by Sax Rohmer
Through the gateway opened by the Cabalists we may enter a stupendous whispering-gallery; there we may hearken to echoes bidding us hither and thither. Francis Barrett believed himself a guide to the Light; Éliphas Lévi proclaimed that the Secret of the Sphinx was his, yet renounced his writings at the end, and died in the faith of Rome.
It is for each to judge for himself whether the seekers sought a true light or pursued a will-o’-the-wisp. But the endless task, begun by some primitive man of a younger world, proceeds, feverishly, to-day. There are sorcerers in London, in Paris, in New York, and in every other important centre. I do not mean mere students of the literature of the subject, but practical sorcerers. However, upon this point I shall say no more.
We are promised a great Adept in the near future — a Buddha who shall pour the light of the East into the darkness of the West. The West is ripe for his coming, but one may speculate upon his greeting.
APOLLONIUS OF TYANA
I. AT THE TEMPLE OF ÆSCULAPIUS
THERE is so much of the marvellous in the life of the man of Tyana, that if I am to begin by doubting the possession by Apollonius of supernatural powers, I can see no end to my doubts other than that of doubting if he ever existed at all! I prefer to take him as I find him — as a white figure in a black age, a philosopher unsullied by the mires through which his footsteps led him, a seer and a master of obscure wisdom. That some of his adventures remind one of the Arabian wonder stories, and some of them of the claims of modern theosophy, concerns me not at all. I am prepared, equally, to give patient hearing to Egyptian magician, English theosophist, or alchemistical philosopher.
We shall find ourselves moving in spacious times, in an age of marble villas and white raiment; and if on occasion I shall ask you to step aside with me into some shady portico to consider matters, I shall do so in no sceptic spirit. Upon this understanding, then, we commence the task.
It was in the darkness which immediately preceded the dawn of Christianity that Apollonius was born. He is said to have seen the light in a meadow, in the Greek city of Tyana, his mother having been inspired by a dream to walk out into a certain meadow and pluck the flowers. Her maids who were with her wandered away in quest of the blooms, and she fell asleep upon the grass.
She was awakened by the crying of swans and by the loud flapping of their wings, and, rising in alarm, bore her child. Philostratus naïvely writes:
“People of the country say that just at the moment of the birth a thunderbolt seemed about to fall to earth and then rose up into the air and disappeared; and the gods thereby indicated, I think, the great distinction to which the sage was to attain, and hinted in advance how he should transcend all things upon earth and approach the gods.”
His early studies were under a Phoenician teacher at Tarsus, but Apollonius found the atmosphere of that city little to his liking. He accordingly removed, with his father’s consent, to Ægæ, taking up his residence in the temple of Æsculapius, where he applied himself with tremendous ardour to the Pythagorean doctrines.
He early outsoared his new preceptor, one Euxenus, but, recognizing that he owed him something, persuaded the elder Apollonius to present Euxenus with a country villa, where there were shady groves and cooling fountains calculated to appeal to one kindly disposed toward Epicurus.
“Now,” said Apollonius, “you live there your own life, but I will live that of Pythagoras.”
He forthwith renounced flesh diet and wine, partaking only of dried fruit and vegetables; for he said that flesh was unclean, but that all the fruits of the earth were clean. Whilst he thus conceded that wine was clean, he declared that it darkened the ether of the soul. He next abandoned shoes, and clad himself in linen, declining to wear any animal product. Also, he ceased to cut his hair.
From this time onward his reputation steadily increased, together, it would appear, with his command of ready speech. He is said to have effected a number of remarkable cures.
On one occasion he found a stream of blood upon the altar (that of Egyptian bulls which had been sacrificed), together with a pair of Indian gold vases, set with jewels.
“What is all this?” Apollonius asked of the priest; “for some one is making a very handsome gift to the gods.”
He was answered that a rich Cilician was supplicating the god to restore to him one of his eyes. Apollonius, however, was convinced that the supplicant had lost the eye as the penalty of some horrible and cruel deed.
