How strange are the manuscripts of this Friend, great traveller of the unknown, they appeared to me separately, yet they form a whole for him who knows that the colours of the rainbow give a white unity, or for the artist for whom the black springs out from under his paintbrush, made from the six colours of his magic pallet.
This Friend, how to introduce him to you? His name remained a mystery, but his number is that of a famous seal. How to describe him to you? Perhaps like the pilot of the indestructible ark, impassive like a column on his white rock scanning towards the south [midday] beyond the black rock.
During my testing pilgrimage I tried to clear a path with the sword crossing the inextricable vegetation of the woods, I wanted to reach the residence of the sleeping BEAUTY in whom certain poets saw the QUEEN of a past realm. In desperation of finding my way again the parchments of this Friend were for me, the thread of Ariadne.
Thanks to him, from now on by measured step and sure eye, I can discover the sixty-four dispersed stones of the perfect cube that the brothers of the BEAUTY of the black wood escaping in the pursuit of the usurpers, had scattered on their way whilst they fled from the white Fort.
To reassemble the scattered stones, work with the square and compass to put them back in regular order, look for the line of the meridian in going from the south to the north, finally in all directions to obtain the desired solution, stopping in front of the fourteen stones marked with a cross. The circle being the ring [coil of snake] and the crown, and to him the diadem of this QUEEN of Castel.
The stones of the mosaic paving of the sacred place could be alternatively black and white, and JESUS like ASMODEUS, observing their alignment, my view seems incapable of seeing the summit where the marvellous sleeping one remained hidden. Not being HERCULES with magic power, how to decode the mysterious symbols carved by the observers of the past. In the sanctuary however the stoup, fountain of love of the believers, reminds us of these words: BY THIS SIGN YOU SHALL CONQUER.
From her that I wanted to free, rose towards me the emanations of perfume which permeate the sepulchre. Once some called her: ISIS, queen of the beneficent springs, COME TO ME ALL YOU WHO SUFFER AND WHO ARE OVERWHELMED AND I WILL COMFORT YOU, otherwise: MADELEINE, with the famous vase full of healing balm. The initiates know the true name: NOTRE DAME DES CROSS.
I was like the shepherds of the famous painter POUSSIN, confused in front of the enigma: "ET IN ARCADIA EGO..."! The voice of the blood [race] would it show me the image of an ancestral past. Yes, the light of the genius crossed my mind. I saw again, I understood! I knew now this fabulous secret. And marvellous, when from the leaps of the four horsemen, the shoes of one horse had left four imprints on the rock, here is the sign which DELACROIX had given in one of three pictures from the chapel of angels. Here is the seventh sentence which a hand had traced: DELIVER ME FROM THE MIRE, SO THAT I DO NOT STAY THERE SINKING. Two times IS, embalmer and embalmed, miraculous vase of the eternal White Lady of Legends.
Started in the shadows, my journey could only be finished in light. At the window of the ruined house I gazed across the trees stripped by autumn to the summit of the mountain. The cross of the crest stood out under the midday sun, it was the fourteenth and the biggest of all with its 35 centimetres! Here I am therefore on my horse ride on a divine steed crossing the abyss.
Celestial vision for him who remembers the four works of Em. SIGNOL around the Meridian line, to the choir itself from the sanctuary from which beams this source of love from one to another, I turn around passing the site of the rose of the P to that of the S, then from the S to the P ... and the spiral in my mind becoming like the monstrous octopus expelling its ink, the shadows obscure the light, I am dizzy and I hold my hand to my mouth biting instinctively my palm, perhaps like OLIER in his coffin. Curses, I understand the truth, HE IS GONE, but to him too in doing THE GOOD, like HIM of the flowery tomb. But how many times have they sacked the HOUSE, leaving only the embalmed corpses and numerous metal objects which they could not carry? What strange mystery conceals the new temple of SALOMON built by the children of Saint VINCENT?
Cursing the profaners in their ashes and those who live in their tracks, leaving the abyss where I was plunged in finishing the gesture of horror: "Here is the proof that I knew the secret of the Seal of SALOMON, that of this QUEEN I have visited the hidden residences". To this, Dear Reader, be careful not to add or remove an iota... meditate, meditate again, the vile lead of my writing contains perhaps the purest gold.
Returning then to the white hill, the sky having opened its gates, it seems there is a presence near me, the feet in the water like him who has just been baptised, turning myself again towards the east facing me I saw unrolling without end, his coils, the enormous SERPENT ROUGE cited in the parchments, salty and bitter, the enormous beast unleashed became at the foot of this white mountain, red with anger.
My emotion was great "DELIVER ME FROM THE MIRE" I said, and I awoke immediately. I haven't told you in fact that this was a dream that I'd had this 17th JANUARY, feast day of Saint SULPICE. Afterwards my trouble persisting, I wanted after reflection to tell you a story by PERRAULT. Here then, Dear Reader, in the pages which follow the result of a dream having soothed me into the world of the strange and unknown. GOOD comes to him THAT DOES GOOD.