Between Two Worlds: The Weird Tales of Arthur Machen

In his seminal 1927 essay ‘Supernatural Horror in Literature’, an overview of the genre from the folk tales of primitive man to the pulp authors of his own day, H.P. Lovecraft named only four living authors as true ‘Masters of Horror’. These were Algernon Blackwood, Lord Dunsany, M.R. James, and Arthur Machen. And Machen’s major works predated those of the other three. ‘Of living creators of cosmic fear raised to its most artistic pitch,’ wrote Lovecraft, ‘few if any can hope to equal the versatile Arthur Machen, author of some dozen tales long and short, in which the elements of hidden horror and brooding fright attain an almost incomparable substance and realistic acuteness.’ Praise indeed from the Father of Modern Horror. So, who was this ‘Master of Horror’ that Lovecraft held in such high regard? Between Two Worlds

Arthur Machen (1863–1947) was a Welsh author and journalist known in his own day for his occult, mystical, and supernatural fiction. Nowadays, it’s reasonable to describe him as a cult author, retaining a solid base of devoted followers but not well-known outside this group, his name having none of the brand recognition of horror icons such as Lovecraft. (The same may of course now also be said of Blackwood and Dunsany, though the BBC’s ‘Ghost Stories for Christmas’ have kept M.R. James in the limelight.) That said, even if you’ve not read Machen, it’s likely that you have encountered one of his stories without knowing it.

You’ve probably heard of the Great War myth of the ‘Angels of Mons’, in which the ghostly archers of Agincourt (or in some versions, St. George himself, aided by celestial warriors), manifested on the battlefield to support the retreating British Expeditionary Force in 1914. At the time, many witnesses attested to the event – soldiers, including officers, and nurses reporting accounts by wounded men from the front – and religious leaders and Spiritualist journals amplified the story until it became a matter of national myth. What is less well known is that Machen was the unwitting source, having written a short supernatural war story for the London Evening News called ‘The Bowman’ which had been misinterpreted as factual by a rather desperate public. Though a minor work as far as the author was concerned, ‘The Bowmen’ remains Machen’s most enduring impact on British culture, although his accidental origin of the myth is not widely known.

But there is much more to Machen’s literary legacy than this, the shame being that his work has not been passed down to new generations of genre fans in the way that Lovecraft’s or James’ has, which often involves dissemination and rediscovery through film and television. During the high watermark of BBC Christmas ghost stories directed by Lawrence Gordon Clark in the 1970s, for example, there was, unfortunately, no adaption of Machen’s sexy and subversive folk horror masterpiece The Great God Pan (1894), in which an experiment in ‘transcendental medicine’ triggers a chain of depravity and disaster throughout fin de siècle London Society, despite a fad for Edwardian tales of terror that saw even William Hope Hodgson’s ‘Carnacki, the Ghost-Finder’ played on ITV by Donald Pleasance. Had Clarke adapted one of Machen’s weird tales – perhaps The White People in which an innocent young girl is seduced into witchcraft and immorality, or one of his many stories of the ‘Little People’ that lurked below the ground – my generation would have been duly traumatised, as we were by M.R. James, burning the stories into the contemporary collective consciousness. Machen would thus have been ripe for revival by gothic screenwriters like Mark Gatiss, the spiritual successor to Clarke in the UK. Similarly, though dabbling in the literary occult through a couple of adaptations of Dennis Wheatley, Hammer did not grace us with a Machen film, despite his fiction being eminently suitable, with early stories very much following Poe and Robert Louis Stevenson, and at the same time inspiring elements of Dracula. The most notable direct adaptation of Machen’s work, though historically fascinating, is relatively obscure. His ‘Novel of the White Powder’, one of several anecdotal horror stories contained within his 1895 novel The Three Impostors (in which a simple prescription mixed from chemicals that have been on the shelf a touch too long results in a hideous physical transformation), was adapted in 1950 in the infamous American horror comic Tales from the Crypt.

