That night the work of the brotherhood was even more solemn and inspiring than before. Once the introductory ceremony was over, the curtains, which enclosed the raised section of the hall to make it like a theatre, were parted. In the centre of the stage, under a canopy of garlands and Japanese lanterns, a woman sat in mourning beside a broken column. She represented Mankind. A lame warrior entered. He gazed in sorrow at the woman and she, seeing him, burst into violent sobbing.
The man sitting next to me explained that the limping veteran was a certain Thibaud, who had been wounded at Rossbach, was now on the verge of starvation, and had turned to the Lodge for help. We were all deeply moved by the terrible plight of this well-deserving hero.
Then a dragon entered, followed by a Knight Templar in full armour. To the distant strains of heavenly music the Knight transfixed the dragon with his spear and drew out a purse from his side. It was filled with donations previously collected from the brotherhood. He gave it to the old warrior, who shed tears of pure gratitude. The woman representing Mankind wept likewise, and embraced the Knight Templar as representative of the Great Lodge. Little angels appeared and performed a charming ballet to yet more music. Next, the Grand Master spoke movingly about the penury the old man had suffered and urged us to continue our work for humanity. With tears in their eyes the brothers saluted one another, and went in to dinner.
I did not go with them myself, but instead approached the Grand Inquisitor and gently reminded him of his promise. He questioned me closely about my own preparations, and I assured him that for three whole weeks I had partaken of neither meat nor liquor, and had withheld myself, to the great distress of poor Thérèse, from the joys of Venus.
(Scribbled in the margin:‘I later discovered that her distress was feigned: throughout this time she had been deceiving me with a young butcher from the Rue St Denis.’)
‘Then come with me,’ the Grand Inquisitor pronounced.
We made our way to a hall where three or four masked gentlemen stood round a mystic pentagram. The Grand Inquisitor donned his own mask, depicting the symbols of the Sun and the Moon. I was made to stand in the centre, whereupon they drew their swords and pointed them at me. I commended my soul to God and betrayed no sign of fear, especially as I knew this ritual was routine: no one had ever actually been cut down in the process.
The Grand Inquisitor commended my courage, murmured some magical formula in an oriental tongue and presented me with my mask. Then he and another masked gentleman took me by the hand and led me through several corridors, all draped with funereal hangings, to a room at the centre of which stood an enormous coffin. There was a door cut in its side, through which we entered.
We stood there for some time, in the pitch darkness. I became aware, from the sounds of breathing all round me, that there were a number of others with us. Then suddenly the space was filled with light. I found myself before a low table on which a garter and a crystal ball had been placed between two pistols.
Behind it stood a man. He was a remarkable figure, with a face of profound solemnity. From his insignia he could only have been the Great Chosen One, the highest rank in our lodge. A second man stood at his side, bearing the insignia of the Knight of the Orient.
‘Do you know the Estuary of the East and West?’ the Great Chosen One demanded.
In my confusion I was on the point of explaining that I had never actually been there, but he nudged me in the ribs to indicate I should answer in the affirmative, which I did.
‘Do you know the Six-sided Columns, the Spheres of the Universe, and the little animals with basalt heads in the foyer?’
Again I affirmed, and the Knight of the Orient smiled his satisfaction with my reply. I suddenly recognised him from his enormous girth. He was none other than the Englishman, Lord Bonaventura Pendragon.
‘Can you rotate an axis from left to right, and sharpen a vine-stem from right to left?’
I said I could, and the Great Chosen One discharged one of the pistols. The coffin around us rose slowly into the air and came to rest against the ceiling. We were left standing on the floor of the room. The Grand Inquisitor was present, as were the others, but no longer masked.
‘I find that Brother Malakius (this was my esoteric name) knows the Mysteries of the Lower Orders,’ the Great Chosen One proclaimed. ‘I shall now question the Archangel Uriel, manifest in the crystal ball, to determine whether our Brother is worthy of admittance to the Higher Orders. Bring forth the innocent maid.’
Two gentlemen led in by the hand a winsome maiden, perhaps thirteen years of age. The Great Chosen One fixed her with a penetrating gaze.
‘Are you truly immaculate?’ he intoned.
She hotly protested her innocence.
He raised his arms over her head and murmured a prayer in an unknown language. Then he conducted her to the table and invited her to gaze into the crystal ball. She obeyed.
‘Do you see the Archangel Uriel, bearing in his right hand the Spheres, and the Double-headed Whale?’
‘I do not.’
‘Then you cannot be truly innocent,’ the Great Chosen One retorted, with an air of exasperation.
‘Oh, I really am. There it is!’
‘Do you see the Archangel Uriel?’
‘I do.’
‘What is he doing?’
For a while she was silent. Then:
‘He is giving a present to a tiny little man, who is jumping up and down.’
‘Good,’ said the Great Chosen One. ‘The diminutive figure is Brother Malakius, upon whom the Archangel Uriel is to bestow Mercur Philosophicus, the Philosopher’s Stone, the possession of which is our collective aim.’
Then he embraced me to his bosom, and the gentlemen all congratulated me warmly, with the exception of Lord Bonaventura, who was deep in conversation with the Innocent Maiden.
With this, the night’s work was over. Lord Bonaventura took my arm and invited me to dinner.
No sooner were we seated in his coach than he asked me whether I had taken a fancy to the Innocent Maiden. The question was so out of keeping with the solemn occasion I was extremely surprised by it. But Bonaventura was a true Epicurean. His sole purpose in pursuing the Philosopher’s Stone was to acquire limitless amounts of gold in order to ensure an endless flow of pleasures. It was the very reason he had failed to discover it.
And as I sat there, waiting in vain for the Knight of the Orient to expound uplifting and edifying secrets, he chatted away unceasingly about the Maiden, weaving plans to insinuate his way into her presence and that of her mother, and demanding to know how much gold I thought should be offered to secure her. I was cruelly disappointed. However, to keep on good terms with him, I promised to call on the Maiden’s mother and attempt to suborn her.