Legendary scryers: Pan Twardowski

Today's famous scryer is perhaps a little less than famous to English-speaking readers.  I'm talking about the quasi-historical Polish sorcerer and folkloric figure Pan Twardowski.  Pan Twardowski (or Master Twardowski) is a Faustian character who sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for occult powers.  In Poland, he has been memorialized in numerous plays, ballads, legends, and folk art.

Like Faust, Twardowki managed to evade fulfilling his end of the bargain for many years.  Always a clever one, he included in his contract a clause that stipulated that the devil would collect his soul in Rome, a place that he then avoided visiting at all costs.  His magical career finally ended when Old Scratch found his own loophole, coming to collect Twardowski's soul while he dined in a tavern named Rome.  (Today, there are numerous inns in Poland that claim to be the site of this fatal meeting.)  As Twardowski was being carried off to Hell, he entreated the Virgin Mary, and she came to his aid.  The appearance of the Blessed Virgin so startled the devil that he dropped Twardowski on the Moon, where he resides in solitude to this day.  But Twardowski gets bored there without his magical books and tools.  He sometimes sends spiders down to earth on silvery threads, to act as emissaries and informers for him.

The sorcerer of Krakow may be based on a real 16th-century occultist whose true identity is unclear.  Or he might be composite character created from the activities of various seers and magicians that were swarming Poland at the time (including, perhaps, John Dee and Edward Kelley, who resided in Krakow).  It's one of those cases where historical fact and colorful fiction blend together in an inextricable mess.

The most well-known story about Twardowski involves his evocation of the ghost of a Polish queen.  It seems that Twardowski spent some time in the employ of the Polish king, Sigismund II Augustus.  The king, after the death of his first wife, had made the politically unwise choice of marrying his court mistress, a Lithuanian noblewoman.  This second queen, Barbara Radziwiłł, was reportedly beautiful, accomplished, and the object of the king's passionate devotion.  Unfortunately, her position attracted the jealous attention of many courtiers, and she died of a sudden illness just five months after her coronation.  (Poisoned by her treacherous mother-in-law Bona Sforza?  Oooh...history's mysteries!)  In any case, her untimely death devastated the king.  He draped her chamber in black and remained in mourning for the rest of his life.  (Though he did remarry, hoping vainly for an heir.)

Krakow at that time was something of a haven for occultists, and the king surrounded himself with astrologers, mediums, and necromancers to comfort him in his grief.  One of these was said to be Pan Twardowski.  One night, at the urging of the king, Twardowski brought his magic mirror to the death-chamber of Queen Barbara.  There, the master magician summoned the wronged queen to full appearance, to the great relief of  the royal widower, and secured his position at court.  (Skeptics and cynics alleged that Twardowski faked the whole thing with the help of the queen's old gowns and a look-alike chambermaid.)

An artifact associated with Twardowski has survived (mostly) intact--the so-called "Twardowski mirror."  This is a tin and silver mirror supposed used by the magician for his scrying and conjurations.  In 1711, the mirror was installed in the Basilica of the Assumption in Wegrow, Poland--where it remains to this day.  The prophetic pull of the mirror was said to be so great that anyone could gaze into it and see portents of event to come.  (That is, until 1812, when Napoleon Bonaparte beheld his coming defeat and lashed out at the mirror, cracking its surface and dispersing its magical power.) The Latin inscription on the frame translates as, "Twardowski played with this mirror, performing magical tricks; now it is destined to serve God."

Artwork, from top:

Wojciech Gerson, "The Ghost of Barbara Radziwiłł (1886).     

Józef Simmler, "The Death of Barbara Radziwiłł" (1860).

Woodcut of Twardowski mirror (1871).