The only child of an Anglican priest, the bookish Arthur Llewellyn Jones (his penname ‘Machen’ was his mother’s maiden name), left Gwent for London in his late teens with the vague idea of becoming a writer. Living in poverty in a tiny room in Notting Hill, Machen wrote some unremarkable juvenilia while working for the publisher George Redway as a translator and cataloguing a vast collection of esoteric and occult literature, which he read widely. Steeped in this ancient and curious lore, Machen was well suited to the exoticism and general boundary-pushing of the fin de siècle. His short story ‘A Double Return’, published in St. James’s Gazette in September 1890, with its implication that a doppelgänger had spent a night with the original’s wife, was considered far too racy and got Machen kicked off the magazine though Oscar Wilde adored it for ‘fluttering the dovecotes.’ The Great God Pan, his first real foray into paganism, sexuality and horror, was published with the story ‘The Inmost Light’ (which also concerns an evil esoteric experiment) by John Lane in his Keynote series, with a yellow cover and art by Aubrey Beardsley, then the hallmarks of the Decadent Movement. Wilde pronounced the book un succès fou – ‘a runaway success’ – and sales were brisk, The Great God Pan and The Inmost Light quickly going into a second edition. Contemporary reviews, however, were brutal because of the transgressive sensuality of the story. The Westminster Gazette denounced Pan as ‘an incoherent nightmare of sex and the supposed horrible mysteries behind it, such as might conceivably possess a man who was given to a morbid brooding over these matters, but would soon lead to insanity if unrestrained.’ In a blistering attack in the Contemporary Review, art critic Harry Quilter described Pan as: ‘a perfectly abominable story, in which the author has spared no endeavour to suggest loathsomeness and horror which he describes as beyond the reach of words.’ The stern voice of the critical Establishment, Quilter viewed the book as a threat to the public, to Christian morality, sanity, and the empire – a symptom of the then popular fear of Degeneration, that, like Imperial Rome, the British Empire could collapse into decadence and barbarism at any moment.

The premise of The Great God Pan is not a million miles from Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde as the story concerns the release of something monstrous from the human psyche through science. The difference is that its architect, ‘Dr Raymond’, feels more like an alchemist or mystic than a Victorian surgeon, declaring:

‘I stood here, and saw before me the unutterable, the unthinkable gulf that yawns profound between two worlds, the world of matter and the world of spirit; I saw the great empty deep stretch dim before me, and in that instant a bridge of light leapt from the earth to the unknown shore, and the abyss was spanned.’

Clearly not willing to bridge this ‘gulf’ himself, Raymond conducts minor brain surgery on his ward, Mary, to facilitate a vision beyond the ‘veil’ that separates the material from the spiritual: ‘the ancients knew what lifting the veil means,’ he explains, in the tradition of the true mad scientist, ‘They called it seeing the god Pan.’ The innocent Mary’s face first suggests an ecstatic vision, though ‘in an instant the wonder faded, and gave place to the most awful terror.’ This opening act ends with Mary a ‘hopeless idiot’, a sacrifice Raymond feels is justified: ‘However, it could not be helped,’ he tells a horrified associate, ‘after all, she has seen the Great God Pan.’ This unsettling overture prefaces a serious of sinister events years later involving ‘a girl of the most wonderful and most strange beauty’ and the ruination and suicides of several prosperous young men. Like Jekyll and Hyde, the narrative is fragmentary and told from multiple perspectives, all leading to a shocking climax.

As with so many of his stories, Pan was inspired by the sublime landscape of his native Wales, Machen writing in the first volume of his autobiographical trilogy, Far Off Things (1922):

Down the valley in the distance was Caerleon-on-Usk; over the hill, somewhere in the lower slopes of the forest, Caerwent, also a Roman city, was buried in the earth, and gave up now and again strange relics—fragments of the temple of ‘Nodens, god of the depths.’ I saw the lonely house between the dark forest and the silver river, and years after I wrote ‘The Great God Pan,’ an endeavour to pass on the vague, indefinable sense of awe and mystery and terror that I had received.

