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As Related by Margaret Symonds
from
THE MAGIC OF ALEISTER CROWLEY Frederick Muller Ltd., London, 1958. (pages 48-50)
[circa September/October 1947] [on the occasion of accompanying her husband, John Symonds, on a visit to Crowley at Netherwood.]
A bent, thin old man in a black, threadbare smoking-jacket, crawled off the edge of the bed to greet me. He had a bald, egg-shaped head, and thin, claw-like hands. I sat down hurriedly and for a while my nervousness, and the disorder of the room, prevented my looking closely at him. In one corner was a half-filled spittoon. There was a chest of drawers, a large carved wooden chest, and a small coffee-table, on which stood a bottle of French brandy, three brandy glasses, and a box of American cigars. Ash and cigarette butts littered the floor, torn curtains darkened the light from the window, and startling paintings decorated the walls. I accepted a glass of brandy gratefully, and lit a cigarette.
[Later, after her husband leaves her alone with Crowley while he goes to look for tea.]
There was an embarrassing silence, and to end it, I asked him if he believed in Secret Masters. I had in mind the Tibetan Mahatmas.
"Oh, yes," he replied eagerly. Then after a pause, he look fixedly at me, and said in a mysterious tone of voice, "One might find a Secret Master anywhere.
We both laughed.
I knew he had been staring at me, but I was unprepared for the evil eyes that looked into mine. I took a quick gulp from the big brandy glass, and then returned his gaze. Now I could see that the faded brown eyes were weak and helpless; the pupils had shrunk and the shrivelled eyelids twitched. Yes, evil haunted that face, but the years had diluted its strength. Of course he could not harm me; I even felt sorry for him.
I turned my head towards the carved wooden chest, and asked him if it had come from China.
"Yes," he said.
Immediately my interest was stimulated. I couldn't remember whether you [John Symonds] had told me that he had been to China.
He began to talk about his trek across that vast land, starting from Tibet and ending in the South Gobi Desert. He took his wife with him and the journey lasted five years. He spoke slowly, and although I was aware that he was trying to impress me, and was therefore on my guard, he did nevertheless impress me.
For a few moments the boundaries of the room became limitless. Green, blue and yellow colours swam before my eyes—the dust and mud of China, roof-tops and mountains, heat and snows. Mysterious and exciting—long dull days, and boredom.
Suddenly his voice ceased and the room became small and quiet again. But his staring eyes had now made it oppressive and he flooded me again with a sense of evil, so that I visibly shivered.
Then you [John Symonds] came back into the room and, seeing that I was in a daze, you distracted me by taking the glass out of my sweating hands. |