THE LESSER KEY OF SOLOMON ... by Susan Stokes-Chapman

The eighteenth century in Europe saw a burgeoning fascination with the occult, a mystique born from a rich blend of Renaissance magic, medieval mysticism, and the inquisitive spirit of the Enlightenment. Among the most notorious grimoires of this era was The Lesser Key of Solomon, or Lemegeton Clavicula Salomonis. This enigmatic text, a compilation of earlier magical manuscripts attributed to King Solomon himself, was believed to hold arcane secrets for summoning spirits, commanding demons, and unlocking divine wisdom. Though its roots trace back to the seventeenth century — and even further to writings from two centuries prior — its influence endured well into the 1700s, captivating secret societies and individual scholars eager to explore the realm of forbidden knowledge.

The Secret Seal of Solomon

The Lesser Key of Solomon is composed of five distinct books: Ars Goetia, Ars Theurgia-Goetia, Ars Paulina, Ars Almadel, and Ars Notoria. Each explores different facets of spiritual and supernatural interaction, weaving together strands of medieval demonology, Renaissance angelology, and astrological doctrine, elements that continued to captivate 18th-century esoteric practitioners.

The most renowned section, the Ars Goetia, catalogues seventy-two demons, detailing their ranks, powers, and the precise rituals required to summon and command them. From mighty kings to lesser spirits, these entities were believed capable of bestowing knowledge, wealth, or other supernatural boons ... provided they were properly invoked and bound. Though Goetic magic was condemned by religious authorities, it survived in secret, with some scholars maintaining that such spirits could be harnessed for purposes both benevolent and malevolent.

The 72 Demon Sigils

The Ars Theurgia-Goetia addresses a different category of spirits, often seen as more neutral than those catalogued in the Ars Goetia. These spirits were believed to inhabit the elements and could be summoned to offer guidance and aid. Eighteenth-century demonologists such as Antoine Augustin Calmet (1672-1757) debated their precise nature, with many considering them intermediaries bridging the realms of angels and demons.

Named after the Apostle Paul, the Ars Paulina organizes spiritual beings according to planetary hours and the zodiac. The first section details angels governing various hours of the day, while the second describes zodiacal angels linked to specific astrological influences. Given astrology’s central role in eighteenth-century mysticism, this portion provided practitioners with a structured framework for invoking celestial forces.

The Ars Almadel instructs magicians in the creation of the “Almadel,” a wax tablet used to communicate with angels from the four cardinal directions. These angels were believed to bestow divine wisdom and guidance, rendering this section more closely aligned with religious mysticism than with the demonic arts.

Finally, the Ars Notoria departs from spirit summoning, focusing instead on prayers, meditations, and sacred orations designed to enhance memory, wisdom, and eloquence. In the eighteenth century, this book was especially esteemed by those who sought intellectual enlightenment without venturing into perilous occult practices.

Because of the secretive nature of occult studies and the stigma attached to demonology, direct citations from these scholars are scarce. Nevertheless, it is widely believed that The Lesser Key of Solomon was either referenced by or at least known to prominent eighteenth-century figures such as Emmanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772), Alessandro di Cagliostro (1743-1795), Ebenezer Sibly (1751-1799), Martinez de Pasqually (1727-1774), and Francis Barrett (1774-unknown).

Francis Barrett was my first occultist inspiration for my sophomore novel THE SHADOW KEY, an idea I’d nurtured since 2006. While Barrett himself did not ultimately appear in the novel, his seminal occult work The Magus (London, 1801), along with his references to The Lesser Key of Solomon, were crucial in shaping the occult elements of my story. This led me to create an eighteenth-century scholar of my own, Julian Tresilian, who owns a copy of The Lesser Key of Solomon among his extensive library. Though THE SHADOW KEY is, of course, fiction, collectors like Julian often kept the Solomonic grimoire close at hand. Despite its reputation as a dangerous book of black magic—or as a misunderstood spiritual text—its influence endured throughout the eighteenth century and beyond. Even today, this grimoire continues to inspire literature, art, and popular culture. In the 1700s, as now, the quest for hidden knowledge — whether divine or demonic — remained a powerful force in human history.

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I explore 18th century occult thinking in my second historical novel The Shadow Key, publishing in paperback in February 2025. You can order a copy by clicking the image below:

www.susanstokeschapman.com

Instagram: @SStokesChapman

​A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 18THC GWYNEDD ... by Susan Stokes-Chapman

‘To understand it,’ Linette begins, ‘you must know our history. Many of the Welsh estates have dwindled dreadfully in recent years, to the detriment of those who relied on the landowners for their care. I’m sure you’ve noticed there’s little to entertain here – many of the gentry took to the cities. As a consequence they left their estates under the care of agents who leeched money from tenants and the land into the purses of their employers, who then squandered it. Some could curtail their spending, like our neighbours Lord Pennant and Sir John Selwyn, but many others were plunged into debt and passed their estates on to English gentry. My grandfather was one of these men. He preferred the delights of London and spent so freely there it put Plas Helyg on the edge of ruin.’ ~ Extract from: The Shadow Key

Harlech Castle, from Twgwyn Ferry, Summer's Evening Twilight (1799) - Joseph Mallord William Turner

Gwynedd, a county stretching across North-West Wales, is defined by its dramatic mountainous landscape and an extensive western coastline that gazes out over the Irish Sea. Renowned primarily for Snowdonia National Park — recently restored to its original Welsh name, Eryri — this region is home to Wales’s highest peak, Yr Wyddfa, more commonly known as Snowdon. Rich in history, boasting countless castles, stunning beaches, abundant wildlife, and vibrant culture, Gwynedd is today a celebrated destination for travellers and tourists alike.

