It was odd to spend such time inlaying a bronze labyrinth into marble, only to hide most of the affair under an altar. Jeannine sat down by the labyrinth and studied it more closely. The bronze was not flush with the surface of the marble. It was rather like a track. It was a half-inch bronze groove in the marble, curving back and forth with the design.
Part of the groove was worn. The outermost circle of the labyrinth showed scrapes and scratches, extreme wear, as if it were the track for a wheel. Jeannine’s heart began to beat, for she realized that was exactly its purpose. The labyrinth had been placed in the marble for only one reason - to disguise a track for a wheel. The altar must move, she decided, it must swivel to reveal some kind of hidden place.
She took hold of the stone altar and gave it a strong push, then pulled it. It might have been her imagination, but it seemed to budge a little both ways, as if meant to move, but locked down.
And if it was meant to move, there had to be some kind of secret way to unlock it so the altar could wheel out over the track.
Her first choice was the crucifix on top of the altar. She grabbed it and pulled. The cross moved like a lever with the sound of a mechanical click, and the clanking of a chain belt. With rising excitement, she pushed the altar - and it swiveled easily, exposing a dark rectangular hole.
Jeannine took up her lamp and moved it to the darkness - and revealed stone stairs going down. They were dusty, having neither been used nor cleaned for quite some time. Jeannine immediately rushed to extinguish the other lights in the chapel, so it would be dark if her mother unexpectedly returned. If such a thing did happen, Jeannine thought she might hear the door, and be able to quickly return to move the altar back and hide her discovery.
After the room was dark except for her own light, she descended the staircase. On its circular walls there were plenty of alcoves holding lamps and lanterns, but she did not dare light them. The plaster had odd symbols in white and gold randomly patterned upon it. There were curved swords, always pointed to the right. Crescent moons, always pointed down. Double-headed eagles, crosses with superimposed triangles and swords. There were crosses inside seven pointed stars, also compass and rulers, the letter G, and odd triangles pointed upwards with an upward curve in the lower side. Skulls and crossbones abounded, crosses tucked in crowns, compass and ruler superimposed on a book under a halo. Whenever the cross was painted alone, it was always the flat croix pattée that the Templars and Teutonic knights used in their heraldry. None of these symbols were from any church, Protestant or Catholic, that Jeannine had ever attended.
The stairs ended in a narrow, empty hallway, going east. It was thin enough to be set in an interior wall and not be noticed - and as testament Jeannine had never noticed anything untoward in her house at all, much less evidence of a secret hallway between the walls. By her calculation, in less than thirty feet, the hallway would simply end, being then at the brick property line of the townhouse. She walked its length, and, to her surprise, the hallway was perhaps ten feet longer than it should have been, and ended at another staircase going down. That meant the stairs were in the townhouse next to theirs, which was the second home of a gentleman who lived in another city - at least as far as she knew.
Jeannine descended. The stairs ended at a magnificent, gabled double-door that proved to be locked. There was a thin crack between the doors, very thin, but wide enough for her to see the doors were barred from the inside with a mahogany plank. If there was no latch on the wood bar, she might be able to get the doors open if she could find something very sturdy and thin. She retraced her steps to the chapel and returned everything to its prior state.
When the Princess delivered her meal, Jeannine was found praying in a pew. Her mother placed the tray down and left. Jeannine ate the meager lunch, then hid the tray on the stairs under the altar.
After her daily jail sentence was commuted for the night, she found the atmosphere at dinner to be awkward. Her parents did not really converse with her, and she said nothing. They looked as if they were expecting her to speak, most likely to beg for reprieve, but she did not. They ate in peace, then Jeannine went to her room.
That night, Jeannine asked a servant to bring her a pair of heavy scissors. The next morning, she hid the scissors in her dress. As soon as she was sequestered inside the chapel, Jeannine cut the thin, metal center from the tray she had hid under the altar. It proved to be thin enough to slide between the mahogany double-doors and sturdy enough to move the wooden plank from its holders.
She slowly opened the doors. The room must have been vast, for when she held up the lamp, there was only total darkness in every direction. Rather than explore, she found a way to shut the double-doors, and replace the mahogany bar from without, using the metal tool she had constructed from the tray. She practiced over and over again, until she could do it quickly. Subterfuge had to be her first priority.
She was praying in the chapel, when her mother entered with lunch. Jeannine prayed for an additional quarter hour, ate, then went downstairs again to the huge, dark room.
This time, she threw caution to the wind. She decided to light all the lamps in the huge room. It couldn’t be for long, or else someone might notice an unexplained drop in the level of the oil. She would light them all, then look around, letting the nature of the room surprise her.
And it did.
The room could only be described as a temple. It was gigantic, ancient Egyptian in style, with hieroglyphs and wall paintings aplenty. The floor was a checkerboard of purple and black marble. There was a dais at the far end of the room, holding thrones of various sizes at various levels. Smaller chairs were in two rows around the edges of the room. A stone altar presided in the center of the chamber, ringed by four tall pricket candle holders. The ceiling held an oval inlay, spanning the length of the room, decorated as the night sky with a ceremonial star radiating light. The strange symbols were here as well, although now in gold inlay, and not gold paint, and included zodiac symbology as well. Jeannine was overwhelmed by the mystery. This place was nothing if not totally exotic, and perhaps even a bit eldritch and evil.
