Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros.
Wellcome MS1766, c. 1776, folio 29r
Further, it does appear that Bataille was familiar with this historical occult ritual at Montjoie, as such appears to be the intended reference being made in his letter, intended as an inner circular only for the members of Acéphale, dated October 2, 1937: "It seems that for a long time a curse has afflicted this tower, and being abandoned it was used for certain necromantic practices directed against the royal person himself [King Charles VI]."
There is a lot to unpack here, so let us start with the location: Montjoie. This is an old castle, today a mere ruin buried in the Forest of Marly outside of Paris, that is believed to be the castle of Clovis I, the first king of the Franks. A brief walk away from from this ruin, almost a straight shot down one of the avenues in the forest, one will arrive at a site that is believed to be where Acéphale held many of their rituals, around the base of a dying oak tree that had been struck by lightning. This tree is located at an intersection of avenues, the intersection being called Étoile de Joyenval ("Star of Jupiter"), however Bataille would rename it on his map to Étoile Mourante ("Dying Star"). These intersections are called "stars" because they are where several avenues intersect at different angles, and therefore on a map they look like stars, however it is nonetheless quite poetic.
It is called Étoile de Joyenval because of its proximity to the Abbey de Joyenval, which in turn gets its name from the nearby ruin of Montjoie, which is believed to come from the Latin Mons Jovis ("Mount of Jupiter"). Bataille would associate the name, as many French people have done, with the old French battle cry "Montjoie [Saint Denis!]" However, the Acephalean reverence of this battle (bataille) cry was more an homage to Gilles de Rais, the infamous serial murderer of the 15th century. Gilles de Rais, like Bataille, once started out as very pious and then became incredibly wicked and dabbled in the occult.
At the Étoile de Joyenval there was once an old dying oak tree, which was decaying from a lightning strike that occurred some decades before Bataille came to the site. The oak is sacred to Jupiter (according to Agrippa in his Three Books of Occult Philosophy, Book 1, Chapter 26). Jupiter, remember is, not only the chief god of the Greek pantheon, but also the god of lightning. That this oak tree, sacred to the god of lightning, was struck by lightning has a certain poetic irony, and thus was a perfect emblem for Acéphale to conduct their rites. It represented the dead or dying god, and formed a central focus for the secret society. It is similar to the crucifix (the dying god) or the tauroctony (the god slaughtering an animal) as a central image to a religion. And a part of me cannot help but also think of Nietzsche's example of "lightning strike" in Genealogy of Morals... for no reason... it just makes me think of this.
Jupiter, we should remember, is one of the dead gods of the ancient world. Well, his Greek counterpart is dead: Zeus. Though Euhemerus's Sacred History (3rd century BCE) is lost today, surviving only in fragments and quotes in other texts, Euhemerus does nonetheless describe Zeus as a former king of Crete, and as a mortal king, he eventually died and somewhere on Crete is his tomb. Now, Euhemerus is oftentimes regarded as a sort of rationalist philosopher, so he rationalizes that gods are really just mighty persons of long ago, such as a king, that still holds veneration today.
And this is not unfounded, or at least not unusual. The idea of the dead king and the dead god as sympathetic images is a central theme in James Frazer's The Golden Bough, which Bataille was very familiar with. In fact, the whole notion of killing kings and killing gods is central to Acéphale, ακέφαλος "Headless." Bataille apparently wanted to kickoff his new Dionysian secret society with a human sacrifice, but no one wanted to be the executioner — albeit, this is a bit of a myth about the society, as none of the internal papers or correspondences within the society ever mention an actual human sacrifice. Bataille also wanted to make January 21st a day of celebration for Acéphale, as that was the date of King Louis XVI's beheading. I have also written previously on the possible link between Bataille and the Headless Rite of the Greek Magical Papyri (PGM V.96-172), as well as the magical image of a headless entity (PGM III.170) that may have been known to Bataille, as this image was in the Bibliotheque Nationale's possession when Bataille worked there.
We could spend a lot of time on Acéphale as a secret society and its components, and all its philosophical conceptions, but in that case, I recommend Brotchie's The Sacred Conspiracy. Let us return to Montjoie and the necromancers there.
