They hoarded the food that was paid to them in tithes, leaving the peasants to scrabble through the middens in desperation.
A change must be wrought from this tyranny, he knew, from the masses as much as their oppressors. The heart of every man must be free to choose and live his life as the Lord intended, equally and with understanding.
He made his way back to Germany, to the lands of his forebears and built a wonderful house, hidden in a glade of oaks. And there he pondered his life and his philosophy.
This home, he filled with the treasures he’d accumulated, books, instruments, inventions and memories. A garden was established, bright flower beds, an orchard and a wonderful herbarium, full of useful plants. And he constructed an alchemical laboratory, for the transmutation of metals. He spent a great deal of time in the study of mathematics and the making of instruments but he did not forget his duty, riding out at night with nourishing food, his medical tools and his remedies, to alleviate the wretchedness of the people.
And five years went by, until as it must, the reformation came again into his mind, for Europe was swollen with the child of discontent and would soon stand in need of a great godfather’s gift.
There was another journey he needed to make, to Bebenhausen, to take possession of the jewel and book he now knew to be something other than they seemed. And to bring together the great Order of men and women who would spread the light of knowledge and understanding to all the corners of the earth…and into the centuries to come.
*
In the year of Our Lord 1484.
Frater Christian Rosencreuz summoned the last of the brethren to his side.
For a long time now there had always been with him two brothers, so that in his later years he would not be alone, the rest having been dispersed throughout Europe for the purposes of the Order.
He sat quietly, stroking his long grey beard, lost in thought as he rubbed at the brass plate with a wad of soft wool. At last it was finished. It had taken him the best part of a month to engrave the names on it and now he smiled with satisfaction as the golden metal reflected the sunlight shining through the long windows of his workroom. He touched his fingers fondly to the familiar names, feeling the tears in his eyes as their memories came flooding back. But his reverie was soon disturbed as his companions hurried through the door, their faces tight with worry.
Brother Raymond pulled a stool toward him and took his hands in his own, anxiety making yet more creases in his wrinkled face. “You are ill, cousin?”
And Brother Inigo bustled around with the confident air of his profession, feeling his brow for fever, his pulse for fluttering. He’d brought with him his medical bag, his jar of leeches and his bleeding tools. Christian laughed, his bright eyes twinkling “Now Doctor Overmeir, I pray you keep your devilish instruments to yourself. I am perfectly content. Come, let us sit down and share a meal. There is a matter of some import we must discuss.”
His own needs were few, being in the habit now of eating only a porridge of grains and nuts, but he’d ensured that his guests were well provided for with a small brace of pheasant, a smoked ham, winter berries and a round of rich, creamy cheese.
And now that they could see their beloved Frater was vigorous and cheerful, their anxiety eased. They sat before the softly crackling hearth, enjoying each other’s company, discoursing on any and every subject, as clever men were wont to do, especially with the help of good food and plentiful wine.
Then, in Christian’s good natured and gentle way, he showed them the brass plate engraved with all the names of the brethren and instructed them in what must be done.
When finally he’d finished, they pleaded with him, holding back their tears ‘Surely the Lord will allow a little more time?’ But Christian only smiled. Although his body remained sound and his mind still retained its sharpness, nevertheless he could not pass the time appointed by God.
He was 106 years old.
He embraced his treasured companions, comforting them in their anguish. Then he thanked them for the love and fidelity they had borne him, made the sign of the brotherhood…and retired to his bedchamber.
Raymond and Inigo would not leave his door but stayed outside it, lest he be distressed in the night. But Christian felt no distress, none at all.
He felt rather excited.
He washed his face and hands, drank some water and lay down to sleep. He thought of the names he had etched for posterity on the brass disc and of his return to his cloister in the hope of finding those who would help him in the work ahead.
He allowed himself a small moment of pride. What fine and upright men they’d been, what joy he had felt in their company.
He remembered his return to Bebenhausen, entering without ceremony and standing silently in the chapel, listening to the familiar chanting of the monks as their voices drifted round him like a soft mist and upward he imagined, up through the arched roof, through the rain laden clouds, upwards through the blue skies and darkened heavens, to God.
He’d stayed unnoticed in the shadows and pulled his hood over his face, using the power of his will to summon the three brothers who had already come to him in his dreams. And the first to turn his head had been Gaspard, who was standing head and shoulders above the others, his upturned face aglow in the candlelight. He was hearty still, only his snow white hair attesting to his age.
Then Brother Ignatius turned also and Christian remembered him as the kindly monk in the scriptorium whose task it had been to teach him his letters.
And another, with a delicate, open face and penetrating eyes who, he learned later was a novice, Inigo Overmeir, a doctor of medicine, who had offered himself up to Holy Orders to better serve the needs of the people.
He’d acknowledged them one by one and then walked out into the frosty morning to wait until they had finished their prayers. Then suddenly it was as if a bear had crushed him in its great paws, squeezing the breath out of him, lifting him up and spinning him around. He’d turned his head to see Gaspard, laughing.
