An Essay

Megale Polis, Etis Kaleitai Pneumatikos
Sodoma Kai Aiguptos
Opou Kai O Kurios Emon

Rev. XI. 8.

Christo Sunestauromai Gal. II. 20

by the
Reverend P.D. Carey

It is sunset, and the rose rays fall aslant the woodland; they trace patterns of wondrous witchery on the velvet of the glade. A ruddy glow lightens the marble leer of the all-glorious one, the child of Arcady, the ineffable Pan – Pan! Pan! Io Pan! – before whom I lie prostrate with my robes careless and freeflung, so that the red warmth of Apollon burns on my live quivering flesh, as I lie and yearn in utter worship towards the all glorious one, not daring to raise my eyes to yonder rosy shaft of Parian stone. The love in my heart melts all the winter of my body, and the warm salt springs gush from my eyes upon the ground – surely the latter spring shall see green violets grow thereon!'

Then, in the hush of the sunset, come noiseless hoofs treading the enammelled turf; and ere I know it a fierce lithe hairy body had gripped mine, and the dread wand of magic shudders its live way into my being, so that the foundations of the soul are shaken. The heavy breath and the rank kisses of a faun are on my neck, and his teeth fasten in my flesh – a terrible heave flings our bodies into mid air with the athletic passion that unites us with the utmost God “hid i' th' middle o' matter” – and the life of my strange lover boils within my bowels – there is a ronronnement as of myriad nymphs and fauns, satyrs and dryads, – a stirring of the waters of life – we fall back in an ecstacy – somewhat like death – with the gasping murmur Pan! Pan! Io Pan! while the marmorean splendour before us turns with the last ray of sunlight his goodly smile upon still and stricken bodies – the heap of the slain of Priapus – perinde ac cadaver – ah! it is night, it is death.

Alas! it is not sunset; here is no glade, but a noisy London square; we cannot live, we must talk; we cannot love, we must dissect. We know that these people are not the gracious children of God, but the evil and laborious gnomes of hell; creatures whose lives are given to the senseless lust of gold, the infamous toil of coynte, counter and countinghouse. They understand us only enough to know that we are happy; therefore they hate us; therefore as they spat on Christ, forsaken of all but John, his sweet-voiced catamite, so does the cur today spit in the face of Oscar Wilde, as he goes from the judge to the prison. Ye were too childlike, too innocent, too hopeful of mankind, that ye did proclaim your pearly gospel to the swinish multitude!

The old law, silence is the master: therefore whoso looketh for my name, let him find it darkling in these lines of power!

R. is the Father, W. the Son,
And E. the Holy Spirit, three and one:
But if they esoterically are read,
My equal name shall glitter out instead.

Yes! we must not sing hymns to Pan to-day; we must pretend to be German professors, with a keen scientific interest in these very remarkable phenomena which look so much like madness, and which our own perfect sanity and the effulgence (possibly a shade alto) of our discreet and legal passion for our Limburger-tainted hausfrau hide from our fuller comprehension.

As is right, therefore:

In nomine v. Krafft-Ebing, v. Schrenk-Notzing,
et Havelock Ellis, Amen.

The Holy Trinity (invoked above) have brought within the knowledge of the English speaking races all those facts connected with 'sexual perversion' (in its infinite variety) which occur in the diseased.

The late Sir Richard Burton has informed us of all that need be known on the subject in the matter of its historical, geographical, and ethnographical distribution; and his Priapeia, and the verses of the Hermaphrodite of Panormita, form a valuable commentary on his remarks. Ulrichs and Symonds have treated the subject sympathetically (though rather timidly and as it were with the cold ardour of the special pleader) in its modern practical aspects; but with the exception of Verlaine in 'Hombres', Wilde in 'Teleny', the pseudonymous (as we suspect) author of 'White Stains', and the nameless Aristophanes who wrote the 'Nameless Novel', nobody in modern times has dared to voice openly the supreme sanity, the splendid athleticism, and the unutterable spirituality of the male rapture of the passion between man and man.

In treating of this matter I must first premise that by paederasty I mean actual sodomy as defined by British law1) immisio penis in corpus vivum.

“Arse makes life golden, want of it dull yellow;
The rest is only leather and prunella”.