This story of necromancers at Montjoie comes to us from Michel Pintoin, the chronicler of the Valois Kings, as he chronicles the life of Charles VI, thus much of what he writes comes from official documents and reports. While the book is called Chronicle of the Monks... it really was only one monk compiling this material. It seems reasonable that Bataille had perused this text, and this could likely be where he obtained the knowledge of this occult ritual in the 14th century, especially given his predilection for reading about wars (Chronicles largely concerns the Hundred Years War).
The following is a digest of the section of Chronique du religieux de saint-Denys, Volume 3 (pg. 752-762) that describes this necromantic ritual, and is based on my rather rusty Latin skills. I am not going to provide a translation, as my Latin is not that good — it is just good enough to muddle through. The 1841 text has the Latin and French translation on alternating pages. And since my French is worse than my Latin, I am only relying on the Latin.
Pintoin tells how the Duke of Burgundy (Philip II the Bold) had sought to hasten the king's death, as the king was already ill. So the Duke solicits the assistance (likely paying for his services) of a priest to conduct a magical ritual that will quicken the king's death. This is not that bizarre, i.e. that of priests and monks engaging in occult practices. This was common in the early modern period, and actually the vast majority of magical grimoires survive to us today because they were written by priests, clerics, and monks. This is was Richard Kieckhefer calls the "clerical necromantic underground" (see Kieckhefer's Magic in the Middle Ages).
The priest solicits the help of a knight, his squire, and a servant. The priest, knight, squire, and valet are given a sword and ring, very likely provided by the Duke. They then go to Montjoie (arcem montis Gaudii) to have the privacy to conduct this ritual. This is also not unusual, as we find in numerous grimoires instructions to go to a place where there will be no prying eyes, some place hidden or private. A ruined castle in the forest is perfect. We see something similar in the autobiography of Benevenuto Cellini (sculptor, smith, renowned for his bronze sculpture Perseus with the head of Medusa), in which in 1535 he participates in a necromantic ritual in the ruins of the Roman Colosseum. When you think about it, the Colosseum is actually a great place to conduct a ritual in the 16th century, as the Roman Forum was open, ruined, and no one would be there, especially at night, and in the case of the ritual Cellini participates in, "legions" of spirits are called, and they fill up the whole amphitheater... such would be difficult in one's small apartment.
Just before sunrise, the priest makes his preparations on a hill adjacent to the ruins. He constructs a circle of a certain size (circulum fecit de calibe), makes some invocations, and two demons appear to him in the form of men. This is compatible with many grimoires, in which if the spirits appear in hideous and monstrous forms, the magician will command that they appear in a pleasing form or in the form of human likeness. The demons that appear to the priest are called Herman and Astramon. Likely these are corruptions of Hermes and Astaroth or some other variation of their names. A pact appears to be made (ipsis honore divino), which is according to "the art [of magic]" (ut ars postulat). Then the knight, squire, and servant are to be "handed over" to the demons to be instructed in how to proceed and to be consecrated. This part is a little odd. Customarily, in nearly all magical rituals, the magician and their helpers will remain within the circle. The circle protects them from any harm the spirits may inflict upon them. Why would anyone leave the circle? Like ever? (Mind you, my Latin is rusty). Some magical rites have a complex of circles and paths between, and some only have one circle for everyone to remain in. Some have a triangle or other bounded area for the spirits to appear within, as another means of protection. However, only one circle is described here, so perhaps some variation of the Liber Juratus is being conducted, or perhaps the priest has already developed a relationship with Herman and Astramon, and thus has a very simple procedure to call them. Suffice to say, in some manner, the knight, squire, and valet were presented separately from the priest to the demons for instructions.
The knight, the squire, and the valet are interesting here, though totally appropriate. It is about this time period that we see the introduction of swords into magical rituals. This is in part because of the heightened monetary status of knights who could now afford to hire magicians or purchase a grimoire from a literate person, like clerics. And, as a result, they wanted their swords incorporated into the rituals. The squire is also appropriate, as squires were usually young, usually no more than eighteen years of age, and children have often been noted as being better able to see spirits than adults. We actually see something like this in Cellini's autobiography, wherein the second time they conduct the magical rite, they bring one of the shop boys from Cellini's studio, a lad of about twelve years and a virgin. The servant or valet is likely an assistant or pupil of the priest himself, likely being trained by him in magical arts (the clerical necromantic underground), and was there to ensure the knight and squire followed procedure and they got the results they hoped to obtain.