As a man who wrote with such vivid insight and evocative beauty on the country of his birth – not just in horror but in his life writing, nonfiction and more mystical fantasies – Machen deserves more attention than he gets as a significant contributor to Welsh literature. ‘I shall always esteem it as the greatest piece of fortune that has fallen to me, that I was born in that noble, fallen Caerleon-on-Usk, in the heart of Gwent,’ he wrote in Far Off Things, continuing:

My greatest fortune, I mean, from that point of view which I now more especially have in mind, the career of letters. For the older I grow the more firmly am I convinced that anything which I may have accomplished in literature is due to the fact that when my eyes were first opened in earliest childhood they had before them the vision of an enchanted land. As soon as I saw anything I saw Twyn Barlwm, that mystic tumulus, the memorial of peoples that dwelt in that region before the Celts left the Land of Summer. This guarded the southern limit of the great mountain wall in the west; a little northward was Mynydd Maen – the Mountain of the Stone – a giant, rounded billow; and still to the north mountains, and on fair, clear days one could see the pointed summit of the Holy Mountain by Abergavenny. It would shine, I remember, a pure blue in the far sunshine; it was a mountain peak in a fairy tale.

Wales was at the heart of Machen’s belief in the relationship between landscape and time, and of the return of hidden lore and ritual

The Great God Pan and the other stories Machen wrote in this period can be read as a bridge between the later Victorian gothic of writers like Poe, Stevenson and J.S. Le Fanu, and the early twentieth century fiction of the Lovecraft circle, via the Decadent moment that produced dark, transgressive fantasies like Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray and Stoker’s Dracula. Stoker’s masterpiece, in particular, shows the influence of The Great God Pan in both theme and structure, as resolute English gentlemen face an ancient and inhuman force which dangerously sexualises women, as told through a series of different yet intersecting narratives.

The Great God Pan was written in a rare period in Machen’s life when money was not a problem, the struggling author having inherited a modest legacy after the death of his father. He was therefore able to marry his fiancée, Amy Hogg, and to write full-time, producing some of his finest and most memorable works. Following Pan, the episodic novel The Three Impostors (1895) combined occult vengeance, secret societies, and debauched pagan rites. The novel included framed stories that became famous in their own right when separately anthologised, like the ‘Novel of the White Powder’ and the ‘Novel of the Black Seal’, which introduced Machen’s recurring preoccupation with the ‘Little People’, a complex and evolving fairy mythopoeia that can be likened to Lovecraft’s ‘Cthulhu Mythos’. More stories of the ‘Little People’ followed in 1895 with ‘The Shining Pyramid’ and ‘The Red Hand’. His portrait of the artist, The Hill of Dreams, was completed in 1897 and he also wrote The White People in 1899, and the prose-poems and flash fictions that would later be collected as Ornaments in Jade. By 1899 he was also working on two further novels as well as Hieroglyphics: A Note upon Ecstasy in Literature. The death of Amy to cancer in 1899 precipitated a spiritual crisis leading Machen to dally with the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn and to retrain as an actor with Frank Benson’s touring Shakespeare company. In 1903, he married the bohemian Dorothie Purefoy Hudleston, with whom he had two children. Money worries finally pushed Machen into journalism in 1910, which he called a ‘prostitution of the soul,’ although the interest in ‘The Bowmen’ inspired him to return to fiction writing. The Great War also precipitated another notable work, The Terror (1917), a serialised novella Machen dismissed as a ‘shilling shocker’ but which introduced the horror archetype of animals collectively attacking humanity.

Machen had found a new generation of readers when six of his stories were republished collectively under the title of The House of Souls in 1906. The Athenæum, which had critically annihilated The Great God Pan and The Inmost Light in 1894, seemed to get the point this time, its reviewer writing that:

Like Poe, Mr Machen sets himself to make the reader’s flesh creep; like Hawthorne, he abounds with subtle and suggestive symbolism … He deals in ancient mysteries; he is for ever hinting at the macabre, the sinister, the unspeakable. His puppets peep and mutter through an atmosphere of forbidden knowledge and obscure rites of remote antiquity, which, however, he would seem to suggest are not so remote as they ought to be after all.

As Machen’s alter ego Dyson explains in ‘The Red Hand’: ‘There are sacraments of evil as well as of good about us, and we live and move to my belief in an unknown world, a place where there are caves and shadows and dwellers in twilight. It is possible that man may sometimes return on the track of evolution, and it is my belief that an awful lore is not yet dead.’ And just as Dyson believed this, so did Machen, writing in the third and final volume of his autobiography, The London Adventure (1924), that: ‘For we, it is true, live in an illusory world, but there are other spheres of deception, beyond ours, and of a different order, into which we are scarcely meant to penetrate.’

