In a
letter to Robert E. Howard from H.P. Lovecraft, written in March of 1933,
Lovecraft makes these comments about life in an imaginary heroic age, long
past:
I
can understand perfectly a person’s vaguely romantic feeling of kinship with
some colourful barbarous age, and his dreamy, half-serious wish that he might
escape from reality into some distant glittering world corresponding to his
idyllic conception of that age. With
that I could surely have no quarrel—for have I not said that I would like to be
a Roman consul of Scipio Aemilianus’ time, [the Roman general who destroyed
Carthage in 146 B.C.] or a rural squire of the middle 18th
century…ages which, in all details, I know were not essentially superior to
ours?
Except
for a couple of humorous pieces—A
Reminiscence of Dr. Samuel Johnson (1917), Ibid (1938)—and perhaps The
Very Old Folk (1940)—Lovecraft was unable or unwilling to imagine a
glorious or heroic human past, much
less a present or future involving a bold adventurer and his struggles against
formidable, villainous foes. This was Robert
E. Howard’s realm. The younger author readily
produced a variety of heroic types who displayed prodigious physical strength,
a fondness for extreme violence, and a perennial concern for justice. These included Kull, Bran Mak Morn, Solomon
Kane, and of course Conan the Barbarian, among others, both human and
superhuman.
A few
months before Lovecraft’s letter arrived, Howard published The Phoenix on the Sword, one of his earliest Conan stories. He was 26 years old at the time and had been
writing professionally for only a few years.
The Phoenix on the Sword
originally appeared in the December 1932 issue of Weird Tales. Howard’s
classic Worms of the Earth, featuring
his Pictish hero Bran Mak Morn, had appeared in Weird Tales the previous month.
Conan
first appears as “Conan the Reaver”—sort of an apprentice barbarian—in a
slightly earlier story, People of the
Dark, published in June of that year.
People of the Dark is
interesting to Howard enthusiasts because of the introduction of Conan, and
also because it contains elements from other work by the author, in particular
his fight stories, and his preoccupation with subterranean, serpentine horrors. (See
also A
Subterranean Déjà vu.)
The
opening pages of The Phoenix on the Sword
finds King Conan uncomfortably enthroned as the king of Aquilonia, having
overthrown its brutal despot several years before. Howard contrasts the barbarian’s simple dress
and gruff manner with the overly ornate decorations of the palace; the scene
opens with Conan sitting morosely at a
desk, reminiscing about the battlefields he longs to return to. The job of monarch has long since lost its
novelty, if ever it had any for Conan. “In
the old free days all I wanted was a sharp sword and a straight path to my enemies,”
he says. “Now no paths are straight and
my sword is useless.”
Those
of us with desk jobs can probably relate to this. Being able to brandish a sword or double
bladed ax would certainly enliven the office routine, though HR would need to
step up its recruitment efforts to replenish vanquished staff, (mostly
administrators).
However,
as Conan and his allies suspect, the people of Aquilonia are growing restless
under the barbarian’s rule, and there is a conspiracy in progress involving
several displaced nobles, a popular musician and…a Stygian sorcerer. Howard, an excellent story-teller, is
skillful in creating motivation in his characters—typically an unresolved
grievance of some kind—which foreshadows a future conflict or complication. Contrast this with the typical Lovecraft
character, who experiences growing awareness and anxiety that ratchets up to
terror, but takes little action against the growing evil or the shattering
revelation—not even to run away.
In The Phoenix on the Sword, the leader of the
conspiracy against Conan has enslaved and abused “Thoth-amon of the Ring” the
Stygian sorcerer, who is forced to do his bidding. Thoth-amon
has lost his powerful talisman, a ring “made in the form of a scaled serpent,
coiled in three loops, with its tail in its mouth.” But only temporarily. When sorcerer and ring are reunited, a
conventional coup d’ état over at the palace is made supernaturally complex
with the arrival of “a great black thing which he knew was born in no sane or
human world.”
(This
ring survives the Hyperborean era and appears again in Howard’s 1934 story The Haunter of the Ring, set in
contemporary America circa the 1930s.
The evil ring possesses the wife of one of the characters, who makes
several attempts to murder him. See With
Friends Like These…)
Although
the monster is clearly inspired by Lovecraft’s writings, Howard has made its
appearance in The Phoenix on the Sword distinctively
his own. Howard also cleverly incorporates
traditional elements of occult “magickal” ritual practices throughout the
story. Thoth activates his recovered
ring by smearing on it the blood of a man he has just murdered, a kind of
profane consecration of the item. He
then begins chanting in order to summon a vengeful spirit, all the while
employing “a peculiar circular motion of his fingers…”
In a parallel
scene, Conan, while dreaming, encounters the wise and ancient spirit of
Epemitreus, who marks his sword with the image of a phoenix, essentially giving
the weapon a magical upgrade. (It is
interesting, to me at least, that this notion of magically improving the efficacy
of a weapon is so prevalent in many popular video games these days—it seems to be
some kind of archetypal idea.)
Epemitreus alerts Conan to the likelihood of a battle with the evil
sorcerer.
Historically,
the components of a typical occult ritual include a specialized language of “barbarous
words”, distinctive gestures or postures, a set of symbolic objects—often a
wand, chalice, sword and various sigils or magical objects—and a “place of
working”. Invocation of some
supernatural or extraterrestrial entity can occur through a kind of psychic
possession of the participant, through specialized dream experience, or through
ritual magic. Most of these elements are
present in The Phoenix on the Sword,
almost in textbook fashion, suggesting that Howard was well acquainted with
them.
A very
helpful overview of ritual magic and its history can be found in the opening
sections of John L. Steadman’s H.P.
Lovecraft & the Black Magickal Tradition (2015). Steadman’s goal is to show how H.P. Lovecraft’s
work influenced contemporary occultists, despite the author’s avowed
materialism and rejection—official at least—of supernaturalism. It seems likely that the influence of horror
writers and occult practitioners goes both
ways, insofar as both are trafficking in the same source material. Steadman’s interesting book will be the
subject of a future post.
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