That the knight, squire, and valet are being "consecrated" by the demons is not that unusual. I have known magicians that will leave outside the circle an item they want the spirits to bless, so after having called the spirits and they arrive, they ask for whatever they called them for, and then ask that they touch and bless whatever item they left for the spirits. Though it is not advised that anyone ever leave the circle and physically engage with the spirits, mostly for their own safety, such is known to have been done, albeit it rare.
The knight, squire, and valet having returned from the demons with instructions, another pact is made (ad votum), possibly something like a license to depart — i.e. the demons are permitted to leave, their pact having been fulfilled, and ordered to be ready to come back when called — or it is simply that all this was done in accordance with the pact made when the demons first appeared (again, my Latin sucks). According to the demons' instructions, they obtained the body of a thief who had been executed in a gibbet. This was a common means of executing criminals, especially thieves. Basically the criminal is either hung by the neck until dead or placed in a hanging cage and left to die by exposure. A gibbet in particular is intended to leave the corpse rotting as a warning to others. Because of the stench, these executions were held far away from town, which meant these were prime targets for magicians to secretly obtain body parts or whole corpses for magical rituals. This has long been a practice in magic. Pieces of a body from one who died a horrible death are believed to possess immense power. Consider for a moment the remains of martyrs, in which their relics are believed to possess sacred powers. It is like that, except these bodies were more accessible to the public.
Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae...
Having a corpse, they placed the ring into the thief's mouth for a period of time (likely some duration of occult significance), then they cut the body open from anus to breast. Then the ring and sword were returned to the Duke, because now they are endowed with certain occult virtues. All of this tracks with traditional practices. The Duke needs some means of obtaining consecrated items to hasten the king's death. So a priest helps him. The priest cannot participate, as mutilation of a corpse would be a sin, and a violation of his own sanctity. So he solicits a knight and his squire to help, and the demons teach them how to do it. Now that they are instructed and sanctified by the demons, they consecrate the ring by placing it in the mouth of the executed thief, then they consecrate the sword by cutting open a body. Now these items have all the occult virtues they need for malefic magic. That these items have touched a corpse, an executed criminal, is reminiscent of magical procedures, such as those detailed in Necromancy in the Medici Library (translated by Brian Johnson), such as pricking a corpse with a needle, then using the same needle to prick a woman as part of an erotic binding spell.
The ring itself is curious, as it appears to have already been used for magical purposes by the Duke of Burgundy. The Duke admits that his ring was received by a cleric for venereal purposes, and that he is a servant of Venus (velud dee Veneris obsequiosum servitorem). The ring itself, while worn, needs only to touch a woman for her to become enchanted and grow lustful for the wearer.
The priest continues by writing some "diabolical names" (likely voces magicae or untranslatable magical names of power) above the thief while still on the gibbet (likely on the cantilever supporting the body). He writes these names with a "spatula" (some kind of engraving or inscribing tool) in the thief's own blood — indicating that the corpse is still quite fresh. The Duke himself appears to have kept some part of this thief's corpse, perhaps the blood itself, in an amulet of sorts upon his person, worn under his shirt.
There is a mentioning of the King's brother stabbing him, the King, with a sword. It would be odd to do this ritual to hasten the king's death, as any regular ole sword would have done the trick. Stabbing someone to death isn't magical. Perhaps it is less magical and more practical, for if the sword had been used to cut open a rotten corpse, then the bacteria on the sword would spread to the king — perhaps similar to the needle pricking spell in MS Plut. 89 sup. 38, which would prevent the woman from desiring another man... because its difficult to lust for anyone when you're fighting an infection. Of course, this all rather silly, because if you are going to stab someone with a sword, it doesn't really matter if it could infect them, as the sword is probably just going to do that anyway. Once more, my Latin is rough and I could be missing something here. But it is worth noting that the Duke had also admitted to producing poisonous potions (pociones venenosas).