This is a recurrent theme in Machen’s writing, which anticipates H.P. Lovecraft’s definition of ‘Weird’ fiction, as opposed to more conventional horror, supernatural, or gothic tropes. As Lovecraft wrote in ‘Supernatural Horror in Literature’:

The true weird tale has something more than secret murder, bloody bones, or a sheeted form clanking chains according to rule. A certain atmosphere of breathless and unexplainable dread of outer, unknown forces must be present; and there must be a hint, expressed with a seriousness and portentousness becoming its subject, of that most terrible conception of the human brain – a malign and particular suspension or defeat of those fixed laws of Nature which are our only safeguard against the assaults of chaos and the daemons of unplumbed space.

This concept of another world pushing against the boundaries of our perceived reality is the foundation of Lovecraft’s ‘Cthulhu Mythos’, and he was greatly influenced by Machen. Both men were cosmic world-builders, every story linked by a unifying premise. Echoes of The Great God Pan and the ‘Novel of the Black Seal’ can be seen in the structure and premise of ‘The Call of Cthulhu’ (in which investigators chase archaeological clues, fantastic news stories, and anecdotal evidence in pursuit of terrible esoteric knowledge). ‘The Dunwich Horror’ also follows Pan and ‘The Black Seal’ in its representation of a monstrous half-human hybrid, citing The Great God Pan in the text. Equally, the ‘Novel of the Black Seal’ seems to inspire ‘The Lurking Fear’, in which a deformed humanoid race inhabits the Catskill Mountains, while the ‘Novel of the White Powder’ foreshadows Lovecraft’s stories of physical disintegration, such as ‘Cool Air’ and ‘The Colour Out of Space’. Machen is also invoked in ‘The Whisperer in Darkness’ when the narrator scorns believers in nonhuman creatures as ‘merely romanticists who insisted on trying to transfer to real life the fantastic lore of lurking “little people” made popular by the magnificent horror-fiction of Arthur Machen.’

The ‘Little People’ pervade many of Machen’s stories as well as his nonfiction. For Machen, the concept had an anthropological basis, which he outlined in his 1898 essay ‘Folklore and Legends of the North’:

Of recent years abundant proof has been given that a short, non-Aryan race once dwelt beneath ground, in hillocks throughout Europe, their raths have been explored, and the weird old tales of green hills all lighted up at night have received confirmation. Much in the old legends may be explained by a reference to this primitive race. The stories of Changelings, and captive women, become clear on the supposition that the ‘fairies’ occasionally raided the houses of the invaders.

In Things Near and Far (1923) – the second volume of his autobiography – he explained how he applied these legends to the ‘Novel of the Black Seal’:

I worked it all into my fairy tale, mixing up the old view that the fairy tales, the stories of Little People, are in fact traditions of the aborigines of these islands, small, dark men who took refuge under the hills from the invading Celt; with this view of the capacities of the human body, and my view, still newer, that the fairies may still be found under the hills, and that they are far from being pleasant little people.

In the ‘Novel of the Black Seal’, Professor Gregg finds a half-human hybrid and, possibly, the key to an underground kingdom; in ‘The Shining Pyramid’, Dyson investigates the disappearance of a farmer’s daughter and mysterious signs marked out around a friend’s desolate cottage, leading to the discovery of a terrible rite; in ‘The Red Hand’, Dyson investigates a murder committed with an impossibly ancient stone axe; and in ‘Out of the Earth’, the ‘Little People’ approve of man’s like-minded barbarity during the Great War: ‘These little people of the earth rise up and rejoice in these times of ours. For they are glad, as the Welshman said, when they know that men follow their ways.’

Lovecraft’s enthusiasm for Machen is indicative of a wider appreciation in the United States in the 1920s, led by the American writers Vincent Starrett, James Branch Cabell, and Carl Van Vechten, while in Britain his mystical fiction became bound up with the rather desperate re-embracing of Spiritualism and occultism by bereaved relatives after the Great War. Unfortunately, the wave broke and rolled back, and he soon returned to genteel poverty, only partially ameliorated by a small Civil List pension granted in 1932. A literary appeal was launched for him on his eightieth birthday, allowing him to live out the remainder of his life in reasonable comfort. To give an idea of the esteem in which he was held by fellow authors, those supporting included T. S. Eliot, John Masefield, Max Beerbohm, Walter de la Mare, Algernon Blackwood, and George Bernard Shaw. He died in the winter of 1947, a few months after his wife.