There were four doors leading to other rooms - a library; a soundproofed antechamber, complete with hoods, blindfolds and padded earmuffs; a records hall; and a storage room holding a banquet table, silver dining ware, and more chairs. A newer door had been made into the east antechamber wall. That particular door led into the townhouse proper. She took the chance, and explored the townhouse as well.
She quickly realized that no one lived here - the story of the out-of-town nobleman was a simple ruse. There were bedrooms aplenty, but all were akin to guest bedrooms. There were huge sitting rooms with comfortable chairs and well-stocked bars. All was very secure with thick, locking doors separating every chamber. All were unlocked and open, except the front door. Everything was clean, perfectly clean, and ordered - and ready for the next meeting to take place in the wizard’s temple upstairs.
The library and the records room gave her all the clues she needed to figure out the mystery.
This was a masonic temple, used by the Freemasons. When Nantes was less liberal, the temple was accessed through the secret stairs in the Cœurfroid chapel. Now they didn’t bother, and came in through the front door, and the newly-made antechamber entrance.
The Cœurfroids were Masons, and had been for decades.
The next meeting was in three days. Her father hadn’t used the chapel entrance in years - he wouldn’t even think to use it, knowing it was not only secret, but barred from the inside.
Jeannine came up with a simple plan.
Her father would leave his front door, walk the twenty paces east to the ruse townhouse, and open the front door for trusted servants to prepare for the meeting. Meanwhile, Jeannine would retire to the chapel to pray, enter the ruse townhouse via the secret staircase under the altar, and make her way to the mahogany double-doors. It would all have to be performed in total darkness to hide her presence. She would hopefull
y be able to eavesdrop on the meeting.
At dinner that night, Jeannine asked if she could pray in the chapel once more before retiring. Her parents were somewhat flummoxed at why she would want to spend even more time in what was effectively her jail cell.
“I have come to enjoy my prayers, and my reading of scripture. I would only ask for your indulgence.”
And, of course, what could they say? One does not punish a girl by not allowing her to pray.
Less than an hour later, Jeannine was through the secret stairs and positioned behind the mahogany doors.
She soon heard footsteps shuffling into place. Suddenly, a booming voice, “Brother Tyler, your place in the Lodge?”
Another voice answered, “Without the inner door.”
“Your duty there?”
“To keep off all cowans and eavesdroppers, and not to pass or repass any, but such as are duly qualified, and have the Worshipful Master's permission.”
“You will receive the implement of your office.” She heard footsteps, and the sound of a bared sword leaving a scabbard - which set her heart to flutter. “Repair to your post, and be in the active discharge of your duty.”
Suddenly she heard and felt the antechamber doors being shut and sealed. The meeting had begun.
“Brother Junior Deacon, the first and constant care of Masons when convened?”
“To see that the Lodge is duly tyled.”
“You will attend to that part of your duty, and inform the Tyler that we are about to open a Lodge of Entered Apprentice Masons, and direct him to tyle accordingly.”
Jeannine had no idea what any of it meant. But it was grand, like the casting of a great, dark spell. The voices reinforced the image - they were bold, loud, and sing-song in rhythm. There was a practiced expertise to all of it.
She very much wanted to be a part of it.
The rites soon changed into some kind of initiation. “Do you seriously declare on your honor that, unbiased by the improper solicitation of friends against your own inclination, and uninfluenced by mercenary or other unworthy motive, you freely and voluntarily offer yourself a Candidate for the mysteries and privileges of Freemasonry?”
Jeannine said the words before the candidate did, “I do.” And there was more, so much more. Vows of secrecy and fidelity. Promises of virtue and service.
Then something else.
“Having been kept for a considerable time in a state of darkness, what, in your present situation, is the predominant wish of your heart?”
Jeannine blurted the answer without thinking, “Light.”
A moment later, a voice, “Light.”
More words, some rose above the others in her mind with their beauty or majesty. There were ornate movements she could not see, secret handshakes, secret words.
“Brother Le Brevet, by the Worshipful Master's command, I invest you with the distinguishing badge of a Mason. It is more ancient than the Golden Fleece or Roman Eagle, more honorable than the Garter or any other Order in existence, being the badge of innocence and the bond of friendship. I strongly exhort you ever to wear and consider it as such; and further inform you that if you never disgrace that badge - it will never disgrace you.”
After the rites, there followed a grand meal and a great debate.
“If the nature of man is good, are then our baser impulses good? We are told as Christians that our impulses are evil.”
“The youth must be indoctrinated with virtue.”
“He cites Cicero! Are we then Romans?”
“The mason is not a Roman, nor a Christian. He is Rousseauian. We are of the Nature God.”
“So, what does the Nature God say of this?”
“He has danced off like Dionysius, and left us to our own devices. God is gone. Dead or alive, who knows? There is no more of the supernatural left in our universe.”