It was a welcome that still warmed his heart when it came to his mind.
And he’d told him of Andre’s fate and the big tears rolled down his cheeks, unashamed. There was no thing that could be said to lessen his grief until the others came, offering words of solace and manly comfort and he knew immediately that these were the men he had been waiting for.
Later, when the moon was in its ripeness and the signs in the heavens attested to its portent, he’d sworn them to secrecy, to be faithful and diligent and to commit to writing all that he should instruct them in, so that in the years to come not even a syllable of Truth should be lost.
In this manner by four men only, began the Fraternity of the Rosie Cross.
They worked hard, setting down a magical language and writing, which had been carried in secret through the ages from the time of Adam and Enoch. And they made a large dictionary, full of wisdom, which still made Christian stand in awe at the magnitude of it.
They’d tried also to write the first part of a book ‘M’ but the overwhelming concourse of the sick hindered them, being the more important, for its relief was the true reason for the Order’s existence.
And when the great construction was finished, Christian declared it to be a wonder and named it ‘Sancti Spiritus’ in honour of the love that had gone into its making, resolving then to draw yet others into the Fraternity.
To this end was chosen, in the same manner as the first, Brother Bacon, a skilful painter, Brother Georgio, the alchemist, Petrus Dominensis, the secretary, and joy of joy and wonder of wonders, his cousin Raymond, his father’s brother’s son, who had searched for him for years, travelling from monastery to monastery on the strength of a rumour; that the son of the heretic Germelshausen had been spirited away from the world to save him from the flames of hell.
When the greater portion of the work had been done, the brothers dispersed, to discourse on their learning to other parts of the world in the hope of small succ
esses and to learn like the adepts of old, some new thing that might be helpful, for the betterment of all.
And they made an agreement… that they should have no other profession than to cure the sick and that freely and without reward.
They would draw yet others into their fold, from every condition of life and every faith, men of science and understanding and passion. And some would be learned men, advisors of kings, wise governors and profound thinkers, like the great philosophers of old, agreeing not to keep their knowledge hidden, but offering it to all, with proofs and demonstrations.
He knew that the strength of the Brotherhood would swing like a pendulum through the years, that there would be times that its message could be shouted from the rooftops, pinned to the gates in the public squares and printed in books. And he knew there would be other times when even the name Rosicrucian would send a chill through the blood of the ignorant. A hundred years from now, a thousand. It would make no difference. The spirit of man evolves slowly and each must gauge his own readiness for the truth.
But the Order would endure.
And now, his part in the Great Work was over.
He closed his eyes and offered up his thanks for it all.
And it seemed to him that the whole room had filled with light. He sensed it beaming through his eyelids, felt it warming his face, tingling against his skin.
He laughed with joy and contentment.
And soon he heard it…
The faint swish of his mother’s skirts against the bed…and his father’s deep, strong voice…
Calling him home.
*
March
In the year of God’s Good Grace 1614
Tubingen, Germany.
Monsieur Naude sat with the crumpled letter in his hand, gazing with unseeing eyes out of the window at the snow that had settled like a virgin fleece upon the ground. He was deeply saddened.
Brother Andrew was dead.
He knew he’d grieve the loss of his fine company, miss their cheerful discussions, his laughter. There was not even a corpse to weep over. Andrew had passed into the Lord’s care tending the lepers in Montpellier and he’d been interred secretly, with scant regard for ceremony. It was left to himself who succeeded in his place, to build for him a fitting memorial.
A chapel, a garden, a gilded statue made in his honour?
No. It was not the way of the Brotherhood.
An earthly memorial would not do.
It was to Andrew he owed the privilege of acceptance into the Order and to him that he’d taken his solemn vow of secrecy and fidelity. He’d told him that the Fraternity would remain not long hidden, that soon the whole of Europe would rejoice in the treasures it held. He hoped with all his heart it was so. The plight of the sick and downtrodden had become unbearable, ignorance still weighed heavy on the people and the Old Enemy still whispered silkily into the ears of the willing.
He swallowed the sour bile of guilt. Many a time he’d spoken against the Brotherhood, written long tracts condemning it, denied even its existence. It had seemed to him to be the only way to deflect attention from its activities, and keep himself safe.
The witch burnings had become an obscene testament to the ignorance of the people. Thousands upon thousands of poor souls had been condemned to hang or burn and the church had encouraged its parishioners in the denunciation of their neighbours, frightening them with tales of spells and storms, still born babies and blighted crops.
Great men too had gone to the flames for having the courage to speak the truth. The learned Dominican Giordano Bruno, not too may years ago, gagged lest he utter another word of truth and burnt at the stake for daring to speak of the plurality of worlds and the infinity of the Universe.
And there was Copernicus, so terrified of the inquisition’s torturers that he dare not publish his works till he had taken his last breath.
