Untitled Document

Foreword
Introduction
Maha
Amsterdam
The Secret Seal
Vienna
Lisbon
Madrid
Interlude
The Great Vigil at Lisbon
Conclusion
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Messages from the Cathedral of
the Soul
A Secret Meeting in Rome
Secret Houses of the Rose-Croix
Strange Encounter

Interview with Raymond

Bernard (video)

Forward

The thousands of copies of this manuscript sold till

now, the quotations which have been made with
great success in writings or heard in lectures, and
above all the numerous letters received from my
readers, have been for me very encouraging and
moving evidence. However, some of my
correspondents have been led to such erroneous
conclusions that it seemed necessary for me to write
a foreword to be included immediately in this work
and in all those which treat of similar subjects, with
the purpose of preventing any further tendency to
misleading interpretation or simply misunderstandings.
The fundamental purpose of this manuscript is to transmit certain knowledge of particular
subjects of mystical tradition, which nowadays, particularly in France, continue to exercise a
strong attraction upon whoever is interested in great questions beyond the limits of a nonsensical item in the popular press. It is enough, to be convinced of this, to notice the
considerable success met with from the general public, by books dealing with these subjects.
Now, most of these books are not built on any foundation. They do not have any basis OF
TRUTH for meditation and reflection, and they lead their readers towards false and even
dangerous conclusions.
It was also necessary to show the importance of the Rosicrucian Order AMORC in the world,
and this manuscript is indeed to put it in its rightful place, that is first, regarding its objectives,
its worldly activities and the number of its members. In spite of the great tolerance of our Order
and its extreme liberalism, it has sometimes been necessary to show strict severity with regard
to those who, deceived perhaps by their own errors, risk deceiving others and leading them into
terrible ways which have no aspect of psychic equilibrium. To warn is a duty, especially if one
such advertisement is directed to one who is on the sure and truthful path offered by the
Rosicrucian Order AMORC. To stray from this path of certainty after assuming it, is
incontestably to retrogress. My aim has been that my Rosicrucian readers may avoid
committing this regrettable error of seeking elsewhere that which they will always find at the
most opportune moment, the most efficacious for them, in the teachings of the Rosicrucian
Order AMORC.
Such were the reasons which induced me to write this manuscript and some others. The
manner chosen to communicate this knowledge is important. To understand certain subjects, it
is not enough to read them, one must experience them, and that is why I adopted this form of
writing. The result is that this manuscript is PARTIALLY ALLEGORICAL AND PARTIALLY
ALSO IT RELATES FACTS. It is based on SYMBOLISM, for the SYMBOL is, in essence, a
language, which each understands according to his development and which the Rosicrucian
understands better than most. Thus, through ALLEGORY, through SYMBOL and through
FACTS, subjects of the highest interest are examined, and this examination will lead you to an
understanding more vast more useful and more true, of the great questions which tradition,
past and present, has applied itself in solving.
My dearest wish will always be that this lecture may be for you a source of inspiration, and a
constant encouragement to carry on your efforts within the Rosicrucian Order AMORC towards
greater light and Peace Profound.
RAYMOND BERNARD
Domaine de la Rose-Croix,
Friday 17th October, 1969

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Introduction - I

12

Raymond Bernard is one of the leading esoteric

philosophers and mystics of our time. Now
completely retired, he was formerly an
international leader and Grand Master of the
Rosicrucian Order AMORC, and a founder of
sacred initiatory and traditional school of
mysticism (Rosicrucian, Martinism, Templar) for
French-speaking countries. As an Elder Brother
and mystic, Raymond has traveled extensively all
over the world, to initiate and encourage seekers
from every kind of background and denomination
to help them find their own personal way of
expressing the divine goodness in human nature.
His books have been translated in many different
languages. However, most of them have now
been out of print . Very kindly Raymond Bernard
gave me his authorization to gather and upload
on to the internet
the entire collection of his written mystical books in French and the ones that have been translated in
English. Apart from Raymond's enriching and illuminating books and messages, I will be adding
official biographies written by Serge Caillet andFranois Goche and will also add my own testimony of
a man and a mystic that I call my dearest friend... a friend that I had the privilege of being initiated by
and later invited to become one of his closest disciple.
In my autobiography, I describe Raymond Bernard as "an Invisible Master" whom I refer to as 'John'.
John is actually a pseudonym that I gave to Raymond Bernard to protect his identity from curious
intruders. However, I am now allowed to use his real name.
According to the Tradition, there are invisible masters who appear when the seeker is ready, attuned
and in resonance with the master. An invisible master is an enlightened person who gradually reveals
himself to seekers. To the outside world, of course, Raymond is simply the charming and good human
being that he in fact is.
I am grateful to Raymond for urging and encouraging me to upload his first English translated book on
the internet, which is entitled :
"Messages from the Cathedral of the Soul" .
It is important to understand that the wisdom in all these 'messages' goes beyond the Rosicrucian
Order AMORC, or any other mystery school...or hermetic organization, because what Raymond has
to say is his way of expressing pure Wisdom, which is the same in all authentic traditions; moreover,
the Source of Wisdom belongs to no tradition in particular, it is open to the pure in heart and mind,
simply because Wisdom is the Source of Being and Consciousness and from its center all the
different traditions unfold and develop their expressions so as to illuminate and awake all seekers of
Truth.
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Alice Ouzounian
To Readers who are not members of the Rosicrucian Order, AMORC
This book, originally published in installments, was written for members of the Rosicrucian Order,
AMORC. It has now been revised for wider circulation and, although the text has been neither
modified nor adapted, some specific changes had to be made for readers not belonging to our
organization. If they have no valid information on our Order, they may ask for literature, especially the
free booklet entitled The Mastery of Life. That will help them to avoid hasty conclusions, and to
understand better the terminology sometimes used by the author.
The Rosicrucian Order, AMORC, is neither a sect nor a religious organization. It teaches no dogma. It
proposes instead, solutions and bases for reflection. Its members always and in every regard retain
their freedom, especially in thought and action, according to their own conceptions. Truth is one under
many and diverse aspects. This book offers one of these aspects, and for some, it will be a step
toward the truth buried in the depth of each being. For others, it will be the road toward the
Rosicrucian Order, AMORC. For all, it is the simple attempt of an author to be obedient to the
fundamental rule of the organization of which he is one of the highest officers, this rule being to
serve.
Raymond Bernard served as Grand Master of the Rosicrucian Order for France and French-speaking
countries during the writing of this work. In his references to the Grand Lodge, he is speaking of the
headquarters for that area. In later years he advanced to the office of Supreme Legate of AMORC for
Europe.

