Following his wife's tragic death, a rich man attempts to contact the god Pan, and his efforts yield spirited results in this classic occult novel. In her compelling way, Dion Fortune combines romance, suspense, and the search for truth and meaning in this psychological thriller that deals ultimately with the growth of consciousness and the path to self-knowledge. Wealthy, skeptical Hugh Paston, shocked by the death of his wife with her lover in a car crash, finds himself at a crossroads in his life. In search of a distraction, he wanders into the shop of an antiquarian bookseller who befriends him and sparks his interest in occult literature. Hugh is drawn to study the Eleusinian Mysteries and, determined to evoke Pan, the goat-foot god, he buys Monks Farm, a former monastery, long unused and sinking into ruin. With the aid of Mona Wilton, a young artist, Hugh refurbishes and revitalizes the property in preparation for the rites. In the ancient monastery, he is possessed by the spirit of a fifteenth-century prior, Ambrosius, who had been walled up in the cellar for practicing certain pagan rituals he had discovered in old Greek manuscripts in the monastery library—rituals dedicated to Pan. Dion Fortune (1891-1946), founder of The Society of the Inner Light, is recognized as one of the most luminous figures of 20th-century esoteric thought. A prolific writer, pioneer psychologist, powerful psychic, and spiritualist, she dedicated her life to the revival of the Western Mystery Tradition. She was also a member of the Order of the Golden Dawn, whose members included at various times such people as A.E. Waite, Aleister Crowley, and W.B. Yeats. The Goat-Foot God A Novel By DION FORTUNE Samuel Weiser, Inc. Copyright © 2013 Dion Fortune All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-87728-500-7 Contents CHAPTER ICHAPTER IICHAPTER IIICHAPTER IVCHAPTER VCHAPTER VICHAPTER VIICHAPTER VIIICHAPTER IXCHAPTER XCHAPTER XICHAPTER XIICHAPTER XIIICHAPTER XIVCHAPTER XVCHAPTER XVICHAPTER XVIICHAPTER XVIIICHAPTER XIXCHAPTER XXCHAPTER XXICHAPTER XXIICHAPTER XXIIICHAPTER XXIVCHAPTER XXVCHAPTER XXVICHAPTER XXVIICHAPTER XXVIIICHAPTER XXIXCHAPTER XXXCHAPTER XXXIA MAGICAL INVOCATION OF PAN CHAPTER 1 The double doors of 98 Pelham Street opened to the latch-key of their owner,who, to judge from his habiliments, had just returned from a funeral. The butlerwho advanced to meet him in the outer hall and take from him his neatly-rolledumbrella, his top-hat with the deep mourning band, and his close-fitting blackovercoat, damp with rain—for one cannot hold up an umbrella during the actualcommitting of the body to the ground—endeavoured to put into his expression theexactly right proportions of sympathy and deprecation. The problem was not an easy one, and he had given a lot of thought to it whileawaiting his master's return. Too much sympathy was very definitely not calledfor; but, on the other hand, too much deprecation would be in bad taste, andprobably resented as indicating an over-intimate acquaintance with painfulprivate affairs. He finally decided to have both expressions ready and take hiscue from his master's countenance. But that impassive, cadaverous visage toldhim nothing; in fact his employer might as well have been hanging his hat on thehat-stand as placing it in a human hand for all the indication he gave ofrecognising the presence of a fellow-being who presumably had an immortal soul. Hugh Paston passed through the wide inner hall and into his study, shut the doorbehind him, and helped himself to a drink from the cocktail cabinet. He neededit. He flung himself into an enormous arm-chair beside the hearth, and extended hisfeet to the electric fire. The soles of his shoes, wet with churchyard clay,began to steam, but he never heeded them. He sat motionless, staring into theglow; endeavouring, if the truth were known, to solve exactly the same problemthat had so severely taxed his butler. He had just returned from the funeral of his wife, who had been killed in amotoring accident. That is no uncommon occurrence. Most men have wives, andmotoring accidents are frequent. But this was not quite an ordinary motoringaccident. The car had gone up in flames; and though the proprietor of the RedLion Hotel, at whose gates the accident had occurred, had identified the bodiesas those ofa Mr and Mrs Thompson, well known to him as frequent visitors forseveral years past, an inscription inside the watch found on the man hadidentified him as Trevor Wilmott, one of Hugh Paston's most intimate friends,and an inscription inside the wedding-ring of the woman had identified her asHugh Paston's wife. What should be the attitude of a husband at once outraged and bereaved? Shouldit be grief and forgiveness or a disgusted repudiation? Hugh Paston did notknow. He only knew he had had a severe shock, and was just beginning to rousefrom the dazed numbness that had been a merciful anesthetic against the fullstress of the blow. H