At least the rest is but preliminaires. An acute observer of my acquaintance remarked to me recently that it was the actual mess caused by emission, and the necessity of cleaning up, that, by allowing time for passion to cool, prevented a great deal of copulation which would otherwise take place. There is a great gulf fixed between the 'short time' and the 'all night', and that great gulf is filled with Condy's Fluid! This applies equally to sodomy. If the semen is safely bestowed in mouth or anus of the beloved one, the temptation is to begin all over again; bar the trifle of fatigue, one is in the same position as at first; its loss between the legs or in the hand rouses a sentiment of disgust2) which is fatal to passion. Even the mouth, like the vagina, remains in a somewhat greasy condition after it has achieved the holy task, and we have no hesitation in plumping for the anus as the one vase into which the perfumed oil of manhood may be poured without exciting a reaction.3)

This point being established, let me further4)) make a distinction between the two great classes of sodomites. Ulrichs has pedantically christened them Urning and Uranodioning; for the former we have no colloquial name: the latter we term Bimetallist.5) Being himself an Urning, he has naturally failed to grasp the vast gap that divides the classes, which is that between an indulgence and a morbid craving; between the insane delusion that one is Jesus Christ or Julius Caesar and the sane and healthy resolve to emulate the exploits of these worthies in mysticism and war respectively. We pity the Urning, as we pity the consumptive or the drunkard; but we do not pity him in any special sense, any more than a connoisseur of fine wines pities the drunkard above all other pitiable folk. We do not acknowledge any nervous weakness as having a peculiar claim on us, just because it lies in the same plane6) as one of our hobbies.

Now this question of Bimettalism leads us to the subject of the reasons for our indulgence, since we are not (as some silly Germans would pretend) equally with the Urning the slaves of an uncontrollable paranoia, to use a somewhat discredited but useful term.

“Why, in short, (quoth Mr. Moses Monometallist) loving women as you do, sir, do you go to boys and men? Is it only for variety? If not, in what does the charm consist?”

I will enumerate the conditions, and that cheerfully, since it will incidentally enable me to justify that very remarkable phrase used above, the spirituality of Sodomy.

A woman can afford two pleasures to a man, which a boy cannot; namely:

(1) the pleasure of the cunnilinge.
(2) common copulation.

(both these either with or without 'Red and white roses' i.e., menses and leucorrhoea.)

Common to either sex (besides opifex and artifex) are obviously all forms of masturbation with the hand, mouth, breast, armpit, etc; active sodomy; most forms of sadism and masochism; nearly all forms of coprophilia; and so on. (These latter forms are so symbolic that sense of sex is a minor matter).

A man can afford to a man two pleasures which a woman cannot give him; namely:

(1) passive sodomy. (pleasure of the pathic)
(2) irrumation. (pleasure of the fellator)7)

The latter is a small matter, and we are justified in concluding that as far as gross gratifications go, the advantage, substantial though slight, rests with the woman. The supreme pleasures are common to both, except cunnilingism (especially during the monthly courses) on the one side, and passive sodomy on the other. Both are pleasures of a somewhat masochistic order, and if we had definitely to choose, it would be hard. Glory to the Creator whose bounty has not forced us to this alternative; aye! blessed for ever be His holy name, and thanksgiving in the highest for His loving kindness towards the Children of Men!

Why then do we so dearly cherish the passion of man and man, since of the myriad pleasures of love, two only are peculiar to it? Why, at the risk of liberty, do we pursue the shy kisses of silly English boys, often of the lower classes,8) when every type of woman (from the mustachioed and muscular belly dancer from Spain, with a constrictor cunni developed till the penis issues aching and bruised from her dangerous defile, to the soft and rosy maiden of our own dear land, with slender limbs and velvet flesh, whose pleasure is like a single slim petal of hyacinth) is at our disposal for sums ranging from half-a-crown to fifty guineas?

To ask the question is to acknowledge that one is still no better than the brutes; and to answer it is (consequently) to attempt to teach a dog dog-Latin!

