I . . . have roses in my name, and make
All flowers glad to set their colour by.

I am a rose of Sharon,
    a lily of the valleys.

Like a lily among thorns
    is my darling among the young women.

The portal of the Rose Cross has been crossed. There is nothing you can do. You can not turn back death. However, the blood of the lamb can mark your door so that the Hand of Death will pass over.

Matthew 27:50-54 (NIV)
(50) And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit.
(51) At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook and the rocks split.
(52) The tombs broke open and the bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life.
(53) They came out of the tombs, and after Jesus’ resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many people.
(54) When the centurion and those with him who were guarding Jesus saw the earthquake and all that had happened, they were terrified, and exclaimed, “Surely he was the Son of God!”

When my daughter was seventeen, she disappeared from my life. I found her via my nephew, Shamus Dundon, Vicki Presco’s son. He would not tell me where she was. Vicki got angry at him for telling me my daughter had formed a secret bond with my kindred she never met – that I was at odds with. Heather Hanson knew about the rival biography, and her mother, Patrice Hanons, wanted her to be in it, it her dream for her daughter to be famous one day, she telling our daughter the famous artist ‘Rosamond’ was the key that would unlock the closed door to fame and monetary success. Heather, threw her father away. She believed my story about the Rose Cross was never going to see the light of day. After all, I am insane.

When I asked Heather why she formed a bond with my family who have opposed my creativity all my life, she said;

“Just because you don’t get along with them, doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“You don’t share the complex dynamics I share with my family. Of course it easy to get along with them. What about loyalty to your father? My kindred are telling you this is not important.”

My kindred and the ghost writer had captured my beautifuk daughter – and my unborn grandchild who was four months old in the womb.

“What will you name your child?” I asked my only child that came into my life when she was sixteen.

“If it is a girl, I will name her Lily-Rose after my grandmother and her sister.”

I understood Heather was workig my family, trying to usurp my miracle – that was once our miracle. When I met Bill Cornwell, I understood Heather had bonded with a man like my late father, and a man like my brother, Mark Presco, who hung a wooden swastika over his bed he made in a friend’s shop. He also made a Nazi giving a Heil Hitler salute.

Above we see Death carrying a Rose banner. This is the Immortal Rose. This is the Rose that protects one from Death, This is the Rosa Mundi.

Above is the Rose Mondt, that Godschalk Rosemont used to sign his name. He was a member of the Swan Brethren that worshipped the Sweet Lady and wore a rose pin with these words
Like a lily among thorns
    is my darling among the young women.

I have been warning you in this blog that I was reborn in the Spirit of the Jubilee Savior God-el, and all Christian-Republicans who make plans to take food from the hungry, and ignore the destitute, will lose their immortal soul. With Roneny and Ryan’s pldege to only tend to the un-needy, and ignore the %47 percent, comes the proof that I am a prophet a Son of God, who has come to judge the pretender-parasites who have latched on to the Words of God and His Go-el Redeemer in order to enright themselves at the expence of the widow and the hungry. In Romney and Ryan are the corrupted Roman wolves, Romulus and Remus. Upon them and their ilk I open the tombs and release the Wolves of Benjamin.

Above is the tomb of my ancestors in Berlin. They are buried in a cemetary full of creative people. I founded Royal Rosamond Presss in order to protect the Arts from the evangelical vultures who attack the Arts in order to gather evangelical votes. Every vote gathered in the name of the Lord of Roses, is hereby – cast into hell!

Mortal Death to the evil Republican party! God has let the self-righteous weeds grow high amonngst the humble golden grain so that He can better harvest them, get a good grasp – and cast them into the fire! They have elected themselves! In only this – have the done God’s work. His will – wiil be done. The Lord’s Prayer is all about the Jubilee.

Eternal Life to those who love the Forty Seven!

Arise by Brothers of the Lily and the Rose! Arise!

Jon Rosamond

Ainsworth “The Byrom Collection.” and Sacred Geometry

John Byrom appeared in one of William Ainsworth’s novels. He was a
Freemason and member of the Rosicrucians. In the Byrom Collection we
are seeing the first interest in sacred geometry. Did Byrom
read ‘Auriol’ and see himself in Cyprianus de Rougemont who has alas
emerged as the leading fictional character in the Rosy interests of
men and perhaps women who lived 150 years ago – and can be seen as
Dan Brown’s predecessors?