“The priest accordingly made inquiries about the Cilician and learned that his wife had by a former marriage borne a daughter, and he had fallen in love with the maiden and had seduced her, and was living with her in open sin. The mother had surprised the two, and had put out both her eyes and one of his by stabbing them with her brooch-pin.”
One Maximus of Ægæ is responsible for recording a number of the incidents which marked the sojourn of Apollonius at the temple, including that of his encounter with the debauched and infamous governor of Cilicia. When Apollonius was twenty years of age his father died, and Apollonius gave the bulk of the property to his elder brother: the remainder he divided among the other relatives. His words on that occasion, granting that they have come down to us as uttered, were typical of the polished form observable in his most careless remarks; but we must remember that they reach us through the refining sieve of Philostratus.
“Anaxagoras of Clazomenæ,” he is reported as saying, “kept his philosophy for cattle rather than or men when he abandoned his fields to flocks and goats; and Crates of Thebes, when he threw his money into the sea, benefited neither man nor beast.”
He thus early showed his real contempt for wealth: and he also proclaimed his intention to remain celibate. In laying such restraint upon himself while yet a youth, he is declared to have surpassed Sophocles, “who only said that in reaching old age he had escaped from a mad and cruel master.”
II. BABYLON AND THE MAGI
“Loquacity,” said Apollonius, “has many pitfalls, but silence none.”
Such were the views of the man who, by nature loquacious and by virtue of his training a fluent speaker, from the time that he quitted Ægæ preserved an unbroken silence for five years! His renunciation of flesh, wine, and woman seems but dim in the background of this, his giant renunciation of speech, that speech which, in Apollonius, was an attribute truly godlike.
This curious ordeal, of course, was the one prescribed by Pythagoras for his disciples. As Iamblichus says:
“He instructed those who came to him to observe a quinquennial silence, in order that he might by experiment learn how they were affected as to continence of speech, the subjugation of the tongue being the most difficult of all victories, as those have unfolded to us who instituted the Mysteries.”
During this period he travelled about Pamphylia and Cilicia; and, on one occasion, entering the marketplace of Aspendus, he found that certain rich men had made a corner in corn.
Clinging to the statue of the Emperor Tiberius was the unhappy governor, but even that dread sanctuary could not save him from the wrath of the populace; for they were preparing a fire, in order to burn him alive!
Apollonius made his stately way through the enraged mob, and with a gesture asked of the governor what wrong he had done. The latter explained that he had done none, being as greatly wronged as the people, but that they would not grant him a hearing. What followed serves to illustrate, in a remarkable manner, the magnetic force of personality already possessed by Apollonius.
He turned to the throng, raising his hands for silence; and that enraged populace, so wrought upon by the imminent prospect of starvation as thus to have attacked the governor, to have courted the deathly wrath of Tiberius, were still — hushed in wonderment.
The governor named those responsible for the situation, and Apollonius silently directed that they be summoned. When they arrived, we are told, he had much ado to refrain from speech against them, so deeply was he affected by the sight of the hungry men, women, and child
ren. He refrained, however, writing out his indictment, which the governor read aloud:
“Apollonius to the corn-dealers of Aspendus. The earth is the mother of us all, for she is just; but you, because you are unjust, have pretended that she is your mother alone; and if you do not repent I will not permit you to remain upon her.”
So profound was the terror inspired by this singular man of silence that the dealers immediately unlocked their granaries and filled the market-place with corn.
Of the further adventures of Apollonius during his term of silence, records are lacking; his chroniclers seem to have realized that his words were the golden treasury of his wisdom and that his silence was but a novitiate. At the conclusion of this period he visited the beautiful temple of the Apollo of Daphne at Antioch, with its guardian groves of giant cypress trees, cool springs, and white porticoes. And at Antioch, we are told, he performed at sunrise, certain secret rites, the mature of which he communicated only to those who, like himself, had passed a period of years in silence.