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Maha

I have met Maha again, and during our

meetings in Amsterdam and in Vienna, I
could not help, as I listened to him, thinking
of the voluminous correspondence received
from the readers of the "Strange
Encounters". Maha had created an
impression on them and I felt, in reading
many of the letters, the certainty that if my
description had even in some small way
been able to convey the unforgettable
impression which emanated from this
extraordinary Being, this description alone
was sufficient to communicate to others the
emotions which I had felt myself. It seems
that at the moment of reading it, a subtle link
had been established between the readers
and Maha. For many it was not only true; it
Painting by Gilbert Williams
became THEIR TRUTH that which is
buried deepest within each being, and which suddenly under the unexpected stimulation of the story
rose up gloriously, before a dazzled consciousness. Truth is one, under the many aspects manifested
in the phenomenal world, and it is almost a platitude to say that it is within each one of us. So Beings
such as Maha live on the plane of pure truth and this plane has a universal permanence which man
ever carries within him. Also I was not at all surprised that some stated that they did not find Maha to
be a stranger, but on the contrary, let us say, a known idea or memory, found with tremendous force
and vigour in themselves, as if, suddenly the words, the phrases, the story made them conscious of a
link which had never been broken. Moreover, the planetary mission of the High Council of A ...
concerns every man. It is no wonder that some were able for a brief moment, to communicate with
such representatives and to put themselves in harmony with the highest among them . . .
I have met Maha again and with this very memory, his image seems to be near me. I feel the unique
impression of his presence and my being quivers with the usual emotion, never blunted by this
exceptional contact.
I do not know if you have noticed, in the "Strange Encounters" that he
seemed to me to be about forty years old in the portraits that I had
seen at Copenhagen and Lisbon. When I saw him in person for the
first time, I supposed him to be about fifty, and this impression
remained in Istanbul. However being uncertain, I did not change my
account. In Amsterdam he seemed to be younger, and in Vienna,
older. I do not know how he will appear next at Lisbon, at Madrid and
a little later in Athens. Perhaps when I reach the end of these new
meetings, what I have to say will make this seem a wrong description.
I can only give you my own subjective impression. If anyone asks me
to describe Maha I should be tempted to reply: "He has eyes" and I
cannot truly even now, speak with more precision without risking
giving you a wrong impression. I believe that the eyes of Maha reflect
a world, a universe. He can communicate by his look alone and in
spite of the infinite goodness which emanates from him; his preoccupations give perhaps to the purity
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of his clear eyes a different expression, in such a way that according to circumstances he appears
either more or less aged. This, it seems to me is the explanation of the impression he gives as to his
age. Moreover, how do such notions as physical aspect or exterior carriage apply to such beings! To
them, would they require any other unalterable memory than to have been in their presence, in their
magnetic vicinity, and to have heard THE message!
I think it would be useful here to mention something which was implicit in the" Strange Encounters" ...
There was, round about the time of the last world war andafterwards until the year 1950, a bizarre
person who called himself "Maha Choan". He was spoken of in the United States and in France,
where the press devoted some ironical articles to him. This pseudo "King of the World" claimed
nothing less than to lay his hands upon authentic traditional organisations for reasons difficult to
understand. He was quickly unmasked, and sent back to his futile imaginings, but strange though it
may seem, he kept certain deluded disciples. Of him, in any case, we need say no more. There is
naturally no kind of common communication between the pseudo Maha Choan and the true Maha.
The "King of the World" certainly seeks no publicity and he would not expose himself before fools on a
platform to the backing of articles and communiqus. Few people have met Maha knowing him to be
Maha. The head of the High Council hides his identity and his true function. He does not advertise his
holy office as that adventurer in the occult did, pretending to magical powers and receiving from
others as reward for his audacity nothing but reprobation ridicule.
I have met Maha again . . . Maha alone and suddenly, I shall renew again the contact of Amsterdam,
then that of Vienna and await soon Lisbon, Madrid, and Athens . . .
.

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Amsterdam

1234

Amsterdam is a strange city where hovers the shadow of

Rembrandt, where historic canals grow old without ageing, where
the obstinate sea pits itself against the equally obstinate humans.
It is a city of tradition where one past Grand Master of the
Rosicrucians, Gustav Meyrinck, traveled in his memories. Never
can the cosmopolitan flux of daily affairs efface the history which
impregnates the ancient walls and old quarters, and even if one
sad day, angry nature should engulf thee in the tortuous waves of
the enemy, the wise would perpetuate thy memory in the holy
sanctuaries of secret wisdom. You are a noble town, which is sad
with those who are sad, happy with those who are happy, chain to
the slave and free to the free man. You take to your heart the
aspiration of your visitor, and you even know how to deceive him
who wishes to be deceived! Oh, how I would that the true adept,
here and now, could scan the eternal presence of all those who
have left within thee the imprint of highest wisdom. For thou dost
not keep thy secrets for the lone clairvoyant, who with one look
can efface the pervading modern to better see behind it. For me,
you have already given riches in opening your coffers full of happy alchemists. Now you have yet
more for me, because in future I shall associate Maha with your memory.
The Hotel Carlton of Amsterdam is close to the centre of
the town and it stands on a busy road with side arcades, of
which, one asks the reason. On my arrival, I learned that,
contrary to the assurances of my agent, no room had been
reserved in my name. Owing to the importance of the
meeting arranged at this hotel, I asked to be put through by
telephone to my agent in Paris. I wished to speak to them,
and after an hour of waiting, I hardly had finished, when the
receptionist hurried towards me to tell me that the
reservation had been found and that a room would be at my disposal . . . tomorrow! My meeting is
fixed for five o'clock. I said nothing and the concierge easily found me a room for the night at the Hotel
Suisse in the Kalverstraat. I am not even waiting to open my cases, I am in so much of a hurry to
return to the place of the awaited meeting. The next day at midday I am installed in the Hotel Carlton
and at 4.30 I was sitting in the little hall, eyes fixed on the door through which soon Maha would
appear.
He is here! I see him pass through the great glass door... He is there, before me and I am before him,
standing up, without even remembering the effort of getting up. How moving it is to feel suddenly that
one is somewhere yet without being there, that a world surrounds us and we can perceive nothing
more, nothing, except eyes of an extremely light color in which all our being is lost not to forget, but to
know and to LIVE! And that smile of infinite kindness ... an encouragement, a call for confidence, for
humility and simplicity! In those few seconds there poured into my consciousness memories of the
past: Lisbon, ISTANBUL, the shining crypt. All was one. How long did this state last? Some seconds,
perhaps less . . . yet I know and after all, what does it matter? What signifies such notions as time and
space compared to the eternal, symbolized by him who is here!
He makes no movement and does not give the sign which I have noticed several times before. I
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conclude that our meeting is not to follow the same plan as previous meetings where certain
explanations were given me on the work of the High Council of A ... Therefore I hope for some new
revelation. The domain is so vast that only an enlightened guide can define the contours. But I do not
show any particular, curiosity for the STATE transcends our miserable intellect.
"The place is not convenient for the object of our meeting" said Maha after a few moments. "Come."
Without a word I followed him. He walked to where, at the edge of the pavement, a car waited a few
steps away, and hardly were we seated than it departed silently towards its destination. I recognize
certain canals, then the Leidersplein; we passed the theatre on the right and the imposing American
Hotel, then we crossed the bridge, bore to the left and ... I knew nothing more than that I was
completely lost. I know Amsterdam well, but very much less its suburbs. Anyway I remember the
splendid house at which we arrived. Some dwellings are too rare to be forgotten.
This one is not very big. It is situated at the heart
of a green park, to which, colored shrubs gave
brightness and its structure OF CLEAR brick give
it a likeness to certain buildings on the outskirts
of London. We walk several steps from the car to
a small flight of steps leading to a large vestibule
almost unfurnished. No pictures are on the wall,
in a corner a Chinese cabinet finely engraved, in
the centre a low table and two elegant armchairs,
nothing else which could particularly attract
attention. On the left is a large glass door and a
small living room, as bare as the vestibule. Maha
leads me in and we sat down face to face on
each side of the elegant rectangular table. Maha
seems to be waiting for me to speak. I am
surprised but I make up my mind and say:
"A relatively short time has passed since you afforded me the inestimable privilege of permitting me to
make your acquaintance and to learn of the existence of the High Council. According to your
instructions I have given out a part of the revelations which were given to me, to those whom my own
responsibilities give me the right. I have made no distinction between them, but have given to all of
them the message I received. I would even say that some were waiting for it and for others it was the
awakening of an indefinable knowledge that they sensed within themselves. Of the reaction of some,
very rare, you had warned me implicitly during the course of our meetings that..."
Maha interrupted me with a smile; "It is well that men should demand WHY, before certain
phenomena and before events which do not fit into their normal comprehension. A judicious WHY can
open for him the way towards transcendent knowledge and that which is beyond the limitations of
his intellect and register at the level of the permanence of the actual. But such a WHY, even though
expressed to another, is really put to himself, and the reply of another, is never satisfying. Therefore
this reply often must be avoided. As you well know, the "WHY" can be raised by egotism or favored by
a clever suggestion, of which, the true motives are always very clear to one who knows how to
analyze them. Everyone must therefore determine the real nature of his WHY before asking it. It will
draw out a decisive knowledge of self and of others."
I admire the absolute wisdom of my teacher. Every word of his struck my consciousness with piercing
light. The simplest things become a lesson on the value of a word such as WHY, so harmless in
appearance. Words are without life until they are brought to life by the one who pronounces them.
They are nothing in themselves, but spoken they are charged with the personality of him who speaks
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them. Does not that also apply to a phrase ... A WORD,

