Remarks: |
Some1
copies contain a
photo of Crowley, Rose and daughter Lola, 10 January 1910 pasted to
the front endpaper.
Printed to
commemorate Crowley’s
divorce from his wife, Rose. Crowley dedicated it to Lord
Salveson, who presided over the divorce trial.3 |
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Bibliographic
Sources: |
1. |
Clive Harper, A Bibliography of the Works of Aleister
Crowley (Expanded and Corrected), Aleister Crowley,
The Golden Dawn and Buddhism: Reminiscences and
Writings of Gerald Yorke, The Teitan Press, York
Beach, Maine, 2011, p. 46. |
2. |
Personal observation of the item. |
3. |
Richard Kaczynski, Ph.D., Perdurabo: The Life of
Aleister Crowley, North Atlantic Books, Berkeley,
California, 2010, p. 203. |
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Comments
by
Aleister
Crowley: |
Finally,
early in 1909, the doctor threw up the sponge. He told her that
she must agree to be sequestrated for two years. She refused: I
insisted upon a divorce. I loved her as passionately as
ever—more so than ever, perhaps, since it was the passion of
uttermost despair. I insisted on a divorce. I would not be
responsible for her. I would not stand by and see her commit
suicide. It was agreed that I should be defendant as a matter of
chivalry, and the necessary evidence was manufactured. I
continued, however, to look after her as before; we even stayed
together as much as we dared, and I saw her almost every day,
either in our house or at my rooms. Directly the divorce was
pronounced I returned from Algeria, whither I had gone to be out
of the way during the trial, and we were photographed together,
with the baby, at the Dover Street studios.
I had written the agony of my soul in Rosa Decidua, which
I dedicated to Lord Salvesen (not Salvarsan), the judge who
presided at the trial. This poem was printed privately and a
copy with the best of the photographs was sent to the judge,
with a polite letter of thanks. (It is reprinted in The
Winged Beetle, pp. 130-149.) This poem is, perhaps, my
high-water mark in realism. It reveals my human self as I had
never even attempted to do. I trace my agony through every
writhe.
— The Confessions of Aleister Crowley. New
York, NY. Hill and Wang, 1969. Page 535.
______________________________
This poem
has everywhere been recognized as overwhelming. E. S. P. Haynes
told me that it was the most powerful that he had ever read, and
Frank Harris wrote from what he thought was his death bed, “In
Rosa Decidua there is more” (“scil”. than in some other
poem of which he has been writing) “a despairing view of
life—‘beats of a senseless drum—all’s filth’. To ‘My tongue is
palsied ... exquisite agony.’ Astounding realism raised to art
by perfect artistry.”
— The Confessions of Aleister Crowley. New
York, NY. Hill and Wang, 1969. Page 535. |
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