Crowley applauded. “Much better! This music moves me.”
The music stopped. Skene again turned to face Crowley, who quickly replaced the smirk on his face with an inquisitive expression. “No, no,” the pianist objected. “You should prefer Chopin. Let’s try again.” He returned to the piano and began another piece by the Pole.
A smile returned to Crowley’s lips, and he began thinking he had judged Skene too hastily. When Crowley’s fiancée, Eileen Gray, first introduced them in Paris in 1902, Skene came off so witless and conceited that Crowley parodied him in the appendix to The Star and the Garter.93 Meeting him at the Dôme for only the second time, he found Skene so unpleasant and cadaverous that he helped inspire “The Ghouls.”94 When Skene shifted his affections from Nina to dancer Isadora Duncan, to whom he was accompanist, he had “the manners of an undertaker gone mad, the morals of a stool-pigeon, and imagining himself a bishop.”95 Despite all that, Crowley saw Skene as a potential source of fun.
Chopin’s piece ended, and Skene looked again at Crowley, who wore a pensive, almost pained, scowl. “I—I think I understand,” AC stammered.
“Again!” Skene declared, and returned to the ivories for more Mascagni.
Crowley was so delighted he was loathe to release the moment. Then he devised a way to milk the game even further. When Skene again finished, Crowley feigned rapture. “Yes, yes, I see! If you would be so kind, I’d like you to repeat this lesson for my good friend, Princess Bathurst.” Princess Leila Ida Nerissa Bathurst Waddell.
When Crowley bumped into Skene in London on October 11, 1911, it was another of their many subsequent encounters. This time Skene was on his way to the Savoy, where Isadora Duncan was throwing a wild fortieth birthday party for her best friend, Mary Desti. Since Crowley had no particular plans, the pianist brought him along. At this twenty-three-hour party, Crowley met Isadora Duncan (1878–1927), whom he admired as the greatest dancer of his generation; she is preserved in Moonchild as Lavinia King, while her brother Raymond appears as “a lantern-jawed American with blue cheeks.”96 The guest of honor, however, impressed him most.
Standing at five-foot-five, Mary Desti (1871–1931) was a voluptuous, big-boned woman with curly black hair and attractive—even magnificent—Irish-Italian features. Born in Quebec and raised in Chicago, she moved to Paris and adopted Duncan’s penchant for wearing only sandals and a Greek tunic held together by a pin at her shoulder; indeed, Desti gained some notoriety when her landlord attempted to evict her for dressing too scantily.97 She was a passionate, worldly woman, and her personality and magnetism attracted Crowley straight off. She felt the same profound emotion toward him. He spent the evening sitting cross-legged on the floor, “exchanging electricity with her.”98
Mary Desti (1871–1931) in 1916, by E. O. Hoppé. (photo credit 10.5)
Mary Dempsey, to use her legal name,99 had been married four times. Little is known of her first marriage. Her second husband, Edmund P. Biden, was a heavy-drinking traveling salesman whose banjo playing taught her to despise the instrument. The birth of their son Edmund Preston on August 29, 1898, came as a complete surprise; both were apparently naive about the facts of life. Up to the last minute, Biden believed his wife had a tumor. Their marriage ended in January when Mary, fed up with Biden’s drunken rages, escaped with her infant to France. Reflecting on two wasted years, she detested her ex so much that she could not speak his name. Named after his father, her boy thereby went by his middle name, Preston.
While apartment-hunting in Paris, Mary met Mrs. Duncan, who took her home to meet her daughter, Isadora. The two became close friends, and Mary moved into Isadora’s Paris studio while Mrs. Duncan took charge of Preston. Mary idolized Isadora, seeing in her the person she wanted to be.