which can better reveal the inner self than all the analysis
of a psychology without depth?
Maha by his brief interruption has diverted my train of
thought in all human conduct, in complex argument of daily
facts; I am ever raised with him towards the simplicity of
new heights. Most Excellent Master, he has, at the most
opportune moment, interrupted the subtle play of my
mental associations and going straight to the core of my
remarks, he has unravel the tangled skein of a reasoning
too well constructed by a remark which carries in itself the
solution of everything. I feel no more need to speak. Of
what use would it be? Someone capable in a few words of
expressing a response which forms the solution to all
questions raised directly or indirectly by a single curiosity,
Would he not always know the CAUSE, or the motive for
actions, or even the thoughts of a being occupied with
human conditions and firstly with his own ego? Suddenly I
realize again who Maha is and what he represents not only
by his incomparable responsibilities but above all in
HIMSELF and I felt ridiculous, almost ashamed, of not
having kept silent. Maha who was looking at me kindly,
Painting by Francine Hart
shared in my mute reflections. I gave myself up to the
privilege of his presence and immediately, I felt the immensity of his vibratory contact from which I had
removed myself by my fault, by living on the limited plane of 'reason' alone. I saw by his look that he
did not refuse me, and peace descended upon me, enveloped me and filled my being. All the time that
he was speaking I was, as it were, out of myself. It was no longer Maha and myself, but simply a
powerful vibratory flux, in which I shared, knowing all, without distinguishing if this all had really been
said in words which sprang up in myself, or if they came from outside in the voice of Maha.

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THE SECRET SEAL

In my previous encounters, strengthened

by the measure of the esteem of the
members of the High Council for the
Rosicrucian Order AMORC, and happy to
know that it is appreciated and recognized
by the highest jurisdiction of this world, I
dared to ask some questions, and, to my
great surprise, not only were they
answered, but ALSO with precise details
which I had not asked. In "The Strange
Encounters" I mentioned the recognition
and the appreciation of the High Council
but I was not authorized to tell the details
of enthralling conversations which I felt
nevertheless would have carried certainty
and conviction to my Rosicrucian readers. Seeing that it is permitted to do so today, some
fundamental explanations are necessary in the first place.
The official monographs of our Order, the works published under the authority of, our tradition, the
articles and conferences of our beloved Imperator as well as my own writings and explanations,
repeat without ceasing that the Rosicrucian Order AMORC gives to its members the means of visible
initiation which permits them one day to reach the invisible brotherhood. In other words it is often said
that the Rosicrucian Order is the authentic VISIBLE way towards the INVISIBLE brotherhood of the
Rose-Croix. The work, zeal and perseverance leads the sincere member to the state of initiatic
understanding required for admission among the adepts of the Invisible Fraternity where THOSE
WHO ARE READY are received. One can understand as a consequence that the invisible fraternity of
the Rose-Croix IS CONCERNED with the activities of its outer organization -The Rosicrucian Order
AMORC both collectively and by the progress of each of its members. This progress is evaluated
not by the mass of monographs studied, but by the TRUE development realized by the Rosicrucian
and above all if a member knows how to USE the visible methods confided in him by the outer RoseCroix, and if, in consequence, he has built an inner structure of sufficient value to show THAT HE IS
READY. Then he can be assured that the doors of the inner Rose-Croix will be opened when the right
moment comes. The responsibility of his own advancement is thus left to each member. He will
inevitably reap by sincere work, immeasurably more understanding and efficiency and in the last
analysis his life will be better, more orderly and happier. But the way of initiation is a hard school of
patience and if the Rosicrucian accepts the lessons and obstinately follows his path, the Rose-Croix
finally will not be to him only a simple emblem. IT WILL BE ALSO AN INNER STATE, thanks to which,
he will take his place among THOSE WHO REMAIN SILENT, amid the SILENT ONES of the invisible
fraternity of the Rosy Cross. That is, one understands, the vigilant aim of the visible organization
which is the Rosicrucian Order AMORC and it infuses to this end LIFE, LIGHT AND LOVE, as it at the
same time stimulates the directing officers towards more RIGOUR and SEVERITY if the necessity
collective or individually arises.
There are then in the world the true ROSE-CROIX. An author declared some decades ago, that they
had retired not long since to the Orient and that was true for a long time but, even in the Orient they
continued to fulfill their role in connection with the authentic Rosicrucian Order. NEVER have they
ceased to do this, and they TOOK PART in 1909 at the inauguration of the new cycle founded by Dr.
H. Spencer Lewis under the title of the Rosicrucian Order AMORC. Besides, they have always kept
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and passed on to their successors the houses that they occupied