Ainsworth is considered the father of of ‘historic-fiction’ he the
mentor and friend of Charles Dickens. These group of men have been
described as “fringe Masons” as can so many authors of today, who
are that much more credible with the revelations I bring forth….a
descendant of the non-fictional Rougemonts?

“Build the field of dreams, and they will come.”

Consider the initials of my late sister, Christine Rosamond….in a
mirror, and the meaning of her name ‘Christ Rose of the World’. I
was told by a Seer I go each night to the Cathedral of the Souls
where I have a reserved seat at a great oval table….and there is a
hooded figure standing behind me.

Who named the Brother and the Sister, but Rosemary Rosamond,
daughter of Mary Magdalene Rosamond and Royal Rosamond, son of
William Rosamond and Ida Lousiiana Rose.

If my daughter, Heather had a daughter, she was going to name her
Lily-Rose.

“The Rosicrucian Rose was a rose in the center of a cross, just as
the Compass Rose was a rose in the center of the cross of the four
cardinal directions. There was also a connection of the lily with
the mythos. A convention of the compass was that the lily (fleur-de-
lis) was used on the compass to designate north.”

Jon Presco

Copyright 2004

“Many drawings in the “Byrom Collection” dated back to the
Elizabethan period. Only 51 out of the 686 appeared to be plans for
the various Elizabethan theaters including The Rose, and the Globe.
However, as Hancox continued to study the drawings she became
convinced the larger part of them were concerned with the
Elizabethan theatres. She found evidence of an esoteric, “sacred
geometry” in the plans of the theaters, and evidence of a connection
with a group that included John Dee, Robert Dudley, Philip Sidney
and other prominent personalities from that period.”

“An enthusiastic collector of books, Byrom was also a good friend of
Robert Thyer, who became Librarian of Chetham’s in 1732. Indeed,
Byrom frequently acted as an agent for the Library, purchasing books
at London auctions.

“It is the old mythos about invisibility that was always associated
with the Rosy Cross Brothers and their college. This is thus a chain
of tradition leading from the Rosicrucian movement to the
antecedents of the Royal Society. We know who these members of
the “Invisible College” were. They included John Wilkins, Robert
Boyle, William Petty, Christopher Wren, Theodore Haak, John Wallis,
John Evelyn, Robert Hooke, and Jonathan Goddard. What we do not know
is why Boyle chose to designate them by this particular term.
However, some of the drawings in the “Byrom Collection” were
identified by Hancox as being identical with drawings she found in a
collection of Boyle’s works in the Library of the British Museum.

James Crossley, born in 1800, was a Yorkshireman from Halifax. At
the age of 16 on leaving school he came to Manchester and was
articled to the firm of Thomas Ainsworth, father of the novelist
William Harrison Ainsworth. Several of Harrison Ainsworth’s novels
have a Manchester background notably The Manchester Rebels which
tells the story of Prince Charles Edward’s uprising and visit to
Manchester. This novel also features John Byrom, the author of the
carol “Christians Awake”, and his daughter Beppy Byrom. Ainsworth
and Crossley kept up a lengthy correspondence throughout their life.

James Crossley began collecting books before he was out of his
teens. His interests were literary, specially Latin poets and early
English writers. He was an early contributor to the Edinburgh based
Blackwoods Magazine. He was a supporter of several local
societies. The Chetham Society, still flourishing today, Crossley
claimed in old age, was founded in 1843 in his house. In 1848 he
was elected President of the Society. He edited a number of volumes
for the Society and offered help to many other contributors. He was
a ffeofee of Chethams Hospital and Library and gave them such
support that on the death of the Librarian he took control of the
Library and in 1877 was appointed Honorary Librarian.”

http://tinyurl.com/72qq9

The 17th century yielded the familiar names of Pepys and John Evelyn
but when we reached the 18th century we found diarists from a much
wider social spectrum, from a courtier (Fanny Burney) to a small
town shopkeeper and a farmer’s wife from the Welsh borders. We were
intrigued by the differences in their lives, such as the ways in
which they celebrated Christmas. Particularly exciting was the diary
of Beppy Byrom which Pauline tracked down from a Manchester library.
It was the record of a few weeks in 1745 when Bonnie Prince Charlie
arrived in Manchester. Beppy’s family had Jacobite sympathies and
her experiences during the rebellion and her meeting with the Prince
made riveting reading.