Legendary scryers: Frederick Hockley

Frederick Hockley (1809-1885) was a British occultist who was particularly fascinated with the practice of summoning spirits into crystals and mirrors.  His other interest included alchemy, Rosicrucianism, and later in life, Freemasonry.  An accountant by trade, he spent much of his free time visiting the British library and transcribing magical texts for his vast personal library.  Hockley's meticulously recorded scrying sessions spanned several decades.  In a lecture given in 1854, he claims to have thirty years of experience with crystallomancy.  Assuming he began in 1824, his practice predates both the Spiritualist movement and the Victorian occult revival spearheaded by the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.

 Despite his lifelong interest in the practice, Hockley apparently was not himself a gifted scryer.  Instead, he relied on the talent of a clairvoyant assistant (usually a young woman acting under hypnosis), who he termed his "speculatrix."  His most fruitful such partnership was with Emma Louisa Leigh, who began scrying for Hockley around the age of thirteen, and who died at the age of twenty.  Through her, Hockly received the answers to over 1,000 questions posed by him to a purportedly ascended spirit being, who he called C.A. (for Crowned Angel).  The result is a lengthy philosophical and cosmological document, which certainly exceeds what a Victorian girl of Leigh's age and education could be expected to generate.

Hockley published no books during his lifetime.  His output was in the form of lectures, letters and essays on magic and mysticism.  He was reputedly a generous lender of his personal library, and kept up an active correspondence with students and colleagues on the topics that interested him.  Virtually the only component of his practice that he did not share was the collection of spiritual diaries that detailed his scrying sessions.  These were dispersed after his death, and the contents mostly lost.  Of the thirty or more notebooks he is said to have compiled, only a few excerpts transcribed by one of his associates have survived.

However, we can gather some of his methods from the book "Invocating by Magic Crystals and Mirrors."  This short treatise originated as a hand-scribed and illustrated manuscript which Hockley presented for the medium Barbara Honywood (herself an accomplished watercolorist), probably to try and inspire her to scry for him.  Hockley was a devout Christian, and grew more and more devoted as a result of his lifelong work with spiritual entities.  Thus his tracts contain effusive prayers, invocation of angelic spirits, and precise formulae for the proper consecration of ritual objects.  For would-be scryers, Hockley prescribes a life of abstinence and piety in order to avoid the physical and mental problems that seemed to have befallen many clairvoyants and mediums of Hockley's day.

Maybe this speaks more to my ignorance that his obscurity, but I hadn't heard of Frederick Hockley until fairly recently.  His works are not much in print, and for that reason I think he's often overlooked.  It is almost certain that Hockley's manuscripts were circulated widely among members of the Golden Dawn, and strongly influenced the development of that organization.  Hockley also stands as a transitional figure between the venerable tradition of Renaissance magic whose grimoires he studied, and the eclectic occult revival which was soon to follow him.  For those who are interested in learning more about this fascinating figure (and who have moderately deep pockets), occult publisher Teitan Press is currently in the process of putting out some truly covetable fine editions of his major works.  Or, you can check out the book The Rosicrucian Seer (out of print, but available as used paperback and also online if you poke around), which compiles some of Hockley's papers into a single volume.

Further reading:

Teitan Press's Frederick Hockley Series.
Hamill, J.  The Rosicrucian Seer: The Magical Writings of Frederick Hockley (1986).
Samuel Scarborough. "Frederick Hockley: A Hidden Force behind the 19th Century Occult Revival" Journal of the Western Mystery Tradition 14:2. (2008).

Legendary scyers: Jeane Dixon

Before Sylvia Browne and James Van Praagh were camping out on late-night cable, there was Jeane Dixon (1904-1997), one of the first celebrity psychics of the modern era.  Dixon, now best known for her alleged prediction of the Kennedy assassination, reached millions of Americans through her syndicated newspaper column and popular autobiographies.   A professed Catholic who often wore a prominent crucifix, Dixon maintained that her prophetic abilities were a gift from God, and not in conflict with her Christian beliefs.  She rode a wave of increased interest in psi phenomena in the 1960s to a position of considerable influence.  Richard Nixon followed her predictions and met with her in person at least once, and she also advised Nancy Reagan during Reagan's White House years.