O man! how can I hold talk with thee, who hast not lain upon a bed, expectant, fearful, of thou knowst not what; tremulous; stammering foolish words in pretence of conversation; thine eyes hard shut lest thou shouldst see thy lover move and perhaps (oh, worst of woes!), frighten him from thee; fearful, oh! infinitely fearful lest he should not love thee after all, fearful lest he should fear, lest he leave it for thee to say the soft words (oh! the burning cheeks, the bitten lips!) whose hidden fire shall kindle the great blaze? How talk with thee, whose quickened hearing has not known him creep ever closer, yet afraid to touch thee, has not heard the rushing of his heart, the shortening of his breath? How talk, if thou have not felt one trembling foot seek thine, one hand steal near thee and yet nearer? Till thou feel the tremor of his body; till his hot breath stir thine hair! Why, neither thou nor I can tell of that swift attack (is it a minute or an hour?) when without word spoken the bonds of conversation snap – hast thou seen a village, with its smug Swiss thieves, whelmed by the avalanche, the avalanche of elemental force, the avalanche of God? Nay, I remember nothing; I know I found myself naked in his naked arms, his giant member still throbbing and beating in my flooded bowels, and the world aswim before mine eyes.

I tell thee, man, that the first kiss of man to man is more than the most elaborately manipulated orgasm that the most accomplished and most passionate courtesan can devise.9) That is, it is not a physical, but a spiritual pleasure.

I tell thee, as I walk the sunsmitten streets of Mandalay, where lives a boy I love, that the very foundations of the soul tremble as mine eyes fall upon him.

I have never spoken to him; I doubt if I could command myself to speak to him. Have I faced death in a hundred forms, and never winced,10) to fear (at last) the frown of a Nubian slave? Strange, friend monometallist! But true!

With sodomy, too, no children come, to cloud one's love with cares material and profane. I love my own children deeply, intensely; but they are rivals to my wife. Nothing can intervene between my boy and me but the slow foot of change, for sodomites are mortal; but that immortal longing in them which is παιδεραστε ια – . That twins them with the Lord of Resurrection; and even as I plunge my member into the sarcophagus, the flesh eater, the podex of my lover, and withdraw it, its strength renewed as the eagles, so do I know that when the Eater of all flesh devours me altogether, I shall arise in my strength, through the blessed resurrection of our Lord Jesus, the lover of John the beautiful, into a world where erectio penis shall be the rule and not the exception. Where, please God, we shall all be Sapphists and Sodomites, joined each to each in one incredible spinthria, with the extreme orgasm (which is the Holy Ghost) abiding upon us and within us for ever and ever.

Shall I find you there, my lost darling? As I pass from the swoon of death to feel the fresh wind of Heaven blowing on my cheek, shall I find you first to meet me in those Elysian glades?

“In what ethereal dances? By what eternal streams?”

shall I find you, sweet acolyte of Salmacis or of Terpsichore, of Bacchus or Sabrina? Will it be you on yonder bank of yellow moss by the sunspangled rivulet that tumbles noisily from the throne of God? Will it be you with your fine hair like spider's webs in the sun changed to an aureole, and your seductive face still as ever the incarnation of one single never-ending scarlet kiss? Will yours be the long pale hands to mould my body to your liking; and yours be the faithful, the unfailing member that never said me nay?

Oh come to me there darling! Lean upon the golden rampart, and watch for me to come! Be first to meet me, sweetheart! forgive me for all the wrong I did you here. I will try and be a good wife to you, darling, if you will give me one more chance to hold your love.

I had heaven in your kisses, and I went to seek it in the cloister.11) I loved you always; it was but a boy's folly; forgive me! I may never cling to you on earth again: pray God that Heaven may be one long, long life of such bliss as we had of one another long ago by yon slow stream on whose banks I have wandered (many a time since) crying like a lost soul concerning you in the words of Milton lamenting his beauteous-buttocked Lycidas “Oh! who hath reft my dearest pledge?” Alas! neither fate nor God could I accuse: the dread hollow voice of my own stricken soul answered me: “Thine own folly, thou miserable of the fortunate of the sons of men!” Ah! but I beat my breast – in vain – in vain!

Ay! the joy we had of each other under those blue-grey hills! Do you remember the day of the storm, when we huddled under the rocks, and lit a fire of bracken and pine twigs? How you stripped me by force – for I was afraid, and jealous, and coquettish – and took your pleasure of me, thrice in the one delirious hour? By the memory of that cave, I conjure you, be first to meet me in the Elysian fields!

I must express regret for having intruded what may appear to be a personal matter into an essay on the German model, but the good Bimetallist will forgive me. He will know that the old poet was right who wrote:

    “The passion of man for a woman
    May serve a lad for a span.
But utterly superhuman
    Is the passion of man for man.
Let him but taste the wine!
    It grips him body and soul.
            Once and for all,
        Whatever befall,
    He is bound to the golden goal
By the joy of his shuddering spine.”