Mary wed for a third time in Memphis, Tennessee, on October 2, 1901. Her new husband was childhood sweetheart Solomon Sturges, grandson of the pioneering financier who founded Solomon Sturges and Sons, later known as the Continental Illinois National Bank and Trust Company of Chicago. Sturges adopted Mary’s son, and the new family was close and happy. Mary wrote a play called “The Freedom of the Soul,” which had a single performance at Chicago’s Ravina Park; of his wife’s penchant for writing, Sturges remarked “it was infinitely to be preferred to bridge whist playing, and it wasn’t so hard on a man’s pocketbook.”100 After Paris, however, Chicago stifled Mary, and not even the wishes of her husband would keep her from Isadora. The marriage became strained when Mary followed the notorious dancer across Europe. Tolerant at first, Sturges eventually tired of his wife’s dress and constant flitting across the Atlantic. After a terrible argument in 1907, they separated, and Mary later returned to Europe. Sending Preston to a Parisian boarding school, she was free to live an unconventional, liberated life. Solomon Sturges was eventually granted a divorce for desertion in January 1911.
Her fourth and unfortunate marriage would occur in London the following year—on February 12, 1912—to Turkish fortune hunter Vely Bey.101 They had met years ago in Chicago, where Bey had been trying (ultimately unsuccessfully) to launch a Turkish tobacco import company. This husband liked how she dressed, and as a bonus his father was Ilias Pasha, court physician to the sultan of Turkey.102 Both mistakenly thought the other was wealthy, and only after the wedding did the economic truth come out. This, combined with Bey’s dislike of Preston, doomed the marriage from the start. Before things blew up, Mary learned the formula for the lotion her father-in-law had concocted to cure a rash on her face; it was supposedly common throughout the harems of Turkey, and it not only cleared up her rash but also smoothed away wrinkles. Seeing a lucrative opportunity, Mary marketed it as “Le Secret du Harem,” and founded at 4 rue de la Paix her renowned perfumery “Maison d’Este.” This name derived from Mary’s dislike of her given surname, Dempsey; some amateur genealogy linked Dempsey to Desmond and d’Este, which she adopted. However, the d’Este family in Paris threatened to sue if she did not change the name of her salon and remove the garish neon sign out front. Hence the salon became “Maison Desti.”
Encountering the free spirit of future entrepreneur Mary d’Este or Mary Desti, Crowley couldn’t help feel she was a perfect match for him. Suddenly he found himself torn between his unshakable affection for Leila and the inexplicable feeling he got from this stranger.
“Preliminary skirmishing” characterized the following months as Crowley tried to make her acquaintance. Two days after the party, he met her for tea and tried to explain the feeling he got when they met. Unsurprisingly, she knew nothing of magic, but having written some plays, shared his literary aspirations. They dined the next evening, and after a snack of chocolate and rolls, Crowley left for northern England.
He must have come on too strongly, for she answered none of the letters he sent over the next two weeks.
Scottish art editor George MacNie Cowie (1861–1948) was deaf as a result of scarlet fever; he often felt alienated from others because of his handicap, and in 1885, he served as president of the Edinburgh Deaf and Dumb Benevolent Society.103 Born in St. Ninians, Stirlingshire, to shoemaker William Cowie and Margaret King MacNie, he had an older half-sister, Christian (a dressmaker born in Ireland), and a younger sister, Isabella.104 He worked as a lithographic artist and designer, and the 1901 Scottish census lists him as married to Elizabeth Cowie, who was born around 1851 in Coatbridge, Lanarkshire.105 Cowie was in his forties when, reading the commentary on creation in The Perfect Way (1890) by Anna Kingsford (1846–1888) and Edward Maitland (1824–1897), he converted to vegetarianism. He was in his fifties when, on November 1, he became one of only three probationers to join the AA in 1911, choosing “Quarens Serenitatem” (I will seek serenity) as his motto. Employed as art editor for Edinburgh publisher Nelson’s, this new student prompted Crowley to note, “His character was unselfish and noble, his aspiration intense and sincere.”106 He would prove to be one of AC’s more valuable students, advancing to Neophyte as Frater Fiat Pax (Let there be peace), and, in OTO,
reaching the VIII° and serving as Grand Treasurer General.
While Crowley had been away, Rose, after years of heavy drinking, was committed to an asylum on September 27. She suffered alcoholic dementia “in its most hopeless form.”107 Crowley hardly felt remorse over the tragedy: Rosa Decidua was his heart’s final outpouring for her. As he saw it, the Secret Chiefs had chosen her; failing in her divine mission, she suffered the penalties described in The Book of the Law. Now, he suspected, the Chiefs had lined him up with a new candidate.