 Dixon made her predictions by gazing into a large, clear crystal ball in which she claimed to see scenes of future events.  The psychic, who had a penchant for self-mythologizing, claimed that a gypsy gave her the crystal when she was young and told her she would become a famous seer.  She made some correct public predictions which captivated believers, and some notable belly flops which caught the notice of the skeptics.  (The year 2000 came and went without a World War with China, a female U.S. president, or a cure for cancer.)  In the skeptical lexicon, her name is attached to the "Jeane Dixon effect"--the fallacy by which a psychic's "hits" are publicized and "misses" are downplayed or ignored, creating the illusion of accuracy.

Whether her talents were genuine or not, Dixon's legacy is that of a unique historic personage (and something of a kitsch icon).  Her prop of choice, that large crystal ball, fetched almost $12,000 in a 2009 auction of her personal effects.

Further reading:

Montgomery, Ruth.  A Gift of Prophecy: The Phenomenal Jeane Dixon (1965).
Dixon, Jeane.  My Life and Prophecies (1969).

Legendary scryers: Morgaine from The Mists of Avalon

Viviane opened a little bag she wore about her neck and took out a small quanitity of crushed herbs, which wafted a sweetish-musty scent through the chamber.  She sifted only a few grains into the basin of water before saying in a low, neutral voice, "Look into the water, Morgaine.  Make your mind perfectly still, and tell me what you see."

Morgaine came and knelt before the basin of water, looking intently into its clear surface.  The room was very silent, so still that Viviane could hear the small chirping of some insect outside.  The Morgaine said, in a wandering, unfocused voice, "I see a boat.  It is draped with black and there are four women it it...four queens, for they wear crowns...and one of them is you...or is it me?"

"It is the barge of Avalon," Viviane said, low.  "I know what you see."  (The Mists of Avalon (1984), Marion Zimmer Bradley)

There are few pagans and witches of a certain age who don't recall Marion Zimmer Bradley's Avalon books with a sense of fondness.  The formula of epic Arthurian fantasy percolated through Berkeley neopaganism made for a delicious cuppa--and for those of us without access to a pagan/occult community, it quelled a mighty craving.  I snuck it out of my mom's book pile as a kid, bookmarked all the witchy and sexy bits, and pored over them until the pages got grubby.  I also devoured the inferior prequels (Lady of Avalon, Priestess of Avalon, etc.), until my small-town library figured out they were basically pagan porn and quit buying them.

For the handful of people who don't know, Mists covers the Camelot saga from the viewpoint of Morgaine (better known as Morgan le Fay), King Arthur's half-sister.  As the story begins, Morgaine is the loner at her father's court, a plain and stubborn girl who Nobody Understands.  (Bradley liked this trope--she later repeated it with Cassandra of Troy in her 1986 novel The Firebrand.)  The best part of the book was when Morgaine's cool Aunt Viviane, who just happens to be the Lady of the Lake, comes to visit Morgaine at her father's castle.  She figures out that Morgaine has the Sight.  (The liberal use of capitals is one of the book's hallmarks.)  Right away, she vows to adopt Morgaine away from her politically preoccupied family.  Morgaine gets to escape the repressive court of Camelot and go live on Avalon in the House of Maidens, where she basically gets naked and does magic all the time.  You might call this part of the book my Adolescent Fantasy, or even a Latent Psychic Baby Dyke's Wet Dream.

Morgaine does most of the scrying in the book, but everyone of the Old Blood (King Arthur's mother's side of the family) has the gift to some degree.  The ladies of Avalon prefer to scry in water, outdoors, in a natural pool not shaped by human hands--though in a pinch, a metal wash-basin does the trick.  (What those magic herbs are, nobody knows.) All the mirror gazing in Mists serves two basic plot functions:  It works like a two-way radio that the Avalon can gals use to communicate across vast distances (well, as vast as they have in England).  It's also a handy foreshadowing device--thanks to their mad scrying skills, Avalon's priestesses get to gloomily prophesy the doom of Camelot and the end of the Old Religion on every third page.

