5 
Various young men, picturesquely clad in robes of white, red, or 
black, stood at different points around the room.  Some held swords.  
The incense made a haze, through which I saw a small white 
statue, illumined by a tiny lamp hung high on the cornice. 
 
A brother recited “ the banishing ritual of the Pentagram ” 
impressively and with due earnestness.  Another brother was com-
manded to “ purify the Temple with water.”  This was done.  Then 
we witnessed the “ Consecration of the Temple with Fire ” where-
upon Crowley, habited in black, and accompanied by the brethren, 
led “ the Mystic Circumambulation.”  They walked round the altar 
twice or thrice in a sort of religious procession.  Gradually, one by 
one, those of the company who were mere onlookers were beckoned 
into the circle.  The Master of the Ceremonies then ordered a 
brother to “ bear the Cup of Libation.”  The brother went round 
the room, offering each a large golden bowl full of some pleasant-
smelling drink.  We drank in turn.  This over, a stalwart brother 
strode into the centre and proclaimed “ The Twelvefold Certitude 
of God.”  Artemis was then invoked by the greater ritual of the 
Hexagram.  More Libation.  Aleister Crowley read us the Song of 
Orpheus from the Argonauts. 
 
Following upon this song we drank our third Libation, and then 
the brothers led into the room a draped figure, masked in that 
curious blue tint we mentally associate with Hecate.  The lady, for 
it was a lady, was enthroned on a seat high above Crowley him-
self.  By this time the ceremony had grown weird and impressive, 
and its influence was increased when the poet recited in solemn 
and reverent voice Swinburne’s glorious first chorus from “ Atalanta,” 
that begins, “ When the hounds of spring.”  Again a Libation, 
again an invocation to Artemis.  After further ceremonies, Frater 
Omnia Vincam was commanded to dance “ the dance of Syrinx 
and Pan in honour of our lady Artemis.”  A young poet, whose 
verse is often read, astonished me by a graceful and beautiful 
dance, which he continued until he fell exhausted in the middle of 
the room, where, by the way, he lay until the end.  Crowley then 
made supplication to the goddess in a beautiful and unpublished 
poem.  A dead silence ensued.  After a long pause the figure 
enthroned took a violin and played—played with passion and 
feeling, like a master.  We were thrilled to our very bones.  Once 
again the figure took the violin, and played an Abend Lied so 
beautifully, so gracefully, and with such intense feeling, that in very 
deed most of us experienced that Ecstasy which Crowley so