Francis King

Sexuality, Magic & Perversion


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himself seems to have been well prepared for a rebirth of the witch-cult and to have made suitable contingency-plans many years before. For as long ago as 1943/4 he had employed Aleister Crowley, at a suitably large fee, to compose rituals that could be used in a new, Gardnerian witch-cult. There seem to have originally been four of these rituals:3 the first one designed to be used at a Spring-festival to be held on either March 21st or April 30th, the other three for initiation rituals into the cult. The latter included both ordinary and sado-masochistic sexual components, for the first-degree ritual involved scourging—the would-be witch was told that he or she had “to suffer in order to learn”, and the third-degree ritual had sexual intercourse between a couple while surrounded by the other members of the coven as its so-called “Sacrament of Life”.

      It was into one of the more extreme of the sexually inclined covens that “my” witch, Marian, had been initiated. It will be remembered that the first-degree “Gardnerian” rite involved scourging. In many covens this “suffering in order to learn” has become symbolic, no more than a few token flicks administered by either the High Priest (to female candidates) or the High Priestess (to male candidates). Exactly the opposite process had taken place in Marian’s coven; at her initiation she had been stripped, tied up so tightly that her circulation had been impeded, and heavily beaten on the back, buttocks and even breasts by not only the Priest but by each member of the coven. This heavy scourging was continued until Marian was bruised and bleeding—she told me that she had been so badly scarred that it had become impossible for her to wear a low-cut dress.

      Marian’s admission to the third degree—by which she became a High Priestess in her own right—was even more traumatic an experience. She had expected to undergo ritual sexual intercourse with the High Priest, but she found that the High Priestess, who seems to have been the dominant figure in this coven, had decided that she herself would “initiate” Marian with the aid of a dildo. The High Priestess justified this plan with the argument that a sodomitical interlude between the High Priest and a young male initiate had “reversed the physical plane polarities of the Chiefs” and that to restore the balance it was essential that she herself should play the male part in what she primly referred to as “an act of lesbian love-making”. “Love-making” is hardly the term I would have chosen to describe what actually took place. For the dildo used was very old, unlubricated, and made of wood. Marian found the experience extremely unpleasant, suffered great pain, and eventually had to have medical treatment in order to remove splinters from her vagina. Nevertheless, there were clearly masochistic elements in Marian’s psychological make-up, for it was apparent that she extracted a certain amount of emotional stimulation and fulfilment from telling me this unpleasant story. I wondered whether Marian and the other members of her coven were simply sado-masochists, using witchcraft as a means of living out their own pathetic fantasies, or whether, just possibly, they were something more, whether, in fact they were following the ancient and almost forgotten tradition of using pain and sex as a means of achieving ecstasy—ecstasy in the full sense of God-intoxication.

      I approached Timothy d’Arch Smith, a bibliographer whose knowledge of the more obscure byways of Victorian literature is unequalled, and asked him for his help.

      “Do you by any chance know”, he asked me, “whether Jennings was friendly with a pornographer named Edward Sellon?”

      I replied that I not only thought it possible but was fairly sure that such a friendship had existed; for in a copy of an anonymously written, wretchedly illustrated, Victorian pornographic novel—the property of a private collector with whom I was acquainted—I had seen Hargrave Jennings’ bookplate. An MS note on the flyleaf of the same volume, presumably written by Jennings himself, conveyed the information that the illustrations were by a certain Captain Edward Sellon, now deceased, and that the writer of the note had known him well.

      “There,” said Timothy, “is almost certainly your connecting link. Have a look at Sellon’s Annotations on the Sacred Writings of the Hindus and see if it gives you any clues.”

      Taking Timothy’s advice I went along to the library of the British Museum, where I found Sellon’s own copy of the Annotations, a splendid volume in which he had bound up many of his own watercolours and drawings along with the printed sheets.

      As I read I began to find that the material before me was oddly familiar; I soon felt sure that I had previously read parts of it, or at least something very similar to parts of it. I turned to Jennings’ book Phallicism, Celestial and Terrestrial. To my astonishment I found that the sixth and fifteenth chapters of it had been lifted bodily, without the benefit of quotation marks, from Sellon’s Annotations!

      Timothy d’Arch Smith had been quite right; Sellon was the man for whom I had been looking, the man whose writings had first brought Tantricism to the attention of occidental occultists.