“Our impulses, Brother. That is the question. Are they good or evil? Is man capable of being virtuous without training and control?”
And then her father answered, “If man is basically good, meaning good in his most basic form, it follows that our most instinctual impulses must also be good, because they are the most basic intellectual reactions we possess. What we think, what we want, what we need, now defines what is good. Virtue is the impulse to support what is right. Therefore, virtue is now defined as the desire to support a state which protects individuals as they pursue their instinctual needs. An individual’s needs and desires now solely define what is good.”
Jeannine quietly wept, hearing her father’s beautiful words. She was not the evil and worthless girl of her mother’s imaginings. She was her father’s daughter. She was a Mason. She was good. What she thought, what she wanted, and what she needed were good - and she vowed, right then, to always live her life based upon that knowledge. She would be true to herself, and the needs of her soul.
The Freemasons may have been secret, but she was even more secret - for she was a secret Freemason, unknown even to them.
She broke into the lodge storeroom the next day, and stole her badge.
***
Thanks to Father Aurélien, the sisters of Saint-Clément Convent in eastern Nantes were kind enough to give room and board to Estelle until she found a position. The walk from the convent to the townhouse was not so terrible after the rigors of country life. The interview was for a position that was far from perfect - they wanted a Protestant, and Estelle was Catholic - and she did not expect much, but she did not wish to be a burden on the kind sisters any longer than necessary.
Estelle had witnessed the hustle and bustle of Nantes before, but it astounded her once again. Water was everywhere, meaning docks were everywhere, indicating ships and cargo and sailors and carts were everywhere. But the townhome was away from it all, in a very rich and handsome neighborhood in the city center. She knocked on the front door and was admitted. The inside of the home was even more magnificent than the outside. The servants quietly hustled in and out of the room and adjoining hallways. They gave her sour looks, which did not bode well. Estelle was determined to just be herself, to put on no airs and be honest and forthright. Soon Madame came down from the stairs, “You are Estelle Guerrier?” she asked.
“I am, Madame. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Estelle said in reply, with a curtsey and a smile.
Madame looked her over, “You are quite plain.”
“I am as God made me.”
“Your clothes are patched.”
“I’m afraid the alternative was to wear them torn.”
“You obviously cannot sew then.”
“I can. Unfortunately, fabric is beyond my means. I suppose I could make linen, if I made a loom first. But flax takes ever so long to turn into fabric.”
“I see.”
Estelle swallowed her impulse to say something rude. This woman was insufferable, but that didn’t mean Estelle had to sacrifice herself on the altar of Madame’s unpleasantness. Instead, she simply smiled. They both stared at each other, Madame with her look of arrogant judgement, Estelle with her tired smile. But soon Estelle became irritated with the game, “Should I meet my potential companion, Madame?” she offered, as pleasantly as she could.
The woman nearly jumped, as if startled. She nodded, looked right and left, made to go left, then changed her mind, and headed right and disappeared. Soon a servant girl appeared from the same hallway, and bounded up the stairs.
Estelle found all of this quite odd, but she determined to forgive all. She only imagined what someone would have thought if they had visited her in Saint-Florent-le-Vieil and met Papa, had they not a kind heart.
Jeannine came down the stairs. For Estelle, time seemed to stop. Jeannine was so attractive that her presence was overwhelming. Estelle laughed, “My goodness, you are lovely, Mademoiselle. You are a princess of angels!”
The young lady looked as if someone slapped her. She put a gentle hand on Estelle’s arm, “Please do not call me that.”
“Pardon
me, Mademoiselle. I don’t understand.”
“Please do not call me princess.”
“Oh, of course not. I did not mean to offend. I was simply shocked. I have never been affected by a woman’s beauty - but I found myself struck as you moved down the stairs. I suppose it is just as rude to comment on such a thing, as any other thing one should keep to themselves. Please forgive me. Let us start over. I am Estelle Guerrier,” Estelle said with another curtsey and a smile.
Jeannine bowed, and spoke sincerely, “I am Jeannine Cœurfroid. I am so-,” but she did not finish the thought. Instead she started a new one in a far more neutral tone, “Tell me about yourself,” and she took Estelle by the arm and led her through the house.
Estelle wondered why Jeannine stopped herself from revealing a thought, but she answered, “I am from Saint-Domingue. I am legally white. I love and serve God, or try to, as best I can. I enjoy everything to do with the raising of plants and animals. I love to read. My father is a policeman, my brother attends university school in Grenoble, and the rest of my family has attained their eternal rest.”
“What do you mean by legally white?”
“I am one-sixteenth black.”
“Black, as in black from Africa?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle.”
“Please call me Jeannine.”
“Very well, Jeannine. Please call me Estelle.”
“I will. I have never met someone who is black, one-sixteenth or otherwise. Does it mean anything?”
“I do not get sick in the tropics, as many whites do. But some Europeans survive quite well in Saint-Domingue, so I suppose it doesn’t mean much at all.”
“How interesting.” Jeannine thought it was time to test Estelle, just as methodically as she had tested her own beauty. She cocked her head coyly and smiled, “I suppose my mother was as cross as ever to you.”
The Crimson Heirlooms Page 30