It was in Antioch, too, that he formed the scheme of extensive travel which was to lead him to Babylon and the Magi, to Egypt and the Naked Sages, to the Mountain of the Brahmins, and to Rome and Tigellinus. When, finally, he set out he had with him only two attendants, both of whom had belonged to his father’s house.
Reaching ancient Nineveh, he was joined by the man whose tireless pen was to preserve the lightest sayings of Apollonius for posterity, the man who was destined to become the modest friend and faithful companion of his wanderings — Damis, a native of the city. Advancing his claims to join Apollonius, Damis said: —
“I know the languages of the various barbarous races, and there are several — for example, the Armenian tongue, and that of the Medes and Persians, and that of the natives of Kadus — and I am familiar with all of them.”
“And I,” replied Apollonius, “... understand all languages... and all the secrets of human silence.”
Thus it happened that a satrap in command of a frontier garrison on the Babylonian border saw approaching his post a man of majestic mien, accompanied by a party of travellers. Full of the importance of his office, however, he confronted the imposing leader and submitted him to a violently conducted examination. But the calm and singular replies of the mysterious stranger at last had effect, and the satrap lost all hold upon his elusive courage.
“By the gods,” he said, with awe, “who are you?”
“I am Apollonius of Tyana.”
That name already had been noised abroad in Babylon; for the satrap, addressing him as “divine Apollonius,” endeavoured now to press gifts upon the famous visitor. But Apollonius proceeded on his way, predicting, from the portent of a slain lioness with eight whelps which they came upon, that he would stay in Babylon for one year and eight months; which was actually the period of his visit. Of Babylon we are told that its fortifications extended 480 stadia and formed a complete circle, and its wall was 150 feet high and nearly one hundred in thickness. The city was split by the Euphrates into equal halves, and beneath the river stretched a secret passage linking the palaces upon either bank. The beauteous Semiramis was said to have had this tunnel constructed, temporarily diverting the stream into lakes for the purpose.
The palaces they found to be roofed with bronze, but the chambers of the women were adorned with silver, with solid gold ornaments and statuettes and with golden tapestries, as also were some of the other apartments. They visited a chamber having a domed roof studded with sapphires, amid which were golden figures of the gods. It was here that the King delivered judgment; and golden wrynecks were “hung from the ceiling, four in number, to remind him of Adrastea, the goddess of justice, and to remind him not to exalt himself above humanity.” These figures were said to have been arranged by the Magi.
Entering by the great gate, Apollonius was invited to kiss a golden image of the King — a ceremony imposed upon all save Roman officials.
“Who,” inquired Apollonius, looking at the image, “is that?”
He was told that it was the King.
“This King whom you worship,” he replied, “would acquire a great boon if I merely commended him as of honourable and good reputation!”
He passed into Babylon.
That such assurance was not unjustified is shown by the fact that he was honourably received. For the vestibule of the temple in which the monarch awaited him was of great length, and from afar the King saw that majestic figure approaching.
“This,” he cried, “is Apollonius, whom my brother said he saw in Antioch. He depicted just such a man as now comes to us!”
Thus had the fame of the man of Tyana preceded him, heralding his coming and preparing the way. His stay in Babylon was notable for several reasons. For instance, he proved to his own satisfaction and to that of all beholders that an eunuch may fall in love, but I do not propose to deal with the incident. Above all, he visited the Magi.
Unfortunately Damis was not acquainted with what took place during the several interviews, for Apollonius forbade him to accompany him in his visits: so that all we know of the Magi from Apollonius is contained in the following:
“What,” asked Damis once, “of the Magi?”
“They are wise men,” replied Apollonius; “but not in all respects.”
It is fortunate that the faithful Damis was not similarly excluded from the Hill of the Brahmin Sages, to which (one year and eight months having elapsed since Apollonius entered the city of Babylon), I shall now hasten, not even pausing at the glorious Court of the Indian King Phraotes, probably near Peshawar, which he visited on the way.