If it sounds like I'm snarking on Mists, I only halfway mean it.  I was re-reading parts of the novel recently (the witchy and the sexy parts, like old times).  And it's held up pretty well over the years.  Sure, the 80's Wiccan feminism is heavy-handed in spots, but to characterize the whole thing retro-camp is unfair.  In my opinion, it's still the best retelling of the Arthur story to date.  The film version (with Julianna Margulies as Morgaine) wasn't half bad, either.

Legendary scryers: The Page of Cups

And now for something completely different.  Our legendary scryer for today isn't a historical figure or a fictional character, but instead a Tarot court card, the Page of Cups.

Also known as the Princess of Cups in some decks, this card usually depicts a dreamy youth holding a cup or chalice.  In the classic Waite-Smith and derivative decks, a fish is popping up to the surface, symbolizing the deep unconscious.  When taken as a significator, this card stands for a young, intuitive person of any gender (and often an androgyne). The Page of Cups is creative and sensitive, but not always emotionally mature.  When reversed or ill-aspected, it can indicate someone who is flaky, withdrawn, impractical, or subject to mood disorders or substance dependence. Astrologically, it corresponds to the water signs (Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces).  Besides representing a person, the appearance of this Page in a reading can signify the beginning of a creative undertaking or psychic exploration.

So why do I call the Page of Cups the scryer of the deck?  Well, for one thing, she bears a cup of water, a perennially popular scrying tool.  The Queen of Cups is also traditionally a card of clairvoyance--but she, being ruled by Scorpio, possesses a more forceful psychic/sexual energy than the Page, who is gently receptive.  The obedient and and humble Page is, I believe, a closer expression of the process of scrying.  When we seek visions, we adopt a passive mental state and accept information as it comes.

Another reason is her sub-elemental attribution.  Each of the court cards has a sub-elemental correspondence which bridges two of the elements--the Page of Cups is Earth of Water.  The Page stands with her feet on the ground, but her eyes are cast into the cup.  In this context, Water represents the world of visions, and Earth represents the world of manifestation.  The scryer uses physical tools to access an intuitive reality.  To extend the metaphor, when we scry, we cast a line out for the things swimming around in our unconscious, and allow them to be beached on the shores of our Earth senses.  We see the creature of the deep manifesting before our eyes, seeming to have a life of its own--just like the fish in the cup.

Finally, there's the symbolism of the cup itself.  The chalice of water is, among other things, an eloquent expression of the Hermetic concept of the Universal Mind.  The water in the cup is linked to every drop of water on the planet via the oceans and individual mind is a reflection of the One Mind, and contains infinite multitudes. If we can look past the cup (the ego that contains our being), we can link up with the ocean (Being with a capital B).  This allows us to see things that are distant from our own experience, narrowly defined.  Many have argued that this connection with the Universal Mind is the source of all psychic experiences, and I certainly don't have a better theory!

So, if you work with Tarot, as I do, you could try using the archetype of the Page of Cups to enhance your practice.  Try meditating on the card to learn about the nature of seership.  Place him on your table or altar when you scry, or store him with your bowl or crystal.  If you reach a place where you're stuck and feel like you're not making progress, you could do a reading, placing the Page in the center as your significator, to find out what will help you move forward.

The Page of Cups pictured above is from the Morgan Greer deck.

Legendary scryers: Zoltar

"Welcome Traveler! Zoltar knows why you are here."

Remember Zoltar Speaks?  This animatronic oracle is a staple of coin arcades and various other grubby joints.  The turban-clad gypsy sage had a central role in the 1988 movie Big, and continues to dispense spoken and printed fortunes in exchange for your quarters and bills.    