of old. Therefore at a relatively recent date they left the Orient for
Europe and they pursue their mission from the traditional places
and in some NEW PLACES, which nowadays as heretofore, were
known to accepted adepts under the name of "Secret Houses of
the Rose-Croix".
It was of these SECRET HOUSES that reference was made in the
course of certain conversations with those responsible persons
belonging to the A ... and what they told me has completed the
information that my office authorized me to know already, that a
new light has been given to me concerning the Rose-Croix in its
marvelous ensemble and the Rosicrucian Order AMORC in its
unique importance at the heart of the physical world, and the new
cycle which they outlined. Moreover, as the High Council ordered
me to do, I have waited for the time that was prescribed, and all
BEING READY, I have been received into a Secret House. I am
allowed another THREE visits, but at the time of writing these lines, I can only tell of my reception in
the first, simply because the three others will not admit me for some weeks. My pilgrimage will come
to an end, anyway, on the 3rd of January next, and I will complete the present manuscript after my
return. However nothing changes what I have told you already before my stay in the first secret house
of the Rose-Croix. I invite you to follow me to Vienna, in Austria, to open the secret seal to a thrilling
discovery.

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Vienna

123456

Like all large towns and some smaller

ones Vienna, for the natives and the
emigrants from the provinces, or from
foreign countries is their daily bread. For
the tourist, and even the hurried traveler,
Vienna means the games of the Prater,
and the nonchalance of Schoenbrunn. For
everyone, natives, emigrants, tourists and
travelers Vienna is the smiling capital of
the music and cult of Strauss. I arrived in
Vienna at the height of the great musical
festival of June 1967. In the taxi which
drove me from the aerodrome to my hotel,
the fragrance of a waltz charmed my path
and hardly had I arrived when another
waltz accompanied me from the mass of trees which face the Hotel Continental. After a quick pause,
time to fill in the formalities at the reception desk and be led to my room, a new waltz filled the
universe, because the first act of the porter was to turn on the radio. It was to music that I opened my
bags and made the acquaintance with my temporary home. I had asked for a quiet room, and actually,
I did not notice the noises of the town in the distance, thus finding the place quite satisfactory.
However, glancing out of the great bay window, I saw in the square right underneath, arranged in
squares, several rows of seats with a ring in the centre. I thought I want to think that these
were the empty places from a past sporting event, when later in the evening, returning to my room
after a meal, a maddening clamor lured me to the window, and for a few minutes I am the clandestine
witness of a of the contortions of a match of ... catch!! ! Such is the sight which upset my thoughts
THE THOUGHT of the experience which I will live here. The day J, the hour H? Oh no! I know that it is
TOMORROW and that the meeting will take place at 9 o'clock in the morning. I know that I must wait
in my room for the call of the concierge and that it is in front of his desk that the meeting will take
place. On the surface, therefore, there are no foreseeable surprises. But, foremost of these human
conditions, there is ALL THE REST, a rest that until now has been for me like for so many others
VIRTUAL, but soon, it will become REAL and ACTUAL. My heart feels a pang of hope and of
impatience. Oh! How time is an illusion and how much hold it has on us!
I wake up at 6.30 and I am surprised, for my physical constitution is such that, as the saying goes, I
am not a "morning" person. I often work at writing articles, my talks or I meditate, till two or three
o'clock in the morning, without being the least tired. But if in the morning I get up too early, my
efficiency is considerably retarded. What a strange constitution is mine in this incarnation! No intense
cold, or any morning hours. . . One must know these exigencies and adapt oneself to them. It requires
a kind of mastership to know oneself so well. Certain people at times tell me, "How much you must
regret not to know each day, the beauties of the morning, when all nature awakes in explosions of
joy!" I can only reply, "It is a pity on your side you cannot know the splendors of the night when
everyone is asleep around you and the talkative sky has only you to whom to tell its secrets!"
I am ready in a few minutes. I am about to go to the window when the telephone rings ... IT IS THE
TIME, HE IS WAITING ... I hurry towards the lift, I rush towards the lift . . and am in the hall then I
come up to the desk of the concierge. HE IS THERE! I WOULD HAVE KNOWN HIM AMONG
THOUSANDS! The height, the noble face, the overwhelming calm of the whole appearance, the
brilliance of light grey eyes under the amazingly thick white eyebrows thrown at random on the
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forehead . . . the burning magnetism which

emanates from his whole BEING to such a point
that THE ONE WHO KNOWS could, touch him
with his sensitive fingers. HE IS THERE, ROSECROIX, A ROSE-CROIX, An ENLIGHTEN
BEING. What could one do? What could one
say? What would you have done, or said? I
approach him and without ostentation, lightly
bowed my head in a sign of profound respect
and intense devotion; I put the left hand on my
heart and murmured "TO SERVE!" A smile
answers me and without a word being spoken, I
follow him to an immense black car marked with
a diplomatic plaque. The chauffeur drives without
a word and is stiff and serious. He drives the car along a route known to him towards its destination.
On the way, I throw a glance at the crowded thoroughfare along which we are passing, then on the
opera house, then . . . but a hand lays affectionately on mine, as if to say, "Peace, patience,
confidence!" and these three feelings, at the same moment I AM LIVING THEM. A little sooner, a little
later, what does it matter! An experience such as the present one, is it not in itself A MYSTICAL
EXPERIENCE? I remembered that a wise man, met during a journey I had undertaken in search of
the vestiges of an ancient initiation, had said to me: "Repeat the word God for five minutes, living it
each instant as you speak. If you can do this you will be God yourself!" He wished in this way to show
that the initiation had the effect of being conscious of each instant, in making each moment a
perpetual PRESENT. In truth, it is what I am feeling at this moment, while this blessed hand rests on
mine, ready to receive whatever one decides that it is worthy of sharing.
The journey proceeded to I know not where. It seemed of little importance to mention it. I was not
unaware of where we were, I KNOW WHERE WE ARE, strangely, I had already come one day by
chance to this place, during a walk, but I may not give here any indications of precisely where it is.
This house of the Rose-Croix, like the others which we would visit later is SECRET, and this is for
reasons bound up with the same idea of INITIATION and TRADITION. Besides, if I told in these
pages that this house is on such a street, and one gets there in such a way; how many in their
mystical enthusiasm would come running to these doors, not to know more of what I am going to tell
you, but to SEE more and perhaps to perceive for an instant the shadow of an enlightened being. So
this would be the end, the breaking point, the collapse of a world of tradition, for it is true that the
noblest desire engenders sometimes the most dreadful catastrophes.