http://freemasonry.bcy.ca/texts/reviews/byrom_collection.html
http://freemasonry.bcy.ca/anti-masonry/astrology_link.html

Jon Presco

Romulus and Remus are the twin brothers and central characters of Rome’s foundation myth. Their mother was Rhea Silvia, daughter to Numitor, king of Alba Longa. Before their conception, Numitor’s brother Amulius had seized power, killed Numitor’s male heirs and forced Rhea Silvia to become a Vestal Virgin, sworn to chastity. Rhea Silvia conceived the twins by the god Mars, or by the demi-god Hercules; once the twins were born, Amulius had them abandoned to die in the river Tiber. They were saved by a series of miraculous interventions: the river carried them to safety, a she-wolf found and suckled them, and a woodpecker fed them. A shepherd and his wife found and fostered them to manhood, as simple shepherds. The twins, still ignorant of their true origins, were natural leaders. Each acquired many followers. When they discovered the truth of their birth, they killed Amulius and restored Numitor to his throne. Rather than wait to inherit Alba Longa they chose to found a new city.

I am a rose[b] of Sharon,
a lily of the valleys.

He
2 Like a lily among thorns
is my darling among the young women.

She
3 Like an apple[c] tree among the trees of the forest
is my beloved among the young men.
I delight to sit in his shade,
and his fruit is sweet to my taste.
4 Let him lead me to the banquet hall,
and let his banner over me be love.
5 Strengthen me with raisins,
refresh me with apples,
for I am faint with love.
6 His left arm is under my head,
and his right arm embraces me.
7 Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you
by the gazelles and by the does of the field:
Do not arouse or awaken love
until it so desires.
8 Listen! My beloved!
Look! Here he comes,
leaping across the mountains,
bounding over the hills.
9 My beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag.
Look! There he stands behind our wall,
gazing through the windows,
peering through the lattice.
10 My beloved spoke and said to me,
“Arise, my darling,
my beautiful one, come with me.
11 See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
12 Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
is heard in our land.
13 The fig tree forms its early fruit;
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
my beautiful one, come with me.”

He
14 My dove in the clefts of the rock,
in the hiding places on the mountainside,
show me your face,
let me hear your voice;
for your voice is sweet,
and your face is lovely.
15 Catch for us the foxes,
the little foxes
that ruin the vineyards,
our vineyards that are in bloom.
She
16 My beloved is mine and I am his;
he browses among the lilies.
17 Until the day breaks
and the shadows flee,
turn, my beloved,
and be like a gazelle
or like a young stag
on the rugged hills.[d]

Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us lodge in the villages. Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see whether the vine hath budded, whether the vine-blossom be opened, and the pomegranates be in flower; there will I give thee my love. The mandrake give forth fragrance, and at our doors are all manner of precious fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.

The German capital city of Berlin is home to many historical cemeteries. In these final resting places are the graves of many famous Germans and other prominent people. The photos in this section show both the cemeteries and some of the notable graves and memorials found there. (Also see Famous Graves in Germany.)
Photos: Historical Cemeteries in Berlin, Germany
The graves of famous and not-so-famous Berliners
1. Kirchhof der französisch reformierte Gemeinde: Chausseestraße 127, Berlin-Mitte (French Cemetery)
A. Grave of Peter Louis Ravené (1) – The elaborate resting place of a distinguished Berlin businessman and supporter of the arts
B. Grave of Peter Louis Ravené (2) – A wider view that shows more of the cemetery
C. Grave of Peter Louis Ravené (3) – Detail view: The bronze cherubs adorning his memorial
2. Dorotheenstädtischer und Friedrichswerder Friedhof: Chausseestraße 126, Berlin-Mitte (Dorotheenstadt cemetery)
A. Grave of Gustav Blaeser – The sculptor who created the bronze sculptures seen on Peter Louis’ grave
B. Grave of F. A. Stüler – The architect who designed the Ravené tomb
3. Kirchhof II der franz. Gemeinde: Liesenstraße 7, Berlin (French Cemetery II)
A. Graves of Theodor Fontane and Leopold A.F. Arends – The second French Cemetery in Berlin is the resting place of the German writer Fontane and stenography inventor Arends.
B. Grave of Theodor Fontane – A detailed view of the Fontane gravestone
4. Waldfriedhof Heerstraße: Trakehnerallee 1, Berlin-Charlottenburg (Forest Cemetery)
Grave of Horst Buchholz – German actor who appeared in several Hollywood films