So, is Zoltar technically a scryer?  Well, Zoltar never seems to move his head to the his right far enough to actually look at the glowing glass orb (although in some versions he does wave his hand mysteriously over it).  Arguably, Zoltar's forte isn't crystal-gazing (crystallomancy), but divination by lots (cleromancy).  He's never seen without his crystal ball, though, so we'll just have to take it on faith that he knows how to use the thing.

Zoltar links:

Zoltar machines are still being produced by this company.  Head on over to their website to see unique photos from the production line, and even build your own custom Zoltar!  Base model starts at $5500 plus shipping.

See what's replaced the Zoltar machine from Big on the Rye Playland boardwalk in New York.

Zoltar fan Jonathan Gleich has perhaps the coolest cosplay ever--a note-perfect Zoltar booth built over a Segway.  Here's an interview with him after he won the first place in the Coney Island Mermaid Parade in 2009.

Zoltar's friends and family: A gallery of fortune telling booths featuring a whole range of costumed characters.

Twitter feed in which Zoltar grants everybody's wishes.

Legendary scryers: Queen Grimhilde from Snow White

Slave in the magic mirror, come from the farthest space.  Through wind and darkness I summon thee.  Speak!  Let me see thy face.  --Queen Grimhilde, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, 1937

If I think back to the first reference to scrying I ever saw, it would probably be the evil queen in the classic film from Walt Disney.  This bodacious baddie keeps her black mirror in a secret alcove in the royal palace.  When she has a question, she commands the mirror to respond, calling forth clouds, then lightning bolts, then flames with a wave of her imperious arms.

The mirror works by way of a familiar spirit, who appears in the form of a creepy dramatist's mask and tells the queen what she needs to know.  Unfortunately, what she needs to know always relates in some way to a certain indomitable princess.  (Aren't they always.)  The mirror's revelations fuel her jealousy and obsession, by which the queen is eventually undone.  If we can take a lesson from this divinatory disaster, it's that it really, really isn't a good idea to ask the same question over and over, especially if you're expecting a different answer.

In one scene where Queen Grimhilde consults a book of spells, you can read the titles in her magical library.  They are: "Black Arts," "Witch Craft," "Alchemy," "Disguises," "Sorcery," "Black Magic," and "Poisons."  There's not a single book on magic mirrors and their use--by which we may conclude that, even in fairy tale times, there was a surfeit of information on scrying.

Legendary scryers: Themis

Programming note:  I thought it might be fun and instructive to do some short segments on famous diviners from the past--some historical tidbits to mix things up a little.  This is the first installment on legendary scryers from history, mythology, and fiction.

Themis is one of the Titans, the ancient Greek gods who preceded the Olympians.  She has the ability to see both the past and the future, and her prophetic gifts grant her wisdom and perspective coveted by both gods and mortals.  In this kylix painting, King Aegeus, father of the hero Theseus, consults Themis on the question of the royal family's infertility.  The Titaness stares intently into a flat bowl, called a phiale, while the king waits anxiously for his answer.

 According to legend, Themis established the oracle at Mount Parnassus (Delphi), and was its mistress until Apollo defeated the serpent Python and claimed the site as his own abode. In this painting Themis is shown (somewhat anachronistically) in the attitude of a Delphic priestess, balanced on the oracular tripod and holding Apollo's laurel branch.

In addition to being a goddess of prophecy, Themis is also the personification of divine justice.  She is often depicted with scales and sword, making her the ancestress of both the ubiquitous courthouse statue and the Tarot trump called Justice.  Her name has been translated as "law," but Moses Finley points out that themis has no exact analogue in English: "A gift of the gods and a mark of civilized existence, sometimes it means right custom, proper procedure, social order, and sometimes merely the will of the gods (as revealed by an omen, for example) with little of the idea of right."  Clear-headed and ruthlessly impartial, Themis teaches acceptance of things as they are or will be, rather than how the seer might wish them to be.