Out with the old, in with the new.
On October 29, Crowley sought Mary Desti at the Savoy, prepared to bury her in barbed words the way only a great poet could. How dare she ignore his letters! But his armor melted at the first sight of her, and he forgave all.
In November—even though he was hard at work on the next Equinox, which would include The Book of the Law and an account of its reception—AC and Mary set out on a vacation to one of his favorite spots: St. Moritz. They spent November 18 at Montparnasse, leaving Paris the next evening. As they traveled, Crowley studied his 1904 notebooks, The Equinox page proofs, and the manuscript of The Book of the Law. On the night of November 20, Mary dreamed she saw the heads of five old men called the White Brothers telling her, “It’s all right.” She didn’t know what it meant, and, when she told AC, he showed no interest. It wasn’t her mind that he wanted to get inside.
Weary from travel, they spent the night of November 21 at Zurich’s National Hotel. “This town is so hideous and depressing that we felt our only chance of living through the night was to get superbly drunk,”108 Crowley wrote. More drinks followed; then they had sex. As a lover, Crowley was magnetic and experienced; Mary was no less so, carrying on like an amorous but infuriated lioness.
As they rested in bed, exhausted but unsatiated, Mary slipped into a calm, relaxed state and began talking about the old white-bearded man from her dream. She said he held a wand in his hand, and on his hand was a ring with a feather in its glass. A large claw was on his breast.
Overstimulated, Crowley surmised. The combination of alcohol and sex was too much for her. As she continued, however, Crowley realized she was not recounting her dream of the previous night but was describing this old man as she saw him right now. It reminded him of Rose’s strange, dazed condition when she contacted the Chiefs.
He sat upright and instructed her, “Make yourself perfectly passive. Let him communicate freely. What do you see?”
The five white brethren turned red, she said, and spoke: “Here is a book to be given to Frater P.” Crowley nearly fell over with surprise: Mary did not know his magical name. “The name of the book is Aba,” she continued, “and its number is four.”
Crowley computed the values of the letters a, b, and a and came up with four. This was more knowledge she did not possess. So far, so good. Mary went on to describe a swarthy man named Jezel, who was hunting for the book. However, the elder commented, Frater P. would get it.
Suddenly, the vision became unclear, and Mary grew frightened. She didn’t understand what this was all about. Crowley encouraged her to continue. “What’s his name?” he asked.
Abuldiz, she replied.
“What about seventy-eight?” AC asked, giving a number of Aiwass.
“He says he is seventy-eight.”
“What is sixty-five?” he tested again, giving the number of Adonai, the general godname for the holy guardian angel.
“Frater P is sixty-five, and his age is 1,400.” Pure gibberish, he thought.
“What of Krasota?” he asked about the Word of the Equinox. Abuldiz the wizard only frowned in reply. Crowley was dissatisfied, and remained skeptical even though Abuldiz insisted Crowley show faith. Through Mary, Abuldiz promised to clear everything up in a week, at precisely 11 p.m. He instructed Crowley, at that time, to invoke as he did in Cairo in 1904.
An odd coincidence, he mused, as the rituals he used with Rose in 1904 were again in his possession as he prepared to publish The Book of the Law. Furthermore, he just happened to have with him all the necessary ritual implements, including the robe he wore at the Cairo Working in 1904. Mary had even packed a blue and gold abbai like Rose’s. Arriving at St. Moritz the next day, their suite at the Palace Hotel contained a tall mirror very much like the one in his honeymoon suite in Cairo. This impending publication of The Book of the Law, he assumed, was causing a magical stir.
In the following days, Crowley told Mary everything he knew about magic. This way, he ensured that Abuldiz could only convince him of his authenticity by revealing something neither of them knew; it would have to be big. “Anything she said three times she believed fervently,” her son attested to Mary’s imagination. “Often twice was enough.”109 Coming from an intellect like Crowley’s, the words opened a new dimension of reality that she accepted wholeheartedly. She found this business of magic fascinating.