The Cemetery of Dorotheenstadt, Berlin
Visit the Resting Place of Bertolt Brecht and Many More Famous Berliners
By Birge Amondson, About.com Guide
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Till Krech

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The cemetery of Dorotheenstadt is located in the heart of Berlin. It is one of the most interesting cemeteries in Germany, and the final resting place of German playwright Bertolt Brecht.
The cemetery was established in 1762, and although it has only 300 graves, more German artists, philosophers, and politicians are buried here than anywhere else. The tombstones of this cemetery read like the Who’s Who of Berlin’s intellectual and artistic elite.
Stroll through the cemetery which is shaded by giant trees, and you’ll discover the resting places of the philosophers Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel and Johann Gottlieb Fichte, of writers like Heinrich Mann and Arnold Zweig, or the former German President, Johannes Rau.
Highlights
The highlight of the cemetery of Dorotheenstadt is the grave of Bertolt Brecht and his wife, the actress Helene Weigel.
The couple lived in the house right next to the cemetery. Fans of Brecht often leave red carnations on his grave, a symbol for his political views.
No flowers, but expensive cigars adorn the headstone of German dramatist and theatre director Heiner Müller, a trademark of this German artist.
Another very impressive tomb here is the one of Karl Friedrich Schinkel, the German architect who designed many neoclassicist buildings in Berlin.
He did not only build the landmarks Gendarmenmarkt and the Old Museum, but he also designed his own gravestone.

Helene Weigel (12 May 1900 – 6 May 1971) was a distinguished German actress. She was the second wife of Bertolt Brecht, and together they had a son Stefan Brecht (3 November 1924-13 April 2009) and daughter Barbara Brecht-Schall (born 28 October 1930).
[edit] Life and career
Weigel was born in Vienna, Austria, the daughter of Leopoldine (née Pollak) and Siegfried Weigel, a lawyer. Her family was Jewish.[1] She became a Communist Party member from 1930 and Artistic Director of the Berliner Ensemble after her husband Brecht’s death in 1956. Among the Brecht roles she is most noted for creating: Pelagea Vlassova, The Mother of 1932, Antigone in Brecht’s version of the Greek tragedy, the title role in his civil war play Señora Carrar’s Rifles and, most famously, the iconic Mother Courage.
Between 1933 and 1947, as a refugee from Hitler’s Germany, she was seldom able to pursue her acting craft – even during the family’s six-year stay in Los Angeles. It was only with the foundation of the Berliner Ensemble in the German Democratic Republic in 1949 that the brilliance of Brecht’s theatre began to be recognised worldwide. She died in 1971, still at the helm of the company, and many of the roles that she created with Brecht are still in the theatre’s repertoire today.

Hegel was the first major philosopher to regard history and the Philosophy of History as important. Hegel’s Historicism is the position that all human societies (and all human activities such as science, art or philosophy) are defined by their history, and that their essence can be sought only through understanding that. According to Hegel, to understand why a person is the way he is, you must put that person in a society; and to understand that society, you must understand its history, and the forces that shaped it. He is famously quoted as claiming that “Philosophy is the history of philosophy”.

Hegel also discussed the concept of alienation in his work, the idea of something that is part of us and within us and yet seems in some way foreign or alien or hostile. He introduced the figure of the “unhappy soul”, who prays to a God whom he believes to be all-powerful, all-knowing and all-good, and who sees himself in contrast as powerless, ignorant and base. Hegel submits that this is wrong because we are effectively part of God (or Geist or Mind), and thus possessed of all good qualities as well as bad.
Hegel’s thought is often considered the summit of early 19th Century German Idealism. Despite the suppression (and even banning at one point) of his philosophy by the Prussian right-wing, and its firm rejection by the left-wing, Hegel’s influence has been immense, both within philosophy and in the other sciences. It would come to have a profound impact on many future philosophical schools (not least those that opposed his ideas), such as Existentialism, Marxism, Nationalism, Fascism, Historicism, British Idealism and Logical Positivism and the Analytic Philosophy movement.