However, the eighteenth-century Gwynedd was a very different place.

At that time, the area was known as Meirionydd, a land largely isolated from the rest of Wales and England by the rugged mountains of Eryri and a scarcity of easily navigable routes. Travel was predominantly on foot or horseback, following ancient drovers’ roads—pathways used to move livestock across the hills. Many of these routes traced back to medieval times or even earlier, winding treacherously through rocky terrain and offering little in the way of safety or comfort. As a result, the people of Meirionydd were often viewed as living in a remote backwater, with customs and ideas deemed ‘backward’ by outsiders.

This perception was actively reinforced through the spread of English culture by landowners who sought to ‘tame’ their Welsh tenants. Many estates, having fallen into disrepair due to irregular income, were acquired by absentee English proprietors who treated these properties merely as summer retreats. By the mid-eighteenth century, only a handful of the great Welsh estates remained in the hands of their original families. The incoming English gentry imposed sweeping modernisations on these estates, often with little regard for the impact on local tenants. Many native inhabitants were displaced, left without work or even shelter.

Unsurprisingly, this bred considerable resentment, particularly as language barriers compounded the difficulties in communication. Throughout the eighteenth century, English was the language of power, governance, and opportunity — an essential tool for anyone wishing to ‘advance in life.’ Consequently, the remaining Welsh gentry adopted English, while many among the lower classes faced the enforced imposition of a foreign tongue, fuelling discord and occasional uprisings, especially in matters of church and religious reform.

This linguistic and cultural divide lingers in some communities even today — a lingering echo of a troubled past where the Welsh endured harsh treatment at the hands of the English, making such tensions all the more understandable. [For further reading, see Hope and Heartbreak: A Social History of Wales and the Welsh, 1776– 1871 by Russell Davies, Welsh Gothic by Jane Aaron, and The Remaking of Wales in the Eighteenth Century edited by Trevor Herbert and Gareth Elwyn Jones]

The primary sources of income in the region were varied: shipbuilding thrived in Barmouth, fishing flourished along the coast, farming sustained the inland communities, and the mining of slate, copper, lead, iron, and gold fuelled industrial growth. Mining, in particular, experienced rapid expansion during the Industrial Revolution, and eventually, North-West Wales became home to some of the largest mining quarries in the world. These sites have since been recognized as World Heritage Sites and are renowned internationally. Notably, the famous jewellery brand Clogau traces its origins to the gold mine nestled in the hills just outside Dolgellau.

Yet, it is important to acknowledge that these mines were typically owned by the gentry, while the men who laboured within them endured grueling conditions. Miners were often compelled to purchase their own tools from their meagre wages and worked over ten hours a day — six days a week — with only Christmas Day as respite. The work was brutal and unforgiving, carried out in hazardous environments that resulted in a frighteningly high death toll.

Moreover, the influence of the Pennants of Penrhyn Castle serves as a stark reminder of the darker side of this wealth. The Pennants were involved not only in mining but also in the slave trade, owning several plantations in Jamaica. This connection underscores how the Welsh gentry amassed their fortunes through the exploitation of those they deemed ‘the lesser man.’

Despite these harsh realities, Meirionydd remained (and still is) a breathtakingly beautiful corner of Wales that drew visitors from near and far, helping to put the county firmly on the map for future generations. Among those captivated by the region was another member of the Pennant family, the naturalist Thomas Pennant. Between 1778 and 1781, he undertook an ambitious journey across Wales, culminating in the publication of two volumes celebrating his travels. His The Journey to Snowdon, featured in Volume II, offers a richly detailed and lyrical eighteenth-century portrayal of his native land, capturing the essence of Wales with both affection and keen observation.

Wales also drew many pilgrims of a literary and spiritual nature. Among them was the Reverend Richard Warner of Bath, who documented his travels in A Walk Through Wales (1799) and its sequel, A Second Walk Through Wales (1800). Even the renowned Romantic poet William Wordsworth harboured a deep affection for the country. During his first visit in 1791, he traversed much of North Wales, an experience immortalized in his Descriptive Sketches. Wordsworth vividly recalled ascending Snowdon by night to witness the sunrise, a moment so powerful that echoes of it can be found within his seminal work, The Prelude:

[...] When from behind that craggy Steep, till then
The bound of the horizon, a huge Cliff,
As if with voluntary power instinct,
Uprear’d its head. I struck, and struck again
And, growing still in stature, the huge Cliff
Rose up between me and the stars [...]

Gwynedd/Meirionydd is a county steeped in history. We often celebrate its rich tapestry of myths and legends — like those immortalised in The Mabinogi — and its pivotal Medieval chapter, notably Edward I’s conquest between 1277 and 1283, marked by the construction of the formidable castles at Harlech and Caernarfon. Today, Wales is widely cherished as a beloved summer holiday destination, yet it is equally important for those who cherish the nation to reflect on the often-overlooked “middle years.” These centuries, though less frequently examined, played a crucial role in shaping the Wales we know and revere today.

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I explore Welsh eighteenth-century social history in Gwynedd in my second historical novel The Shadow Key, published in hardback in April 2024. You can order a copy by clicking the image below:

www.susanstokeschapman.com

Instagram: @SStokesChapman