On November 28 they prepared for the ceremony as instructed. They stowed all unnecessary furniture. Five chairs sat out for the five brethren. An octagonal table served as the altar, holding the magical weapons, invocations, and incense. Mary, wearing her abbai with rich jewels as described in The Book of the Law,110 sat on the floor facing the mirror in the east. Dressed in his usual robes, Crowley kindled the incense and performed the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram at 10:38 p.m. By 10:45, he began reciting the Augoeides vigorously. At the stroke of eleven, he uttered, “Cujus nomen est Nemo, Frater AA, adest.” (I am he whose name is Nemo, a Brother of the AA.)
“He’s here,” Mary replied solemnly. “He wants to know what you want.”
“Nothing!” he snapped. “Did I call him, or he me?”
“He called you … but there is seventy-seven.”
That was Leila’s number, and Crowley momentarily remembered his lover in London. Then, returning to the present, he asked, “Why did you call me?”
“He says, ‘To give you this book.’ ”
“How will it be given?”
“He says, ‘By the seer.’ But I don’t have any book!”
“Do you claim to be a Brother of the AA?”
“He has AA in black letters on his breast.”
“What does AA mean?”
With this test, the vision became garbled. She saw images and symbols, numbers that meant little to either of them.
“Ask him to be slower and simpler,” Crowley finally insisted. “Give further signs of your identity: Are you Sapiens Dominabitur Astris?” This was the motto of the GD’s German contact, Fraulein Sprengel.
“I see nothing but a skull,” Mary replied.
Good, Crowley thought to himself: Sprengel is dead. “Is Deo Duce Comite Ferro one of you?” He dragged Mathers into it.
“No. No longer,” she replied as Abuldiz. After a few more questions, Mary began to complain of someone beside her, breathing on her. Looking about, Crowley could see small elementals bounding about the room.
“Ask who breathes,” he instructed.
“The black man,” she replied. “He has now a white turban.” Using a technique Crowley had taught her, she banished the figure away. More garbled communication followed, with Abuldiz finally stating, “Ask me about nine.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Consider yourself asked.”
“Nine is the number of a page in a book.”
“We have none in stock. What book?”
“A book of fools.” Only in later years would this make sense to Crowley, referring to his authorship of The Book of Wisdom of Folly after he assumed the grade of Magus (9°=2°). The communication went off on another apparent tangent. After a futile exchange, Mary announced, “He shows another book with a blazing sun, and covers in gold. He says, ‘The Book IV. Your instruction to the Brothers.’ ”
“Then I’m not to publish it?”
“Abuldiz gives the sign of silence.”
He nodded. “I understand by that that I am not to publish it.”
“Never. But you are to find it.”
> When more gibberish followed, Crowley lost his patience. “Does he wish to go on with this very unsatisfactory conversation?”
Mary, as Abuldiz, replied, “Go to London, find Book IV, and return it to the Brothers.”
“Where is Book IV?”
“In London. When you get Book IV, you’ll know what the white feather means. Obey and return Book IV to the Brothers.” By this time, after over nearly an hour, Mary complained she was tired.
Crowley agreed. “Ask for another appointment.”
Abuldiz replied, “The fourth of December, between 7 and 9 p.m.”
Fine. “Good-bye!”
The communication of December 4 was very much like the last. Contacting Abuldiz at 9 p.m., Mary announced they had better get to London quickly and find Book IV, even though neither one of them had any idea what book this was, or how to go about locating it. When Crowley asked Mary’s magical name, Abuldiz responded VIRAKAM; convinced of the importance of this work, she became Soror Virakam.
Further communications with Abuldiz occurred on December 10, 11, 13, and 19. In all but the last instance, the communication began with champagne, sex, and incantations. They gradually came to the understanding that they needed to go on a retirement and write Book IV themselves. During the last communication, at Milan, Crowley received the final details.
By this time, Crowley asked questions in acronym form to further test the wizard. “N.w.a.t.V.?” Now what about the villa?
Abuldiz replied, “What you will. Patience; there is danger of health.”
“H.o.f.?” Here or further?
“No. You asked wrongly.”
“H?” Here?
“W?” Where? “R?” Rome?
“No.”
“N?” Naples?
“Yes.”
“Is Virakam to work herself, or only to help Perdurabo?”
Perdurabo Page 35