John Heartfield was born “Helmut Herzfeld” on 19 June 1891 in Berlin-Schmargendorf. His father was Franz Herzfeld, a socialist writer, and his mother was Alice (née Stolzenburg), a textile worker and political activist.
Eight years later in 1899, Helmut, his brother, Wieland Herzfelde, and his two sisters, Lotte and Hertha, were abandoned in the woods by their parents.[1] For a while, the four children resided with an uncle in the small town of Aigens.
Heartfield, along with his brother, Wieland Herzfelde (born Wieland Herzfeld) and George Grosz, launched the publishing house, Malik-Verlag in 1917.
In 1908, he studied art in Munich at the Royal Bavarian Arts and Crafts School. Two commercial designers, Albert Weisgerber and Ludwig Hohlwein, were early influences.
[edit] First World War
On the back of a photograph taken in 1912,[2] he wrote his name “Helmut.” In 1917, while living in Berlin, he Anglicized his name from “Helmut Herzfeld” to the English “John Heartfield” as a protest against anti-British fervor sweeping Germany.[3] In 1916, crowds in the street were shouting, “Gott strafe England!” (“May God punish England!”).
In 1920, John Heartfield and George Grosz experimented with pasting pictures together, a form of art later named “photomontage.”
In January, 1918, Heartfield joined the newly founded German Communist Party (KPD).[4]
In 1917, Heartfield became a member of Berlin Club Dada.[5] Heartfield later became active in the Dada movement, helping to organize the Erste Internationale Dada-Messe (First International Dada Fair) in Berlin in 1920. Dadaists were the young lions of the German art scene, provocateurs who disrupted public art gatherings and ridiculed the participants. They labeled traditional art trivial and bourgeois. Heartfield was a member of a circle of German titans that included Edwin Piscator, Bertolt Brecht, Hannah Hoch, and a host of others.
Heartfield built theater sets for Erwin Piscator and Bertolt Brecht. Using Heartfield’s minimal props and stark stages, Brecht interrupted his plays at key junctures to have the audience to be part of the action and not to lose themselves in it.
[edit] 1919-39

Heartfield’s The Hand has 5 Fingers.
In 1919, Heartfield was dismissed from the Reichswehr film service because of his support for the strike that followed the assassination of Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg. With George Grosz, he founded Die Pleite, a satirical magazine.
Soon after Heartfield met Bertolt Brecht in 1924. John Heartfield is buried steps from Bertolt Brecht’s Home.
Though he was a prolific producer of stage sets and book jackets, Heartfield’s main form of expression was photomontage. Heartfield produced the first political photomontages.[6] He mainly worked for two publications: the daily Die Rote Fahne and the weekly Arbeiter-Illustrierte-Zeitung (AIZ), the latter of which published the works for which Heartfield is best remembered.
In the Museum of Modern Art in New York hangs a George Grosz Montage entitled, “The Engineer Heartfield.”
During the 1920s, Heartfield produced a great number of photomontages, many of which were reproduced as dust jackets for books such as his montage for Upton Sinclair’s The Millennium.
Heartfield lived in Berlin until April 1933, when the National Socialists took power. On Good Friday, the SS broke into his apartment, and Heartfield escaped by jumping from his balcony. He walked around the Sudeten Mountains to Czechoslovakia.
In 1934 he montaged four bloody axes tied together to form a swastika to mock The Old Slogan in the “New” Reich: Blood and Iron (AIZ, Prague, March 8, 1934).[7]
In 1938, he was forced once again to flee before the Nazi Army—this time to England—before the imminent German occupation of Czechoslovakia. He was interned for a time in England as an enemy alien. His health began to deteriorate. Afterwards, he lived for Hampstead, England. His brother Wieland was refused an English residency permit in 1939 and, with his family, left for the United States.
[edit] Postwar period
Following the war, Heartfield settled in East Germany East Berlin and worked closely with theater directors such as Benno Besson and Wolfgang Langhoff at Berliner Ensemble and Deutsches Theater.
He was greeted with suspicion by the Stasi (East German Secret Police) because of the length of his stay in England. He was denied admission into the East German Akademie der Künste (Academy of the Arts). He was unable to work as an artist and was denied health benefits. He was suspected of “collaboration” by the Stasi because of the amount of time he had lived in England and because his dentist was under suspicion.
Due to the intervention of Bertoldt Brecht and Stefan Heym, Heartfield was formally admitted to the East German Akademie der Kúnste (Academy of the Arts) in 1956. Although he subsequently produced some montages warning of the threat of nuclear war, he was never as prolific again.
In 1967, he visited Britain and began preparing a retrospective exhibition of his work, “photomontages”, which was subsequently completed by his widow Gertrude and the Deutsche Akademie der Künste, and shown at the ICA in London in 1969.
John Heartfield died on April 26, 1968 in East Berlin, German Democratic Republic.
In 2005, the Tate Gallery, Britain held an exhibition of his photomontage pieces.
After Gertrude Heartfield’s death, the East German Akademie der Künste took possession of all of Heartfield’s surviving works. When the West German Akademie der Künste absorbed the East German Akademie der Künste, the Heartfield Archive became the property of the West German Akademie der Künste.
From April 15 to July 6, 1993, the second floor of the Museum of Modern Art, MOMA, in New York City was the American venue for an exhibition of Heartfield’s original montages. The show was reviewed in The New York Times.[8]
INTERMEAN