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Lisbon

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Few know that Lisbon was once called Ulissipo, then

probably to simplify, Olisipo. Many do not know that it
was a town of the Roman Lusitanian and in 375 it was
already a Bishopric of which the Moors took possession
in 711 and that it was not reconquered until 1147 by
Alphonso 1st, Henry and the Crusaders. It becomes in
the thirteenth century the residence of the Kings of
Portugal. Its fabulous prosperity acquired during the
15th Century disappeared with the Spanish conquest in
1580 and definitely annihilated by the destruction of the
Indies, which is little remembered. One speaks even yet
with anguish of the trembling of the earth in 1531 and
with terror of the devastating earthquake of 1755
followed by gigantic fires and tidal waves which
destroyed the major part of the town. It was the port and
centre of commerce for the spices exported from the
Indies to European Atlantic ports. It was the place of
arrival for ships from Brazil ... It languishes today on the
beaches of the "Sea of Straw", dreaming of its past,
surveying the future and its uncertain promises, caught
up in the hopes of its people, smiling sadly, maintained
by daily labor and centurys old perseverance . . .
As for me, on the terrace of my apartment at the Ritz, in the pleasant coolness of that 13th November,
soon after my arrival, I thought I could see in the very far distance below, one of the most beautiful
harbor of the world. I salute the river Tagus, that exile from Aragon that grew in Castile and is
accompanied from Aranjuez by its sister Jarama, shining in the sun of Toledo, Talavera and Alcantara
before springing into Portugal and going through the splendid gorge of the Portas de Rodas. It is
charged with history to pursue its winding way through the calm of the plains and after many false
tracks to come, after the majestic fall at Villa Franca. There to play in the superb bay of Lisbon and to
die exhausted in the Atlantic Ocean...
Lisbon and its rare ruins, its ancient churches, its tower of Belem and its monastery of Jeronimos...
Lisbon and the Tagus, Lisbon and its Ritz and Lisbon and MAHA! . . . Days have run into months
and here old memories meet again in the passing present. The same places, the same hope! For
tomorrow, the same wait...
I go inside and sit down. With closed eyes I try to calm the disordered flow of thoughts in which are
mixed the nostalgia of yesterday with present impatience. All will begin tomorrow; of what good is it to
imagine now what may happen next. The time is not far off when the facts will be written in the time
which is prepared for them. The concierge has given me a brief message: "Someone will come
tomorrow at 10 o'clock." How useless always are assumptions of "perhaps".
Nevertheless, had not Maha told me in Vienna to hope for another meeting with him in the towns
where I would find myself in for the visits to which I was invited? Indeed, who am I to hope that such a
being or even one of his assistants would dream of including me in the immensity of his task or even a
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few minutes of his precious time! Come now, I must not

entertain such dangerous illusions, I am already
confounded by the unique privilege to be granted me
tomorrow ... I must not prolong the thought of Maha. What
took place with him here in this hotel; remind me constantly
of his image. Well! Let us suppose! So much for the
uselessness of "perhaps"!
However, Maha is, or will be, in the next few days visiting
Lisbon, a little later in Madrid and I will be there also, and
then later in Athens. Lisbon, Madrid, Athens . . . three
places of authority, three countries which do not follow the
rhythm of the world despite the aspirations of their people. I
follow this political thought. After all things follow their
natural course and nothing can change it. Nothing? I
remembered what I had learned during the course of the
previous meetings. After all, I KNOW that "they" watch and
evaluate the state of a nation in relation to general normal
requirements and take into account the lessons to be
learned and stages to be attained. These are certainly
known perfectly. Since I had access to this knowledge
thanks to the light received from the most competent authorities in these matters, I have no problem.
A little reflection allowed me to size up events, large and small, in their admirable universal context.
Maha could not, therefore, be in Lisbon for one of the periodic
reunions. There are four which coincide, within one or two
days with the beginning of a new season. In Vienna this could
have been the case, in Athens this would certainly be the
reason for the presence of Maha next December, but in
Lisbon there is nothing of the sort. I remember after all that
my first meeting with Maha had taken place here in
November also, and I never pretended to believe that he had
made such a journey only to meet me. A "meeting" has taken
place here. It could be that it will turn out to be an
exceptionally important meeting, but Maha, at the same time
of the year will come again to Lisbon. This could not be a
stroke of good luck. Is Lisbon of first importance for the High
Council? After the last meeting with Maha in this town, there
have been important events in the world, but how could one
find the direct relationship between the two facts, although ...
I refuse to follow this assumption further. Did Maha live here?
No! The answer jumps with such immediate certainly into my
sub consciousness that I abandon this idea. Then what
should one conclude? That if the situation requires it, a
special reunion is always held in Lisbon, but in this case why
November? Events do not wait . . . unless NOVEMBER IS A
MAJOR MONTH EACH YEAR IN THE HISTORY OF THE
Painting by Peter Celeste
WORLD, PERHAPS THAT OF THE BALANCE SHEET,
WHERE APPROACHING EVENTS ARE FORESEEN AND THE MANNER OF FACING THEM IS
EVIDENT.
I begin to understand. Maha had truly said that what had been revealed to me would become the KEY
explaining ALL conditions. So the time of the meetings, their dates and their places ARE THEY NOT
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IN THEMSELVES A REVELATION?
The four annual reunions could be, if my reasoning is right, those of ACTION AND DECISIONS, the
others, those of EVALUATION. As to Lisbon, this could be the town of the ANNUAL STOCKTAKING
before the GREAT MEETING of the winter. What of the other towns, Amsterdam and Vienna? I think
that I can guess: Athens is close to Istanbul, less than an hour by airplane. So another town would be
Istanbul, that of the last great meeting. The listing is incomplete. I know of ALL the meetings, general
and private, of Amsterdam, Vienna, Lisbon, Athens and Istanbul. I remember Copenhagen where I
UNDERSTOOD a reunion had taken place. Of London, I was not so sure, except that members of the
High Council certainly never travel uselessly. SEVEN towns in total, and not only am I ignorant of the
eighth, but it would also be conjecture to say where the important meetings take place and where the
secondary ones meet. A part from Istanbul, Vienna and perhaps Copenhagen . . . What does it matter
after all? Is not the essential thing that such meetings take place? I reproach myself for my human
curiosity. I get up and unpack my luggage. This evening I will go to bed very early. Decidedly I have to
admit that time counts and that age flies away: my old friend the airplane, it also tires me...
In the car which drives me this morning to a new "secret house of the Rose-Croix", I review over the
events that have happened during the last hour, and the similarity to those which happened at Vienna
strikes me. Firstly, the messenger who brings me a few minutes before ten o'clock, when I am waiting
by the telephone in my room for a ring from the concierge, a sealed envelope containing a minute
card with only the words, in a beautiful slanting handwriting "I am here J.C." Next, my arrival in the
immense hall with a look at the place which, previously, stood Maha, but his place is empty, silent,
then someone is coming towards me. He is tall, slim, and splendidly upright in an old age which he
carries with a youthfulness that radiates from his grey eyes, in the luminous silver of his abundant
hair. Pale? Yes, but the pallor is due to the contrast of his fine face with his extremely dark blue suit
on which rests a white tie lost on a shirt of the same color. "Come" and again confident with absolute
certainty, I am a stranger going to a new discovery. Perhaps, I ought to say something about the car
which awaits us, of the chauffeur who without a word, takes the road which he must know well? It
seems that I have nothing more to add to this story. There are many cars and drivers in all my
meetings without my knowing if one or the other had been in service of those whom they carried with
me, or whether they were "lent" by some unknown supporter. Anyway, of what good is it to think of
this kind of problem? The anonymous role of these devoted helpers honors them in the perfection of
their accomplished mission..
The car drives rapidly and I dare not break the silence. My companion seems withdrawn in a profound
meditation, I close my eyes and force myself to join his vibratory level, but quite quickly, I sense that
HE IS LEADING MY MEDITATION TOWARDS AN INDESCRIBABLE STATE OF COMMUNION to
which I abandon myself entirely. When I recover consciousness again the car has left the sea on the
left and is following a wide and well tended road. This is leading towards a large building of which
nothing can hide the view, and most probably neither the natives nor the tourists, following the road
which we had taken, COULD FAIL TO SEE. Thus far, this building resembled a monastery and it must
certainly intrigue the curious, unless the idea that it is a convent, that one could not visit, puts an end
to all desire to know more . . .

