, I invoked, and remained in meditation before the moon-symbol for a few minutes. Then I went to fetch Malcolm.

  Framed in the dark arch of the stairs, I must have looked an amazing figure in my robes, for Malcolm threw back his head like a frightened horse. Neither of us spoke for a moment; then:

  “Come,” I said.

  I held aside the heavy curtain for him to pass into the temple. Silently he crossed the threshold of Isis. I came and stood beside him.