I

THE TOMB OF THE ROSICRUCIAN

On the night of the 1st of March, 1800, and at a late hour, a man, wrapped in a large horseman’s cloak, and of strange and sinister appearance, entered an old deserted house in the neighbourhood of Stepney-green. He was tall, carried himself very erect, and seemed in the full vigour of early manhood; but his features had a worn and ghastly look, as if bearing the stamp of long-indulged and frightful excesses, while his dark gleaming eyes gave him an expression almost diabolical.
This person had gained the house from a garden behind it, and now stood in a large dismantled hall, from which a broad oaken staircase, with curiously-carved banisters, led to a gallery, and hence to the upper chambers of the habitation. Nothing could be more dreary than the aspect of the place. The richly moulded ceiling was festooned with spiders’ webs, and in some places had fallen in heaps upon the floor; the glories of the tapestry upon the walls were obliterated by damps; the squares and black and white marble, with which the hall was paved, were loosened, and quaked beneath the footsteps; the wide and empty fireplace yawned like the mouth of a cavern; the bolts of the closed windows were rusted in their sockets; and the heaps of dust before the outer door proved that long years had elapsed since any one had passed through it.
Taking a dark lantern from beneath his cloak, the individual in question gazed for a moment around him, and then, with a sardonic smile playing upon his features, directed his steps towards a room on the right, the door of which stood open.
This chamber, which was large and cased with oak, was wholly unfurnished, like the hall, and in an equally dilapidated condition. The only decoration remaining on its walls was the portrait of a venerable personage in the cap and gown of Henry the Eighth’s time, painted against a panel — a circumstance which had probably saved it from destruction and beneath it, fixed in another panel, a plate of brass, covered with mystical characters and symbols, and inscribed with the name Cyprianus de Rougemont, Fra. R.C. The same name likewise appeared upon a label beneath the portrait, with the date, 1550.
Pausing before the portrait, the young man threw the light of the lantern full upon it, and revealed features somewhat resembling his own in form, but of a severe and philosophic cast. In the eyes alone could be discerned the peculiar and terrible glimmer which distinguished his own glances. After regarding the portrait for some time fixedly, he thus addressed it:
“Dost hear me, old ancestor?” he cried. “I, thy descendant, Cyprian de Rougemont, call upon thee to point out where thy gold is hidden? I know that thou wert a brother of the Rosy Cross — one of the illuminati — and didst penetrate the mysteries of nature, and enter the region of light. I know also, that thou wert buried in this house with a vast treasure; but though I have made diligent search for it, and others have searched before me, thy grave has never yet been discovered! Listen to me! Methought Satan appeared to me in a dream last night, and bade me come hither, and I should find what I sought. The conditions he proposed were, that I should either give him my own soul, or win him that of Auriol Darcy. I assented. I am here. Where is thy treasure?”
After a pause, he struck the portrait with his clenched hand, exclaiming in a loud voice:
“Dost hear me, I say, old ancestor? I call on thee to give me thy treasure. Dost hear, I say?”
And he repeated the blow with greater violence.
Disturbed by the shock, the brass plate beneath the picture started from its place, and fell to the ground.
“What is this?” cried Rougemont, gazing into the aperture left by the plate. “Ha! — my invocation has been heard!”
And, snatching up the lantern, he discovered, at the bottom of a little recess, about two feet deep, a stone, with an iron ring in the centre of it. Uttering a joyful cry, he seized the ring, and drew the stone forward without difficulty, disclosing an open space beyond it.
“This, then,’ is the entrance to my ancestor’s tomb,” cried Rougemont; “there can be no doubt of it. The old Rosicrucian has kept his secret well; but the devil has helped me to wrest it from him. And now to procure the necessary implements, in case, as is not unlikely, I should experience further difficulty.”