Further details of this ritual at Montjoie are absent, but there is enough here to gather that this is not some "elaborated theory of witchcraft," but appears to be a legitimate account of a ritual that occurred, even if the chronicler did not fully understand the material or details thereof. There is enough information here that allows us to conclude that this appears to be a legitimate ritual for conjuring spirits to obtain a certain objective through secret means.
These things were all of immense fascination to Bataille: secrecy, secret rituals, executions, corpses, killing the king, religious taboos, et al, and the fact that they took place at a site of immense importance to him: Mount Jupiter, near a dying oak tree... Bataille certainly absorbed all of this, likely with great excitement and enthusiasm. Who wouldn't? especially when you find a place with a history that fits so well into a mythology you have created for a new religion after the death of God.
Now, I should stress that Bataille was not that interested in magic. He addresses magic very briefly in Eroticism, and then says, "I don't really care about any of this. Go read Mauss." Acéphale was active from 1936 to 1939, while Eroticism was published in 1957. Perhaps Bataille's fascination with the occult was a fleeting preoccupation of his youth. When World War II breaks out, Bataille retreats. He produces more introspective works like Guilty, Inner Experience, and The Impossible, works focused on inner sovereignty, self-elation, et cetera. And Mauss's General Theory of Magic is more of an anthropological analysis of magic as social construct within societies, mostly by examining "primitive" cultures, much like Frazer's Golden Bough. It is not concerned with whether these practices are real or effective, but only looks at them as a social construct.
This is limiting, as someone who does have a variety of occult practices, who lives in a deeply haunted house, who has and still does engage with spirits... a sociological approach ends up being disappointing. Like the study of religious experiences, it is only focused on the social and individual values of these practices, as opposed to a certain reality that is difficult to quantify and qualify. It dismisses a huge aspect of what magic is and what it holds for those who practice it.
Bataille it appears was more interested in the taboo aspect of the occult, rather than actually practicing it. Patrick Waldberg would write about his initiation into Acéphale, which was included in the internal documents of the society. He describes having undergone a vow of silence at Bataille's apartment, and the next night being initiated in a ceremony around the dead tree. Out of the forest came robed figures with torches. Bataille himself burned sulfur as an incense (a very Saturnine incense, such as that specified in the Heptameron and Agrippa's Three Books), and Bataille would cut Waldberg's arm with a ceremonial dagger and draw blood — the dagger itself looked identical to that held by the acephalic being drawn by André Masson. This all seems more like the elaborated theory of witchcraft than any real practice. In part, it appears slightly Masonic — and it has been noted by Brotchie that Acéphale had some quasi-Masonic aspects — and in part is like something from Huysmans's Là-Bas. The rituals seem more like larping or cosplay than based on any practical existing occult tradition, being conducted symbolically as an act of transgression more than anything real or practically taboo. When I read Waldberg's description of his initiation, I am less enthused than in reading Bataille's descriptions of the tree and getting lost in the woods looking for Montjoie and his philosophical principles. The actual rituals appear to be a parody ("everything is purely parodic," The Big Toe) than a practical transgression. Such an opinion has been expressed by others, such as Justin Murphy (he specifically calls Bataille's bizarre rituals "larping"). And don't get me wrong, Bataille was transgressive. If we are to believe him (and we probably never should believe him), he masturbated in front of his mother's corpse in a room he had an orgy in years prior, jerking it while his pregnant wife was asleep in the next room... yeah. His ideas and much about his life are transgressive, but Acéphale simply is not quite that.
What I find so interesting here is that we have, basically, a larping group, a bunch of overzealous theorists that get carried away with trying to appear transgressive, but with some very powerful symbolism behind their choice of locale to conduct rituals — contrast this with an actual transgression, in which in the 14th century a priest was hired by a nobleman to conduct a magical rite, obtain what is needed from some demons, and use this to help hasten the death of the dying king. It is simply fascinating to look at a real transgression contrasted with an appearance of transgressing.
(A special thanks goes to Daniel Harms for helping me figure out where to find these images from the Wellcome Collection based on a really vague description I gave of them.)