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Madrid

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Lisbon proclaims her sadness in the lamentations

of a fado. In order to forget her sorrow, Madrid
calls it love and to make it sociable, the city
skips, shakes from the clacking castanettes and
stamping feet, stealthily at first then in the
thunder of rhythm without ceasing, more
accelerated, which soon will die in the languor of
a deceptive victory. Fado or flamenco, two proud
people, at the sound of a guitar, singing their
unhappiness and their hope! The one bows the
head and resigns itself, but it is under a manly
pride that the other conceals its weakness. See
that dancer with the gorgeous finery. The
woman? Perhaps and indisputably the sorrow to
surmount, the happiness to conquer . . . from the
heel, the Spaniard will scan his desire in a
Painting by Martine Jacobs
voluptuous artifice to which the prey will only
succumb in appearance. She and it finally will
remain in a tragic face to face. No surrender! It is tomorrow and shortly, the cycle will resume itself
racing towards insatiable felicity!...
I experience an exceptional predilection for Madrid, I feel myself at home there and my Madrid friends
have always welcomed me as one of them, never as a stranger. There is much more besides, the
surroundings that respond to my profound nature. There is no need for me to go down there, to the
others and the others do not have to come to me. We each make, by chance, half of the road; we
meet and continue our path together. No effort is required. My soul combines itself at the very outset
with the Spanish soul as if the harmony between this country and me was, let us say, pre-established.
However, to describe Madrid would be for me an arduous task with pitiful results. This city has nothing
different, it is just a city . . . but it only takes the touch of an expert artists brush to combine the colors
and blend them to its history, then, we see the picture of a city that comes to life and on its
background of blood, dignity stands erect, the pride, and perhaps the arrogance of the whole Spanish
people. "To die for Madrid"? Why? It suffices to live there.
Joseph Kessel loves the night and delights in the slums of a town. It is there, says he, that he
experiences the true contact with man and his profound nature. Joseph Kessel is certainly one of our
most perceptive writers and of authentic purity. When he underlines his taste of risk, I believe that he
draws above all his love of life. But to live, to my way of thinking, is not to differentiate humanity into
distinct compartments. HUMANITY IS ONE, ONLY HYPOCHRISY MAKES IT MANY. For me, a city is
not only the beautiful parts, some historic monuments, but also shady sectors, where the pretended
"respectable thinker takes offence in words whilst, with eyes closed, he dreams of going there to
see A city is a whole where each one shows forth his own nature. To content one by seeking out
the low quarters is as great an error as wishing to ignore them. Might we not have lived there formerly,
in some life? Will not our fanaticism establish for us the hard obligation to have one day such an
experience, in some future life? Since to learn is to know and the inescapable law demands that we
learn. In spite of everything and no matter where he is, man is always in search of himself in
everything he does and everyone he knows. A city in its diversity offers its experience to us. Joseph
Kessel gathers it only in certain quarters; that is his right, as regards to me, I gather it from
everywhere. From the rich as well as the poor, the prodigal as well as the miserly, the humble as well

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as the proud, the saint and the sinner, the pure and the degenerate, all have something to give, an
experience to share, a warning to give, all have something to receive, some council to solicit, a smile
to collect. That is humanity, it is THE CITY, and Madrid is a city and why shut our eyes on the world
which is OUR world, a world of which we are the replica, the microcosm? Everywhere it is sufficient to
be ONESELF, to teach oneself, to share, to SERVE . . .
So, I shall not say anything of Madrid, but if, one
day, your steps lead you there; do not neglect
certain narrow and secret streets. They are filled
with a rich history, for behind the misery, you will
recognize mankind and you will discover YOUR
SELVES. On a table weathered by the years, a
horrible rusty iron box, from which sprouts a
bright rose, whose stem is lost in fetid water:
what a simple picture, what a wonderful picture!
I have never understood the reproaches that
certain people have raised against the Hilton
Hotels. What can there be in common between a
technical way of running a hotel technique and
the buildings where it operates? If the same hotel
was called Durand or Dupont would it offer more
appeal? Of course, in all the "Hiltons" of the
world, one discovers a monotonous uniformity,
but precisely, this uniformity, is the certainty of a
satisfying comfort, of an efficient service and a
discrete tranquility. Can one wish for more? The
Painting by Martine Jacobs
hotel is a shelter after the fatigue of a day of
persevering labor or of urgent visits. Hilton, until
now, has offered me its guarantee and I have never regretted it. This is why in Madrid; I reside at the
Castilian Hilton.
I have arrived there at the appointed hour, and after a moment, I make acquaintance with my
apartment. I also make acquaintance with the thoughts which assail me. Where can a secret house of
the Rose-Croix be found in Spain? "Sancti Spiritus"? It is a city in Cuba but it is also one in Spain. But
it is in Madrid where I am expected. After all, "Spiritus ubi vult spirat" as well as "Spiritus flat ubi vult"
means the "spirit breathes where it wishes". Then it is Madrid... or perhaps elsewhere?...
The rendezvous is fixed for Saturday, the18th of November at an hour later than customary: 13
o'clock. It is true that in Spain, one gets up later, but I do not think that this may be the reason for the
time chosen for this meeting. I have learned never again to ask any precise questions in relation to
these exceptional experiences to which I have been privileged to be invited. The answers which I
might be able to imagine would have little chance of being proved correct. I have better things to do. I
must get ready. It is only after tomorrow when the new hour will strike. Therefore, I only have this
evening and a full day. I decide on a relative fast: vegetables, fruits, no meats, no coffee but plenty of
water. In short, it is a preparation for a high mystical experience. I add to it the "spiritual shower"
known to advanced adepts. Further, I suggest to myself to commune with the Celestial Sanctum every
three hours during the day until midnight. I will also go for one hour in the morning and in the evening
to my little chapel in Madrid always so forgotten and yet so powerful in its vibratory note. Why a
chapel? In Istanbul it was a mosque, elsewhere it was a temple, in other places a synagogue,
sometimes a tree near a babbling river. In Madrid, in the very Catholic Spain, is it not natural that it
may be a chapel that welcomes me? I meet my solitude while I commune with my soul. I shall