With this, he hastily quitted the room, but returned almost immediately with a mallet, a lever, and a pitchfork; armed with which and the lantern, he crept through the aperture. This done, he found himself at the head of a stone staircase, which he descended, and came to the arched entrance of a vault. The door, which was of stout oak, was locked, but holding up the light towards it, he read the following inscription:
POST C.C.L. ANNOS PATEBO, 1550.
“In two hundred and fifty years I shall open!” cried Rougemont, “and the date 1550 — why, the exact time is arrived. Old Cyprian must have foreseen what would happen, and evidently intended to make me his heir. There was no occasion for the devil’s interference. And see, the key is in the lock. So!” And he turned it, and pushing against the door with some force, the rusty hinges gave way, and it fell inwards.
From the aperture left by the fallen door, a soft and silvery light, streamed forth, and, stepping forward, Rougemont found himself in a spacious vault, from the ceiling of which hung a
large globe of crystal, containing in its heart a little flame, which diffused a radiance gentle as that of the moon, around, This, then, was the ever-burning lamp of the Rosicrucians, and Rougemont gazed at if with astonishment. Two hundred and fifty years had elapsed since that wondrous flame had been lighted, and yet it burnt on brightly as ever. Hooped round the globe was a serpent with its tail in its mouth — an emblem of eternity — wrought in purest gold; while above it were a pair of silver wings, in allusion to the soul. Massive chains of the more costly metal, fashioned like twisted snakes, served as suspenders to the lamp.
But Rougemont’s astonishment at this marvel quickly gave way to other feelings, and he gazed around the vault with greedy eyes.
It was a septilateral chamber, about eight feet high built of stone, and supported by beautifully groined arches. The surface of the masonry was as smooth and fresh as if the chisel had only just left it.
In six of the corners were placed large chests, ornamented with ironwork of the most exquisite workmanship, and these Rougemont’s imagination pictured as filled with inexhaustible treasure; while in the seventh corner, near the door, was a beautiful little piece of monumental sculpture in white marble, representing two kneeling and hooded figures, holding a veil between them, which partly concealed the entrance to a small recess. On one of the chests opposite the monument just described stood a strangely formed bottle and a cup of antique workmanship, both incrusted with gems.
The walls were covered with circles, squares and diagrams, and in some places were ornamented with grotesque carvings. In the centre of the vault was a round altar of black marble, covered with a plate of gold, on which Rougemont read the following inscription:
Hoc universi compendium unius mihi sepulcrum feci.
“Here, then, old Cyprian lies,” he cried.
And, prompted by some irresistible impulse, he seized the altar by the upper rim, and overthrew it. The heavy mass of marble fell with a thundering crash, breaking asunder the flag beneath it. It might be the reverberation of the vaulted roof, but a deep groan seemed to reproach the young man for his sacrilege. Undeterred, however, by this warning, Rougemont placed the point of the lever between the interstices of the broken stone, and, exerting all his strength, speedily raised the fragments, and laid open the grave.
Within it, in the garb he wore in life, with his white beard streaming to his waist, lay the unconfined body of his ancestor, Cyprian de Rougemont. The corpse had evidently been carefully embalmed, and the features were unchanged by decay. Upon the breast, with the hands placed over it, lay a large book, bound in black vellum, and fastened with brazen clasps. Instantly possessing himself of this mysterious looking volume, Rougemont knelt upon the nearest chest, and opened it. But he was disappointed in his expectation. All the pages he examined were filled with cabalistic characters, which he was totally unable to decipher.
At length, however, he chanced upon One page, the import of which he comprehended, and he remained for some time absorbed in its contemplation, while an almost fiendish smile played upon his features.
“Aha!” he exclaimed, closing the volume, “I see now the cause of my extraordinary dream. My ancestor’s wondrous power was of infernal origin — the result………………