By the time William Francis Gekle published his book Arthur Machen: Weaver of Fantasy in 1949, the American writer was, by his own admission, part of a tight huddle of what he called ‘Machenites’, comprising ‘collectors and cultists … bibliographers and bibliophiles … anthologists and the zealots of the pulp press’ (the ‘horror boys’). And to a certain extent, that is where Machen remains to this day. His writing too dense and symbolic to yield its secrets easily, yet not part of the avant-garde and Modernist revolutions in art and literature that dominated the period in which he was active, Machen is one of those authors that failed to join the literary canon. His legacy and influence are thus as arcane and eclectic as his fiction, with prominent aficionados as diverse as the comedian Stewart Lee, the former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, and the late frontman of The Fall, Mark E. Smith. W.B. Yeats and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle were fans, as was Aleister Crowley (though the admiration was not reciprocated). Jorge Luis Borges held Machen in high regard, and his writings can thus be said to have influenced the development of Magic Realism. At the same time, Poet Laureate Sir John Betjeman attributed his conversion to High Church Anglicanism to reading Machen. Following Lovecraft, in post-war UK and US horror, Machen has been cited as a direct influence by Ramsey Campbell and Peter Straub, whose novel – and subsequent film – Ghost Story was inspired by The Great God Pan, as a mysterious and beautiful woman who is not what she seems wreaks havoc among a group of old friends. Stephen King, Lovecraft’s natural successor as the most significant horror writer on the planet active today, has described Pan as ‘one of the best horror stories ever written. Maybe the best in the English language.’

The iconic comic writer and novelist Alan Moore also took the death of Machen’s first wife, Amy, as the inspiration for his remarkable performance piece Snakes and Ladders (1999) – later illustrated by Eddie Campbell and published as A Disease of Language – with its focus on Machen’s visionary experiences after her death in 1899. Machen attempted to describe the results of his cryptic spiritual ‘experiment’ in Things Near and Far:

…a peace of the spirit that was quite ineffable, a knowledge that all hurts and doles and wounds were healed, that that which was broken was reunited. Everything, of body and of mind, was resolved into an infinite and an exquisite delight; into a joy so great that – let this be duly noted – it became almost intolerable in its ecstasy.

As Moore put it, ‘Amy died, but Arthur went to heaven.’ Machen was a pioneer of psychogeography, the exploration of the interpersonal and historical connections to human spaces, later developed – particularly around London – by writers such as Iain Sinclair, Peter Ackroyd, Michael Moorcock and, of course, Moore himself. As Machen explained in The London Adventure:

I can look with a kind of pleasure on a very doorstep, on a doorstep approaching a shabby grey house of 1810 or thereabouts – if the stone be worn into a deep hollow by the feet of even a hundred years and a little over … and that doorstep is to me sacramental, if not a sacrament, even though the neighbourhood round about Mount Pleasant is a very poor one. For, it seems to me that here you have the magic touch which redeems and exalts the dull mass of things, by tinging them with the soul of man.

Moore described this visionary state as being ‘caught in the crosshairs of geography and time.’

In film, John Carpenter makes the framing narrator of The Fog ‘Mr Machen’, and Richard Stanley, who adapted Lovecraft’s Color Out of Space, is a devotee, though the director most closely associated with Machen is the Academy Award winning Mexican filmmaker Guillermo del Toro. Machen’s influence is particularly notable in del Toro’s masterpiece, Pan’s Labyrinth, but it is also on display in Hellboy II: The Golden Army, and Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, in which vanished fairy races rise, and grotesque and brutal ‘Little People’ steal children. In an interview with Cineaste magazine in 2011, del Toro explained how the ‘Little People’  had inspired Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark: ‘I love the Welsh author Arthur Machen and his idea that fairy lore comes from a dark place, that it’s derived from little, pre-human creatures who are really, really nasty vermin but are magical in a way, living as they do for hundreds of years. His books are what compelled me to do this.’ Del Toro has also written of Machen: ‘It is a rare breed of fabulist who transcribes and records – rather than invents – a reality invisible to most of us. These scribes, like St. John the Divine, are possessed of a near-religious certainty that such worlds exist. Arthur Machen was one of these.’