He will know that in the rites of sodomy duly done, even more than in the rites of heterosexual passion, lies the great secret of the Universe, the Key of the Gardens of God…

But I must not proselytize; many are called, but few chosen; a sodomite is born, not made; you can't make a silk sodomite out of an English grocer's boy; one sodomite doesn't make a scandal; take care of the boys, and the girls will take care of themselves; strike while the tool is hot; don't bugger in haste, or withdraw at leisure; a turd in the hand is worth two in the bush; a prick in time saves nine; it's a wise Wilde that knows his own Q.; one good turn deserves another; frig wise and fuck foolish; there's better boys in the choir than ever came out of it – all of which goes to show that it took no genius to write 'John Ploughman'. Not that if Charles Spurgeon had been12) one of us, his style would have approximated to that of Walter Pater; a stylist is as direct a miracle of God as a sodomite. No! I must not proselytize! there are enough of us in the world; a select body of idealists, of men cleansed from gross passions, of poets and mystics linked in a perfect freemasonry of style and manner, of ships (as it were) who have dropped anchor in a safe harbour, of conquerors at ease in the towns they have captured, whose inhabitants are too crass and stupid even to know themselves slaves.

Yes, we are a goodly company, the blest; our lives are spent in sunny gardens and yours in subterranean sewers; we are so blissful that we rarely notice you; when we do, it is to say: God have mercy upon these blind miserable slaves, and bring them out into His light and joy and liberty!

Wherefor I pray Him (Oh thou all-loving, all-transcending God!) that should this essay fall (as seed by the wayside) into the hands of the young and beautiful, the unspotted from the world, that He will bless it to them, that they may dwell with us in the Heaven that is Here and Now, and (after) in the Palace which of His lovingkindness He hath prepared for us in that Garden of Gardens which is approached only through the narrow postern gate of Death.

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There is of course not the most shadowy reason in ethics for the attitude of the law. The most confirmed sodomite (bimetallist) may beget quite as many children as another, while monogamy is the fashion. If man were expected to fertilize some dozens of women every night, like a stud ram, I don't say: but he is not. But on the positive side, a strict adherence to sodomy except for the practical purpose of begetting children, or for pacifying women, an object which a parallel development of Sapphism would more rationally fulfil, would avoid the numberless crimes and calamities inseparable from sexual intercourse – venereal diseases (almost entirely), seduction, abortion, concealment of birth, child murder, social tyranny – et omnis horrida cohors malorum.

As few people seem to know the fons et origo legis, I may here be permitted to sketch it in outline. When the power of the Crescent menaced that of the Cross, sodomy was put down with Draconic rigour because the Turks believed that the Messiah (a reincarnation of Jesus) would be born of the love between two men. Sodomy was thus a religious duty with the Turk; at any moment his passion might be used to bring about the millennium; so with the Christian it became heresy and was punished as such. People who were beyond suspicion, such as the Princes of the Church, could always obtain dispensations, and in fact habitually did so. The documents are extant. This was to the mediaeval mind a far more urgent matter than any mere persistence of Levitical tradition, founded as it was on a popular superstition scarcely less gross than their own.

But today no man can bring forward either the population nonsense or the heresy nonsense, so he brings up his dinner instead, under the equally absurd delusion that the process is physically dirty. In the interests of Light and Truth, one cannot too widely disseminate the grossly phrased, but noble, American proverb that “A turd jumps away from a live prick like a grasshopper from a snake”. Anyway, one can wash! (i) i. The pathics of Laknau, when offering themselves for hire to British officers, draw long strips of muslin from their recta, whose perfect cleanliness is thus beyond suspicion. O si sic omnes! Ed.

The sole effect of the law as it stands is to make life in England insupportable for the wretched urning, and to expose every man, whether he be a sodomite or not, to the attacks of blackmailers of the vilest sort.

Suppose I am threatened by these gentry; suppose I catch them and prosecute them; suppose they get the maximum penalty, and I leave the court with applause and with the strongly expressed thanks of the judge for the courage and skill with which I have discharged so unpleasant, albeit so useful, a public duty?

Very well; does that convince my jealous wife?