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rigorously observe this program and during the time of waiting, my being little by little, will free itself
from the corporeal chains in order to live on "its" plane, taking with it, in order to annihilate it in the
sublime abandonment, all notion of time and every impression of space . . . The evening comes, then
the day and once again the night. . . The Sabbath approaches . . . my brother, it is the hour! A few
moments more and the nothing which I am will unite its nothingness to the greatness of all. This
sacred Saturday sanctifies each gesture, each step towards the One who now awaits me and towards
which I approach at last I in this pretentious hall which its presence fades...

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Madrid

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interlude

Today is the 2nd of December and not having reread my

account until today, of my visit to the "Secret Houses of the
Rose-Croix"; I feel that this account calls for some
commentary. In fact, having chosen to write this
manuscript as soon as possible after each of the events it
describes, it becomes more or less a private diary to which
I confide my thoughts as they occur. As a result, this story
contains much of "me", perhaps too much. Another
consequence is that if, for any reason whatever, an
unforeseen hitch happens or if there is a change in the
proposed journey, the pages written carry in them a hope
which the facts do not confirm. Now in Madrid, I learned
precisely that the last phase of my journey towards the
light was changed. Instead of the Parthenon, it is the
Tagus which, once again, will welcome me. My first
inclination was to revise my texts, to adjust it to the course
of events and to render it thus more coherent. Then I
decided to do nothing, for in attempting to make the story
uniform, I would have perhaps removed the life which the
inspiration of the moment breathed into it, when coiled in
my memory, I was projecting the scene in words. But how
can I explain it? THE MOOD I found again in the images
flowing to my consciousness and in the emotions renewed by them is hard to put into words.
I did not see Maha again at Madrid. Should I for that suppress what He had given me Himself to
understand in Amsterdam? I cannot allow myself such a liberty. Besides was he truly absent? HE
KNEW that I would be in Madrid and he knew the place where I was awaited and the moment of my
visit. . . "Our routes will cross" he had assured me. Basically, that need not signify that there would be
a meeting. He was already in Athens, but he might also have been in Madrid without judging it
necessary to see me. After all, it is enough to see Maha once, never to forget him. Afterwards he is
with you and you live with him. And yet, I have had the privilege of many meetings. I was not
expecting them and my gratitude is infinite for this happy experience.
For the Great Vigil, well, I prepare myself. The great teachings of the Rosicrucian Order AMORC have
opened to me the unique treasure of their profound wisdom and, curiously, it is the Neophyte Degrees
which have appeared to me as the most appropriate, in the circumstances. It is true they conceal
much, perhaps ALL, but one does not perceive it until the time comes after many years
Here, in the domain of the Rose-Croix, strange as this may seem to my readers, the silence is
profound with regard to my visits to the "secret houses". It is necessary so that the written account
record the happening before any question or commentary, and guard in its entirety the essence of the
remembrances. My wife, discrete, active, always anxious to keep from me the daily worries, keeps
silent, while I confide to my manuscript the "secret", l feel ocasionally, regarding me, the questioning
look of Pernelle . . . she awaits as the Grand Secretary Serge Wahart waits, that silent, hard working,
efficient and indispensable friend, vvhose comforting presence and affectionate attention, each day
make me fear l have been a little egotistical when l chose him to be at my side.. . As to my son, in
Sagittarius blended with Scorpion, he remains attached to legality and order and profoundly devoted
to rule and formalism, bides his time patiently for the moment will come, he knows, to attempt, through

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the text, to get an inkling of what he calls my "other secrets".

Here is where we are in the journey which, soon, will end . . . this morning, my air ticket has arrived;
Air France, flight 503 of 26th December, hour of departure 11.40 return T.A.P. 400 of 5th January,
hour of departure 9.35. Between these two dates the GREAT VIGIL ... Ouickly! What will make the
interlude shorter ... l will have here, with my own, my family Christmas and down there l anticipate, a
moment of light when my soul will ring out the peal of Christmas..

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interlude

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The Great Vigil

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Since my visit of last month, a flood swept through the city of

Lisbon in the night of Saturday, the 25th of November. It lasted
only a few hours, but brought with it sadness, blood and tears
and tortured the courageous people living there. The noble city
has wept, still weeps, but all in silence; like when the tears of
misery of an even greater misery, tightens its grip on an all
embracing, kind person and she weeps. The poor have their
absent ones and the rich have theirs, for the earth has retaken
that which the water has yielded. The Tagus is less brilliant, the
sea less captivating, yet how can one scorn them. My heart
aches for them! l cannot hate them but l think of their dead and
my joy of being here is darkened with sadness. l do not know
yet what will be the promised awakening. l anticipate the
sublime . . . then O God, may the work accomplished here
break forth in a feast of peace, of comfort and consolation for
the mourning city. May l profit nothing from it, if it be not for all,
like the forerunner of a beatitude once given to the world of
sufferers by HIM who, for us, yesterday, once again was born;
Blessed are they that mourn for they shall be comforted..
My reservation had been made, as was customary, at the Hotel Ritz, but some days before my
departure, a brief note recommended me to plan nothing. Trustingly, l had asked the hotel to cancel
my apartment. Meanwhile, as no precise indication had been sent me, my reasoning was instilling
doubt in me. The picture was depressing. l saw myself arriving in Lisbon and wandering, worried sick,
in the airport, then in the city, my luggage in my hand, in search of the impossible and the unknown.
The idea was nonsense and l was ashamed of it. However, it also gave place to the certainty of a
thoughful preparation to the last detail which the events confirmed. "The guide" in fact was there, and
once that the custom formalities ended, l hurried towards him for a warm embrace and in a compelling
motion coming from the depths of myself and he received me with moving fondness. Since our first
meeting at the Hotel Ritz, not much time had passed, but even if it had been ten years, l would have
recognised him immediately.
l was then taken back to the same place of my reception in November, to the Rose-Croix installed in
this country, that is to say to their "Secret House", and it is there that l am presently. l have my cell
here and l consider it a distinguished privilege to occupy the thirteenth one, because of what it
symbolises for this supreme hierarchy. So, is it because the last must be first and the smallest must
appear as the greatest? The "word" manifests in all occasion here. I have to learn to observe the
smallest details. For in the Rose-Croix, each gesture contains a particular meaning . . .

