Consuelo saw no more. At the moment when the candidate, with an uplifted arm, and in a kind of delirium, went towards a low door, the two guards who had not loosed Consuelo, now bore her rapidly away from so terrible a spectacle, and placing the hood over her head, took her through a multitude of windings and detours, to a place where all was silent as possible. There she was restored to light, and she saw herself in the octagonal room where she had overheard the conversation of Trenck and Albert. Every opening now was carefully veiled and shut; the walls and floor were hung with black, and tapers burned in a fashion and arrangement different from that in the chapel. An altar like Mount Calvary, surmounted with three crosses, marked the great fireplace. A tomb on which was placed a hammer and nails, a lance and crown of thorns, was in the centre of the room. Persons clad in black and in masks, knelt or sat on a carpet covered with silver tears. They neither wept nor sighed. Their attitude was that of austere meditation, or mute and silent grief.
The guides of Consuelo made her come to the very side of the coffin, and the men who guarded it having risen and stood at the foot, one of them said—
"Consuelo, you are come to witness the ceremony of a masonic initiation. You have seen an unknown worship, mysterious emblems, funereal images, initiating pontiffs, and a coffin. What do you learn from this scene—from the terrible tests to which the candidate has been subjected, from what has been said to him, and from the manifestations of respect and love around an illustrious tomb?"
"I do not know whether I understood correctly or not," said Consuelo. "This scene troubled me and seemed barbarous. I pitied the recipient, whose courage and virtue were subjected to practical proofs, as if physical courage was a guarantee for moral fortitude. I condemn what I have seen, and deplore the cruel sports of dark fanaticism, or the puerile experiences of an idolatrous creed. I heard obscure enigmas proposed, and the explanations given to the candidate seemed gathered from a gross or distrustful catechism. Yet this bloody tomb, this immolated victim—this ancient myth of Hiram, the divine architect, who was assassinated by his envious and covetous workmen—this sacred word, lost for centuries, and promised to the candidate as the magic key to open the temple to him—all this seems a symbol without grandeur and interest. Why is the fable so badly constructed and so doubtful in its application?"
"What mean you by that? Have you heard the story you speak of, as a fable?"
"I have heard it—long before I read the books I was directed to study during my seclusion—in this manner. Hiram, master-workman of Solomon's Temple, divided his workmen into classes. They had different duties and rewards. Three of the lower grade resolved to obtain the reward reserved to the higher class, and to wrest from Hiram the pass-word, the secret sign which enabled him to distinguish master-workmen from journeymen at pay-day. They watched for him while in the temple alone: and each posting himself at an outlet of the holy place, menaced, struck, and cruelly murdered him, without having been able to discover the sign which was to make them equal to him and his associates—the faithful adepts of the Temple. The friends of Hiram wept over his unhappy lot, and paid almost divine honors to his memory."
"And now, how do you explain that myth?"
"I thought of it before I came hither, and I understand it thus:—Hiram represents the cold intelligence and governmental skill of the old societies, the basis of which were the inequalities of condition and the influence of caste. This Egyptian fable suited the mysterious religion of the Hierophants well enough. The three ambitious men were Indignation, Revolt, and Vengeance. These are, probably, the three inferior grades of the sacerdotal order, who attempted to assume their rights by violence. The murder of Hiram conveys the idea of Despotism powerless and impotent. He died bearing in his breast the secret of subduing man by blindness and superstition."
"Is this the way you really interpret this myth?"
"I have learned from your books, that this was brought from the East by the Templars, and that they used it in their initiations. They must therefore have interpreted it nearly thus. But when they baptised Hiram, Theocracy—and the assassins, Impiety, Anarchy, and Ferocity—the Templars who wished to subject society to a kind of monastic despotism, deplored over Impotence, as represented by the murder of Hiram. The word of their empire—which was lost, and has since been found—was that of association, or cunning, like the ancient city or temple of Osiris. For that reason I am surprised at yet seeing this fable used in your initiations to the work of universal deliverance. I should consider it as only a test of mind and courage."