"Well, we, who did not invent the form of masonry, and who really use them as mere ordeals—we, who are more than masters and companions in this symbolical science, since, having passed through all the masonic grades, we have reached the point where we are no longer masons, as the vulgar understand the order—we adjure you to explain the myth of Hiram, as you understand it, that in relation to your zeal and intellect we may form an opinion which will either stop you here at the door of the true temple, or which will open the door of the sanctuary to you."
"You ask me for Hiram's word, the last word. That will not open the gates of the temple to me, for its translation is Tyranny and Falsehood. But I know the true words, the names of the three gates of the divine edifice, through which Hiram's murderers entered, for the purpose of forcing the chief to bury himself beneath the wrecks of his own work—they are Liberty, Fraternity, Equality."
"Consuelo, your interpretation, whether correct or not, reveals to us all your heart. You are, then, excused from the necessity of ever kneeling before Hiram's tomb; neither will you pass through the grade where the neophyte prostrates himself before the tomb of Jacques Molay, the Grand Master and victim of the temple, of the military works and prelate soldiers of the middle ages. You will triumph in this second test as you did in the first. You will discern the false traces of fanatical barbarity, which are now needed as a guarantee to minds which are imbued with the principles of inequality. Remember that in free-masonry, the first grades only aspire to the construction of a profane temple, an association protected by caste. You know better, and you are about to go directly to the universal temple, intended to receive all men associated in one worship and love. Here you must make your last station; you must worship Christ, and recognise him as the only true God."
"You say this to try me." said Consuelo firmly. "You have, however, deigned to open my eyes to lofty truths, by teaching me to read your secret books. Christ is a divine man, whom we revere as the greatest philosopher and saint of antiquity. We adore him as much as it is permitted us to adore the greatest of the masters and martyrs. We may well call him the saviour of men, because he taught those of his day truths they did not comprehend, but which introduced man into a new phase of light and holiness. We may kneel over his ashes to thank God for having created such a prophet—such an example. We however adore God in him, and commit no idolatry. We distinguish between the divinity of revelation and revelation itself. I consent to pay to the emblem of a punishment for ever sublime and illustrious, the homage of pious gratitude and filial enthusiasm. I do not think, however, the last word of revelation was understood and proclaimed by men in Jesus' time, for it has never yet been officially made known on earth. I expect, from the wisdom and faith of his disciples, from the continuation of his work for seventeen centuries, a more practical truth, a more complete application of holy writ to the doctrines of fraternity. I wait for the development of the gospel. I expect something more than equality before God. I wait for and expect it before men."
"Your words are bold, and your doctrines full. Have you thought of them while alone? Have you foreseen the evils your new faith has piled upon your head? Do you know that we are as one to a hundred in the most civilised countries in Europe? Do you know that at the time we live, between those who pay to Jesus, the sublime revealer, an insulting and base veneration, and those almost as numerous who deny even his mission, between these idolaters and atheists, we have no place under the sun, except amid persecutions and jests, the hatred and contempt of the human race? Do you know that in France, at the present moment, Rousseau and Voltaire are almost equally proscribed; yet one is decidedly religious and the other a skeptic? Do you know—and this is far more terrible—that while in exile they mutually proscribe each other? Do you know you are about to return to a world, where all will conspire to shake your faith and break your ideas? Know that you will have to exercise your mission amid suffering, danger, doubt, and deception?"
"I am resolved," said Consuelo, looking down, and placing her hand on her heart. "May God aid me!"
"Well, daughter," said Marcus, who yet held Consuelo's hand, "you are about to be subjected by us to moral sufferings—not to test your truth, for we are satisfied with it, but to fortify it. Not in the calm of repose—not amid the pleasures of the world, but amid grief and tears does faith expand. Have you courage to hear painful emotions, and perhaps to withstand great terror?"
"If it be needful, and if my soul profit by it, I will submit to your pleasure," said Consuelo, with some distress.
"The Invisibles at once began to move the pall and lights from the coffin, which was moved into one of the deep embrasures of the window, and several adepts with iron bars lifted up a round stone in the centre of the pavement of the hall. Consuelo then saw a circular opening large enough to permit one person to pass. The sides, which were of granite, blackened and stained by time, proved that it was as old as any portion of the architecture of the tower. Marcus then, leading Consuelo to the brink, asked her thrice, in a solemn tone, if she was bold enough to descend into the passages of the feudal tower."
"Hear me, my fathers or brothers, for I know not how to speak to you," said Consuelo.