athim, because of his poetry, and probably felt Bennett’s remark confirmed this.)
Crowley had by this time decided to perform the Abramelin ritual. He had left his rooms at the Hotel Cecil and taken a flat at 67-69 Chancery Lane, a well-off street in the City of London. He had rented it under the name of Count Vladimir Svareff. Crowley says he took this alias for three reasons. One was that in order to perform the Abramelin magic properly, he had to cut himself off from his family. Another was his love for Russia. The other was as a sociological experiment. He knew how people reacted to a young man from Cambridge, but how would they react to a Russian nobleman? Crowley’s claim that he wanted to increase his knowledge of mankind has some merit, but it is difficult to believe that many people would really believe he was Russian. (He even issued another book of poetry,
Jezebel
, under that nom de plume; the reaction to it was much the same as to the earlier work by the gentleman from Cambridge.) Crowley’s explanation suggests an attempt to break out of his own limited perspective, but even as Count Svareff he was still Crowley pretending to be Russian. Mathers’s fantasy of being the Count of Glenstrae must have inspired him, and it is difficult not to see Count Svareff and the other alter egos Crowley adopted as another means of getting a response, and drawing attention to himself; Crowley always wanted his presence to be felt. George Cecil Jones, his tutor in magic, remarked that if he wanted solitude, he should have called himself Smith.
Abramelin the Mage’s magic—to give him his full title—cannot be performed just anywhere. 15 Certain conditions must be met. It is unlike other magical rituals and is much more like an Eastern meditative text. The invocations are much more like prayers. For sixmonths the aspirant must lead a holy and pure life and his mind must be focused on his sole objective. He must “inflame himself with prayer” and “invoke often.” As Israel Regardie writes, after finding a suitable place in which to perform the operation, one has little else to do except “aspire with increasing concentration and ardor . . . towards the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel.” 16 It is only after this that the traditional demons, talismans, and other regulation magical paraphernalia get involved.
A two-bedroom flat in London’s City may not have been the best location for this holy exercise, but Count Svareff was determined to try. Crowley decked out his flat with two “temples,” one for white magic, the other for black. He said he did this in order to maintain the magical equilibrium, that confusing balancing act between good and evil he had started in 1886. The white temple was lined with six large mirrors. This was in order to reflect the energies he invoked back at him. The black temple was empty except for an altar held up by an ebony statue of an African standing on his hands. (Black magic, like antinomianism, is keen on reversals.) Crowley also kept a skeleton in a cupboard that he fed with blood, small birds, and tea, aiming to return it to life. All he managed, though, was some slime covering the bones. The day after meeting Allan Bennett, Crowley went to the South London slum where Bennett was sharing a flat with another Golden Dawn member. Looking at the squalor, Crowley suggested that, in exchange for magical instruction, Bennett come and live with him. Not surprisingly, Frater Iehi Aour accepted. He
must have been a good instructor. Soon after his arrival, life at Chancery Lane took a peculiar twist. All the conjurations, talismans, rituals, and other magical work started paying off. One night, returning from dinner with George Cecil Jones, Crowley found a rather large andmysterious magical cat in his stairwell. His white temple had been broken into, the altar was overturned, and the furnishings were scattered about. Crowley says that 316 demons ran about the