@SteveM said
""beauteous", "slave" and "prophet" together conjure up the language of Victorian bodice rippers, in which pure Christian ladies were held captive by lecherous Saracens... according to Crowley Rose was particularly fond of such, and he wrote a few in similar style for her pleasure.
"
In connection with 'beauteous' and Saracens I am led to the think of the recurring theme of knowing the 'beauteous breath' and 'Goodly Gift of Grace' in Crowley's poem Sir Palamedes the Saracen Knight and his following the Questing Beast:
Demand him of his dignity.
Whereat the dwarf begins to tell
A quest of loftiest chivalry. {18}
Quod he: "By Goddes holy spell,
So high a venture was not known,
Nor so divine a miracle.
A certain beast there runs alone,
That ever in his belly sounds
A hugeous cry, a monster moan,
As if a thirty couple hounds
Quested with him. Now God saith
(I swear it by His holy wounds
And by His lamentable death,
And by His holy Mother's face!)
That he shall know the Beauteous Breath
And taste the Goodly Gift of Grace
Who shall achieve this marvel quest."
Then Arthur sterte up from his place,
And sterte up boldly all the rest,
And sware to seek this goodly thing.
But now the dwarf doth beat his breast,
And speak on this wise to the king,
That he should worthy knight be found
Who with his hands the dwarf should bring
By might one span from off the ground.
Whereat they jeer, the dwarf so small,
The knights so strong: the walls resound {19}
With laughter rattling round the hall.
But Arthur first essays the deed,
And may not budge the dwarf at all.
. . .
His vow forgot, his task undone,
His soul whipped in God's bitter school!
(He moaned a mighty malison!)
The perfect knight? The perfect fool!
"Now, by God's wounds!" quoth he, "my strength
Is burnt out to a pest of pains.
Let me fling off my curse at length
In old Chaldea's starry plains!
Thou blessŠd Jesus, foully nailed
Unto the cruel Calvary tree,
Look on my soul's poor fort assailed
By all the hosts of devilry!
Is there no medicine but death
That shall avail me in my place,
That I may know the Beauteous Breath
And taste the Goodly Gift of Grace?
Keep Thou yet firm this trembling leaf
My soul, dear God Who died for men;
Yea! for that sinner-soul the chief,
Sir Palamede the Saracen!"
. . .
"God's wounds!" (Sir Palamedes said),
"What have I done to earn this portion?
Must I, the clean knight born and bred,
Sup with this filthy toad-abortion?"
Nathless he stayed with him awhile,
Lest by disdain his mention torsion
Slip back, or miss the serene smile
Should crown his quest; for (as onesaith)
The unknown may lurk within the vile.
So he who sought the Beauteous Breath,
Desired the Goodly Gift of Grace,
Went equal into life and death.
But oh! the foulness of his face!
Not here was anything of worth;
He turned his back upon the place,
Sought the blue sky and the green earth,
Ay! and the lustral sea to cleanse
That filth that stank about his girth, {82}
The sores and scabs, the warts and wens,
The nameless vermin he had gathered
In those insufferable dens,
The foul diseases he had fathered.
So now the quest slips from his brain:
"First (Christ!) let me be clean again!"
. . .
SIR PALAMEDE is sick to death!
The staring eyen, the haggard face!
God grant to him the Beauteous breath!
god send the Goodly Gift of Grace!
There is a white cave by the sea
Wherein the knight is hid away.
Just ere the night falls, spieth he
The sun's last shaft flicker astray.
All day is dark. There, there he mourns
His wasted years, his purpose faint.
A million whips, a million scorns
Make the knight flinch, and stain the saint.
For now! what hath he left? He feeds
On limpets and wild roots. What odds?
There is no need a mortal needs
Who hath loosed man's hope to grasp at God's!
. . .
Then every knight turned to his brother,
Sobbing and signing for great gladness;
And, as they looked on one another, {111}
Surely there stole a subtle madness
Into their veins, more strong than death:
For all the roots of sin and sadness
Were plucked. As a flower perisheth,
So all sin died. And in that place
All they did know the Beauteous Breath
And taste the Goodly Gift of Grace.
Then fell the night. Above the baying
Of the great Beast, that was the bass
To all the harps of Heaven a-playing,
There came a solemn voice (not one
But was upon his knees in praying
And glorifying God). The Son
Of God Himself --- men thought --- spoke then.
"Arise! brave soldier, thou hast won
The quest not given to mortal men.
Arise! Sir Palamede Adept,
Christian, and no more Saracen!
. . .
All led to the one goal. Now praise
Thy Lord hat He hat brought thee through
To win the quest!" The good knight lays {112}
His hand upon the Beast. Then blew
Each angel on his trumpet, then
All Heaven resounded that it knew
Sir Palamede the Saracen
Was master! Through the domes of death,
Through all the mighty realms of men
And spirits breathed the Beauteous Breath:
They taste the Goodly Gift of Grace.
--- Now 'tis the chronicler that saith:
Our Saviour grant in little space
That also I, even I, be blest
Thus, though so evil is my case ---
Let them that read my rime attest
The same sweet unction in my pen ---
That writes in pure blood of my breast;
For that I figure unto men
The story of my proper quest
As thine, first Eastern in the West,
Sir Palamede the Saracen! {113}
extracts from THE HIGH HISTORY OF GOOD SIR PALAMEDES THE SARACEN KNIGHT AND OF HIS FOLLOWING THE QUESTING BEAST" BY ALEISTER CROWLEY RIGHTLY SET FORTH IN RIME
TO ALLAN BENNETT
"Bhikkhu Ananda Metteyya"
my good knight comrade in the quest, I dedicate this
imperfect account of it, in some small recognition of
his suggestion of its form.
MANDALAY, "November" 1905