The Complete Simon Iff by Aleister Crowley

been a very bad man; he may himself have thwarted his own fundamental impulses of love; but the complete suppression of that instinct for so many years results in its peeping out at last, and taking an unnatural form. There are plenty of similar instances which will occur to you. In the case of the French Revolution, we must also consider the question of atavism. Humanitarian as the leaders were, their forefathers had been inured to fire and sword since the dawn of the race. It was the primitive tribal passions that broke out in them, after centuries of suppression. So you get the same phenomenon in both the man and the race.” Simon paused.
    “That boy, said Major, “has one of the greatest souls ever incarnated on this planet, and I won’t believe he did it.”
    “Your courage is splendid,” replied Simple Simon, “but your beliefs do not invalidate the conclusions of science. E pur si muove.”
    “Is that all?” asked Flynn.
    “For shame, Jack,” cried the mystic; ”I have hardly begun. But I perceive that the light is failing; we had better end this conversation in the presence of André de Bry.” Major paid the bill; and they went across Paris to the old magician’s little studio in the rue Vavin.
    It was a small room, and very simply furnished; but the paintings and sculptures would have made the fame of any museum. Each was the gift of a master to Simon Iff.
    “We shall wait for the young man,” said the mystic, as they seated themselves; you will see that I have no difficulty in forcing him to confess.”
    “I’ll never believe it,” insisted Major.
    “Don’t believe it till you hear it!” was the abrupt retort.
    IV
    A quarter of an hour elapsed; then the slim figure of the boy appeared. In his arms was the picture.
    Simon took it and placed it upon the mantel. Major was right; there was nothing in the room to equal it. The magician went to his desk and wrote out a check for fourteen thousand francs, which he handed to the young painter. “If you would sign this receipt?” De Bry complied.
    “Do not go!” said Simon. “I have much to say to you. You really like the picture? You think it worthy of you?”
    “I wouldn’t have sold it if I didn’t.”
    “Yet you were in sore straits? You were denying yourself food to pay your model?”
    “I shouldn’t have sold it to you if I didn’t think it mine.”
    “That too is worthy. But now, sit down. There are others to consider in this matter. I am going to ask my friends to remain absolutely silent while we talk.”
    “I know what you are going to say,” said the boy.
    “I think it unnecessary and cruel.”
    “Wait till I have done. It is not only necessary and kind, but it is very urgent.”
    “I can’t refuse the first man who has appreciated my work.”
    “Listen while I tell you a story. Many years ago I knew a man named Thornley, a wealthy manufacturer of biscuits. He had one son, Joseph. He asked me one day to recommend a tutor for the lad. I told him of a clergyman named Drew, a man of deep scholarship, great culture, and intense love of art. He worked on the ambition of Joseph Thornley and the boy, after a year’s tuition from Drew, decided to be a painter. The tutor died suddenly; but the boy’s ambition remained. He persuaded his father to let him go to varios art schools, where he studied incessantly with the most praisewhorthv diligence.”
    “Damn it!” roared Major, “he had no more capacity for art that this chair I am sitting on!”
    “I asked you not to interrupt,” returned Simon mildly. “I never said he had! To continue. Backed with ample wealth and influence, and fortified with determination to succeed, Thornley’s career was one long series of triumphs. Although primarily a marine painter, he also did other work, notably portraits. His picture of the king in the uniform of a British Admiral caught the public taste more than any other of his efforts. It was in that year that he was not only elected to the