And Paracelsus, so full of compassion and wise remedies, called ‘Cacophrastus’ by his enemies and hounded out of his homeland for tending to the poor and refusing to bend his knee to fools.
The longed for reformation begun by Luther when he nailed his thesis to the door at Wittenberg was disappointing in its narrowness and slow in easing the poor conditions of the people. These were still dangerous times to declare a heresy.
He sat, his head in his hands, listening to the sputter and hiss of the damp logs in the fireplace as the afternoon wore on, the white fog rolling in under the long window making it seem as if he were sitting high above the clouds, alone.
At length he decided. He would journey to Montpellier and take up the work Andrew had started. His place of refuge had become a beacon of hope in the darkness and finally for lepers, a home where they could live away from the jibes and taunts of the ignorant. It was fitting that he should continue this work.
He looked around the shabby room, at the crumbling stonework and faded tapestries. Why had he not noticed that it had fallen into decay? It had always seemed to him to be filled with light. He did not know how old the house was. Those who had gone before were all dead and its history had been lost.
It was well hidden, surrounded by high walls and wizened oaks, their branches tangled together as if to protect it from prying eyes. And now it was he who saw to its invisibility, keeping the townsfolk away with tales of ogres and imps and evil spirits. Because it was the meeting place of the brethren.
He decided that before he left he would make it worthy of its heritage.
It had ever been his duty to provide for the unfortunate and his medical training had fitted him for further service, which he gave freely. But still it was as if he had been provided with Fortunata’s purse. He was a wealthy man. He could obtain the finest woods, the palest marbles and the greatest works of art. Though for the sake of secrecy, the work must be done by the brothers, it could be again as it must have been at its creation, full of beauty and life.
He would begin here; in the very room he had taken his initiation. The paint was peeling badly and the beams across the high ceilings were beginning to sag. And there were burns on the floor and along the walls as if it had been used as a workroom or laboratory. No matter, he would make of it a hall more beautiful than those of the greatest palaces of France.
As his eye moved from the floors to the wide inglenook, they caught upon the large brass plate that had hung in the same place since he’d first stepped across the threshold, thirty five years ago. Though much importance had been attached to it, no-one could remember why, its purpose lost in the verdigris that covered most of its surface. He decided to clean away the corrosion and examine it more closely, to make a better place for it in the newly restored room.
The plate was wide and heavy and one man could not lift it, so he called for some of the others to help. They strained and pulled, prying it out little by little. And then they saw that there was a nail, somewhat strong that was keeping the plate in place.
So they wrapped a pitchfork in a woollen cloth and used it as a lever to urge the nail out of the wall.
And suddenly it gave way and took with it a large stone and great deal of plaster, leaving them all enveloped in clouds of dust and cobwebs and when the air cleared they saw with astonishment that a wooden door had been uncovered by their labours.
With many exclamations and expressions of wonderment they pulled away the rest of the plaster and exposed the whole of the door. And brother Joseph, whose eyes were better than the rest, let out a whoop of excitement, for there was writing carved in the wood at the top.
‘Post CXX annos patebo’
‘After 120 years, I shall be opened’?
They all began to talk at once, but Naude held up his hand, he was the more senior and respected by all. “My dear brothers, time has fallen away…and the poor are waiting. These freezing nights are an ordeal for those with little means. Let us leave our discovery till the morrow… and attend to our duty.” And they all nodded in agreement and departed till the morning.
*
>
The next day, they assembled early; having made their way through the twisting, secret labyrinth leading from a hidden door in the tavern to this very room.
They began with a prayer of thanks. And a hope of protection should the door reveal something beyond their understanding.
Joseph used his young strength and put his shoulder to the door but the wood had been sealed with pitch and it took many blows before the door gave way and opened, creaking inward on its rusted iron hinges. They stared at each other in dismay. There was only a set of dark stone steps leading down into blackness.
What could it possibly be… that must be locked and sealed behind a wall for one hundred and twenty years?
Naude’s sinister warnings to the townspeople had taken on a life of their own and their imaginations were supplying the rest. Nevertheless, they took a lantern and followed each other down the stairs.
It seemed to take an age to reach the bottom; the ground was slimy with mould, the air damp and fetid. Long strands of dusty cobwebs brushed against their faces, tugged against their wigs. The lantern began to flicker, filling the air with smoke and making their shadows long and menacing in the dim light. And then they reached another door, fashioned from oak and carved with symbols and strange signs. They held their breath in anticipation as Naude grasped the latch and pulled open the door.
And suddenly they were standing in a brilliant, golden light, with all around them colour and movement and strange, glittering ornaments.
On the floor beneath them was painted a terrifying dragon, its eyes gleaming with menace, its talons poised to strike. And above them, a planetary heaven lit by an impossibility…a small glowing sun.
Every bright wall was made with doors and cabinets and in the centre, a great altar, made of brass and etched with mottos and figures.
And they knew, as they looked around the wonderful seven sided room, at the love that had gone into its making, that they had found the resting place of their beloved father, CRC…
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