III. THE MAGIC OF THE BRAHMINS
Entering the land of the far-famed Brahmins with Apollonius, we find ourselves whirled away into a maelstrom of weird happenings. Amid the phantasmagoria created for our wonderment by the man of Tyana’s chronicles it is quite possible to discern, however, some familiar forms. The supernatural feats of the Lamas, to which I have drawn your attention earlier, evidently have a genealogy which touches at some point the Brahmin sorceries; if, indeed, the occult wisdom of those sages were not the common fund upon which, later, yogin, mahatma, and conjuring fakir alike have drawn.
It is no part of my intention to weary you with an inquiry into the real identity of these Brahmins, although it would be interesting to disperse the mist which, figuratively and actually, enveloped them. By Brahmins, to-day, we do not understand magicians, but that these who entertained Apollonius were wonderworkers, dreaded and respected, is very evident.
For four days, we are told, Apollonius and his party journeyed across a fertile country, then to find themselves close to the stronghold of the Sages. Their guide; at this point, exhibited signs of excessive fear, declining to proceed further. In fact, he threw himself from his camel in a state of pitiable panic. A short distance ahead rose the Hill of the Brahmins, and, as the party halted, a youth was seen running towards them. He was of extremely dusky complexion, but between his eyebrows there gleamed a crescent-shaped mark. As a badge he bore a golden anchor.
“Hail, Apollonius!” he cried.
His words struck all the party with great wonderment, but Apollonius turned to Damis, saying, “We have reached men who are unfeignedly wise, for they seem to have the gift of prescience.”
This messenger directed that the company should halt at that spot, and that Apollonius alone should follow him; such was the command of the Masters. Alone, then, Apollonius advanced to the stronghold of sorcery.
The hill upon which the Brahmins dwelt was of about the same height as the Athenian Acropolis, and its summit was enveloped in a kind of mist, which wholly obscured the walls from view. Apollonius asserts that, ascending upon the southern side, he came upon a well above the mouth of which there shimmered a deep blue light, which at noon ascended aloft, coloured like a rainbow. Hard by was a fiery crater, which sent up a lead-coloured flame, though it emitted neither smoke nor smell. The well was called the Well of Testing and the fir
e the Fire of Pardon. Here, moreover, were two jars of black stone, respectively the Jar of the Rains and the Jar of the Winds.
The summit of this hill was locally regarded as the navel of the earth, and upon it fire was worshipped with mystic rites, the fire being derived from the sun, to which luminary a hymn was sung there each day at noon. This fire-worship may perhaps afford a clue to the doctrine of the Brahmins.
Entering without fear, as became a student of the higher mysteries, Apollonius was received by the Sages, who were seated upon seats of black copper, but the chief Brahmin, Iarchas, occupied a seat higher than the rest, chased with golden figures. He exhibited a perfect acquaintance with the history of Apollonius and with every particular of his journey thither.
I should like to deal at length with this reception, but to do so would be to depart from my present purpose. Following some philosophic conversation, then, the Brahmins proceeded to a temple, where, in the course of their worship (and it should be noted that Apollonius participated in this) they struck their rods upon the ground and were levitated some distance into space!
One is tempted to suppose that these rods must have been akin to the wand described by Éliphas Lévi; for Lévi says of the wand that, when it is “duly made and fully consecrated, the Magus can cure unknown diseases; he may enchant a person, or cause him to fall asleep at will, can wield the forces of the elements, and cause the Oracles to speak.” Apollonius was informed that Iarchas was a reincarnation of the mighty monarch Ganges, and told that he himself had in a former incarnation been an Egyptian sea-captain. Here again we catch a glimpse of familiar doctrines. But I hasten to recount the episodes which attended the arrival of a certain King who came to take counsel with the Sages.
The King entered, ablaze with gold and jewels, and Apollonius, modestly, was about to retire, but was prevented by Iarchas, the chief Brahmin. The King, who was accompanied by his brother and by his son, seems to have treated his hosts with a deference which, in an Indian monarch, can only have proceeded from dread, and shortly, in a formal speech, Iarchas “bade the King take food.”