Does that prevent people in the street pointing me out as “the man who was mixed up in that buggery business, don't you remember? Of course there was nothing against him; it's difficult to bring home these things, don't you know? But we think what we think, don't you know?”

While your admiring friends openly boast of you as a “dam clever bugger, by God! He had half the boys in London, and when they started to blackmail him, he turned right round like that (gesture) before you could say “knife”, by God! and didn't they get beans, by God!”

But could I fight an English election? How would my chiefs in the army look at it, when it came to the actual point of choosing one of two men for promotion? What price that fat tutorship?

There are dozens of weak innocent fools in London at this hour who, making these reflections, paid the first fatal moderate demand.

There are dozens of strong-minded men who have come to the conclusion that they may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, especially as the former is real and the latter imaginary, and so, a posteriori turned their thoughts ad posteriorem. Some are born sodomites, some achieve sodomy and some have sodomy thrust upon them: the Urning, the Bimetallist, and the carcerophobe.

There are some sodomites which were so born from their mother's womb: and there are some sodomites which were made sodomites of men: and there are sodomites which have made themselves sodomites for the Kingdom of Heaven's sake. (The Urning, the Bimetallist, and the carcerophobe, and the holy sodomite to whom his passion is a sacrament, leading him on the straight road into the very arms of God). He that is able to receive it, let him receive it!

The law manufactures sodomites as it manufactures habitual criminals.

Legalize sodomy, and you will diminish it; or even if, as you seem to fear, you increase it, you will see no change in society but an advance in refinement, and possibly, parallel with the fall in price of Mercury Iodine, and Sandalwood oil, a slight increase in demand for that preparation of the supra-renal capsules which is so useful in obstinate cases of internal haemorrhoids.
Pray analyse the sensation aroused in you by the story which ends (Mrs. Awkins, asleep, being awakened by the cup of tea which she has spilt over her lap). “There you are, Awkins! All over my stummick again!”
A skilful sodomite should be able to withdraw his penis nearly dry. The subsequent moisture of the anus will act as a pleasing lubricant, when the next round of preliminaries is over.
This has been already anticipated in the long note above. (Ed.
I would suggest allopath, homaeopath, and eclectic, as a fitting classification of humanity.
A little obscure. I suppose the author means: a scientific whist player need not pity a gambler more than he does a drunkard; a father of twelve pity the raper more than the brawler; or the polo enthusiast pity the man who thinks he is a horse more than him who fancies himself a teapot. A.L.
Conversely, it is interesting to observe that a woman can afford two pleasures to a woman, exclusively:

- tribadism (cunnus ad cunnum)
- cunnilingism

A man can afford three pleasures to a woman exclusively:

- sodomy
- irrumation (pleasure of the fellatrix)
- copulation

Of these, tribadism is rather artificial, and hardly to be distinguished from ordinary masturbation; so that the balance is strongly in favour of man. This explains why very few women are exclusively Sapphists, but many bimetallists; and enables one to comprehend the hatred of woman for sodomy, and the toleration with which men regard Sapphism.
I cannot too strongly urge my readers to select their lovers from their equals in rank and fortune. It is the only safeguard against betrayal; further, it fulfils the Greek ideal, and silences the voice of adverse criticism. A.L.
Besides all this, there is the question of “nature” and “against nature”. “Praise Lacedaemon, and despise Corinth! God gave me Daphne; I won Hyacinth.” All our modern devices, though applications of nature, are against man and above nature; therefore of God. Nature's man is the cave-man. We take no paternal pride in the pariah dog, the product of nature; in the highly bred setter, the product of man's genius applied to nature's very raw material, through centuries and chiliads of struggle, we do. There is no poetry in the panting Puritan prone on his puffing and perspiring Priscilla: the love of Adrian and Antinous is a monument for all ages. Is there better poetry in the world than Wilde's “…on Adrian's gilded barge The laughter of Antinous” or F………'s “the splendid Syrian youth with scarlet mouth Standing upon the summit of the world?” Why to kiss my boy is a canzonet, and to suck him off a sonnet; his mouth is a madrigal, his lips are lyrics, and his eyes idylls; to be beneath him is an epithalamium, and on top of him an epic.
The author of this essay was with the force that captured Theebaw in 1886, and with the Soudan expeditions of recent years. A.L.
A high Anglican, he lived for three years, immediately after his ordination, in monastic seclusion at L…. A.L.
He was. A.L.


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