Aside from Lovecraft, there has perhaps never been a writer whose preferred genre was predominantly horror whose work is so founded on a unifying philosophy as that of Arthur Machen. As S.T. Joshi wrote in his seminal study The Weird Tale (1990), ‘Machen’s tales are not merely outgrowths of his philosophy … but are, like his essays, part and parcel of his grand attempt to promote his mystical view of life.’ Joshi distils Machen’s ‘philosophy’ – and therefore his entire literary output – to a single idea: ‘the awesome and unutterably unfathomable mystery of the universe,’ which the author of The Great God Pan explores through the concepts of ‘ecstasy, of the veil, and of the sacrament.’ Ecstasy is a key word for Machen, and the core of his very personal literary theory, outlined in his 1902 book Hieroglyphics: A Note upon Ecstasy in Literature:

If ecstasy be present, then I say there is fine literature, if it be absent, then, in spite of all the cleverness, all the talents, all the workmanship and observation and dexterity you may show me, then, I think, we have a product (possibly a very interesting one), which is not fine literature … I have chosen this word as the representative of many. Substitute, if you like, rapture, beauty, adoration, wonder, awe, mystery, sense of the unknown, desire for the unknown. All and each will convey what I mean; for some particular case one term may be more appropriate than another, but in every case there will be that withdrawal from the common life and the common consciousness which justifies my choice of ‘ecstasy’ as the best symbol of my meaning.

The character of Ambrose echoes this terminology in the metaphysical discussion of ‘sin’ that frames The White People: ‘Sorcery and sanctity, these are the only realities. Each is an ecstasy, a withdrawal from the common life.’ It is this withdrawal from the common life that Machen’s prose perpetually pursues, in tales both sacred and profane – the breach of the veil between the mundane and the marvellous, between ordinary existence and the spiritual realms that lie beyond. And in quest of this ecstatic vision, this piercing of the veil, Machen is drawn again and again to the hills, valleys, and ancient Romano-Celt ruins of Wales, and the rookeries of London’s East End – two very different places that nonetheless held Machen in a kind of synergistic, spiritual thrall for his entire life. As the academic John Simons wrote in ‘The Case of Arthur Machen’ (1993), ‘the sinister world of fairy dovetails neatly with his sense of the strangeness of London.’

There is so much more to be said, but they best way to appreciate Machen is to read his original stories. Wordsworth Editions is therefore delighted to announce a new anthology of Machen’s major short fiction as part of the ‘Tales of Mystery and the Supernatural’ series entitled Between Two Worlds: The Weird Tales of Arthur Machen.

This collection is unique in containing the majority of Arthur Machen’s short, weird fiction in a single, representative volume, ranging from his earliest writings to his final story, ‘Ritual’, published in 1937. Between Two Worlds includes Machen’s notable early magazine stories, as well as all his major work from the 1890s, including three stories extracted from The Three Impostors. There are also supernatural stories from The Angel of Mons: The Bowmen and Other Legends of War; and The Terror and Ornaments in Jade are reproduced in their entirety. The collection concludes with Machen’s significant stories from the 1930s, which are rarely anthologised. Machen’s introduction to The Angel of Mons is also appended, in which he discusses the widespread belief that the story of ‘The Bowmen’ was real.

If you are already a believer, we hope this new collection finds favour. If you are familiar with the late Victorian gothic or the Lovecraft era – or simply a lover of occult and supernatural fiction – but are new to the weird world of Arthur Machen, then you are in for a treat. So lower the lights, imagine the desolate loneliness and strangeness of the Welsh hills and the dark alleys of Edwardian London, and prepare to withdraw from the common life…

Main image: An artists impression of the ‘Angels of Mons’. Credit: Chronicle / Alamy Stock Photo

Image 1 above: Title page of his 1894 horror novel The Great God Pan Credit: Pictorial Press Ltd / Alamy Stock Photo

Image 2 above: Machen playing the part of Dr Johnson in a 1922 film

Image 3 above: Our edition of Between Two Worlds, available for £4.99, can be found here: Between Two Worlds: The Weird Tales of Arthur Machen – Wordsworth Editions

For more information on the life and works of Arthur Machen, visit: The Friends of Arthur Machen

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