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The thirteen cell ... l think of the thirteenth figure of the Tarot: DEATH, and l
remember the interpretation given to this arcanum by Oswald Wirth . . . the
SILENT arcanum of the painters of the middle ages. . . The profane must die to
be reborn to a higher existence which, initiation confers. If he does not die to his
state of imperfection, he blocks all initiatic progress, so to know, how to die is
the great secret of the initiate, for in dying, he frees himself from that which is
inferior, by raising himself through sublimation . . .
The true sage constantly forces
himself to die in order to live better.
That does not imply on his part a
practice of sterile asceticism, but if
he wants to really conquer his
intellectual autonomy, must he not
first break with his preconceived
ideas which are dear to him, so that
he is born to the freedom of
thinking? Indeed, in order to be
born to the freedom of thought, one
must find freedom in dying, of all
that which is opposed to the strict
impartiality of judgment. Thirteenth
cell, arcanum thirteen The Holy
Spirit of the Gnostics and I am in a "House of the Holy Spirit"! Arcanum thirteen, the consolatory
Paraclete which frees the spirit from the bondage of matter. Liberation, spiritualization,
DEMATERIALISATION and perception of the reality, stripped of every tangible ornament, initiatic
death, then complete initiation...
Because THEY are twelve, my meditation stops at the twelfth TAROT CARD, which is THE HANGED
MAN. In the tarot deck there are fourteen picture cards and in the House of the Holy Spirit there are
fourteen cells and the fourteenth picture card is TEMPERANCEAh Then UNDERSTANDING
dawns, and all is clear to me. LIVING, I KNOW why I am here, I KNOW why, alone in this thirteenth
cell. I am here for several days, face to face with myself in an introspection which only the communal
meetings and the meals shared in common will break.
A chair, a table, a bed, a tiny cupboard and a wash basin,
there, that is MY cell. My heart furnishes it with the most
precious riches; my waiting fills it with HOPE. I have FAITH
and they grant me CHARITY. On my knees on the uneven
floor, my head resting on the edge of the table, I fold my
hands and I pray . . .
The great moments of my life - the good and those which
are not so good thoughts, words, acts, omissions, those
which were just and those which were not, all that came to
my lips in a Kyrie Eleison that occasionally my hand beat
my breast to the rhythm of a torturing "mea culpa". In these moments, the good accomplished, even
though others have judged it great, is swallowed up by the enormous whirlwind of the error, perhaps
serious or only slight, for which the conscience laments, until warned by the spiritual sadness and the
"mortal" regret' of the soul, the angel of pardon makes amends and touches with its dazzling wing, the
heart which repents. Oh! intense purification, the SUM TOTAL of these blessed hours, thou leavest
me dying of inward exhaustion, empty, naked, suddenly penetrated by an unknown irradiating force.
Thou art the time of the passion of the annunciation of celestial Easters. The golden dawn has

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followed the dark night, for if thou crucify us, immediately afterwards thou make us rise again.....
The Great Vigil! I was waiting for an exceptional evening, within a few hours of the unique events of
which I would be filled with wonder and I had prepared myself to the best of my ability before my
arrival, because that was the order received and ACCEPTED. Yet, my preparation had for its real
motive, to prepare a far greater one, a prelude to something else of which I MUST NOT THINK. I have
by an IMPERATIVE ORDER, TO CONCENTRATE MY ATTENTION ON THAT WHICH I DO EACH
MOMENT, whether it is to meditate on the THREE words which had been communicated to me and to
use them while moving, rising myself, sitting or while eating. In the BEGINNING it was extraordinarily
difficult, but perfection was not demanded. It sufficed to get as near to it as possible. THE EFFORT
BEING MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE SUCCESS as Father Rosencreutz insistently repeated to me
while easily leading me to my cell when I first arrived.

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The Great Vigil

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Conclusion

Today is the 6th of January, 1968, the day of the

Epiphany. "The Secret Houses of the RoseCroix" are finished; the time has arrived for a
necessary conclusion before which my pen,
alas, is lazy. It knows however, that basically
NEVER AGAIN shall such tales be given to it to
write. This is, perhaps, why it trails along slowly
in the pursuit of words, reflecting the nostalgia
which overshadows my soul at this moment.
NEVER AGAIN! This final ending was foreseen,
unavoidable. It crept, treacherous, on the sacred
soil of the high holy places, where the unknown
unveiled its mystery to my dazzled gaze. It was
concealed behind the days which have passed,
the days and then the hours and here it is,
victorious, invested with its "NEVER AGAIN"!
Yes, the time of similar discoveries is past for
me, but it has impregnated my being to the point
that the memory can at any time relive and
shout. It will "ALWAYS" be with me! At will, the
CLOUD OF KNOWLEDGE can recover again
my inner heaven and shine with its own sign which is the Rose and the Cross.
Other accounts, certainly, will later see the light of day just
as I am inspired, but they will be legendary, VISIONS and
my readers will know it. They know it already by this
conclusion. Nevertheless, TRUTH remains constant in that
which concerns the MESSAGE, and if the imagination then
works in the circumstances related, in the SETTING the
argument will remain AUTHENTIC and the knowledge
conveyed in this manner, will be real and permanent,
coming at times from "other places", from previous
meetings or even more recent ones, although less
exceptional in appearance and only by comparison. We will
thus have new discoveries to make together and when the
time comes, I will inform you of it.

Painting by Rohrig Carl W.

It is possible that "The Secret Houses of the Rose-Croix"

themselves may be placed by some in the series of these
future stories where reality will be allied with legend. SUCH
IS NOT THE CASE, but what does it matter! The result
alone is what matters and this manuscript stripped of its
descriptive and the emotional reactions of its author,
retains nevertheless, valuable testimony, or if one wishes a
thesis whose ideas can lead him who meditates on them to

fruitful conclusions.

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My role is finished; I was going to write "my mission". Yours now commences. "The Secret Houses of
the Rose-Croix" no longer belong to me BUT TO YOU. I transmit them to you as a great truth which
has been precious to me and which my memory will ever cherish. If this truth meets with YOURS, if it
goes to the heart of your inner self, it will then have attained its objective and, who knows,
rediscovered in you, its dwelling place, its "secret house", from which springs the flux of "your"
universe, of "your" world, of "your" reality. This trust which I have received, I now entrust to you. It was
a privilege for me, what shall it be for you? It is up to you to decide - although egoistically, I dream, I
hope, I would wish that your heart beats in harmony with mine on the PATH which together we travel
with our invisible guides who SO CLOSELY work for us in the SECRET HOUSES OF THE ROSECROIX.

Domain of the Rose-Croix

94 Villeneuve-Saint-George
Saturday 6th January 1968
Day of the Kings

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