Then the meadow is at peace and the air around me still and above me the clear light of the stars. And I look and see that I am less than one step from the little gate in the wall and the path that leads steeply down and away from Elsbethstein.
And only then do I realise how close I was to that boundary which, according to Theodor Gärtner’s words, eternally separates Elsbethstein from the world of Black Isaïs. For although I imagined I was standing still, the demon had drawn me to her and it was only at the last moment that I was held back and saved by the grace of the Baphomet. Thanks be to him that I have been found worthy! – –
I see Theodor Gärtner once again – or is it my assistant Gardner? They seem to have become one man who calls me brother.
I hear him speak, and although many of his words are drowned in the upsurge of exultation within me, yet I can understand all that he says and commands. With an inner eye I see the golden chain of the creatures of light stretching out in front of me, and one link is opened to join with me, the new link. And I know: this is no symbolic rite reflecting a higher reality, such as those performed as “mysteries” by men in the shadow realm of earth; this is living, creative, life-giving action in another world. – “You will be called, chosen, accepted, John Dee!” – the song of joy pulsates with the steady rhythm of my blood.
“Spread out your arms, o upright man!”
I spread my arms wide.
Immediately hands appear from the right and from the left which grasp mine and I am filled with contentment as the circuit is closed. At the same time I feel deep within me the reason for this contentment: anyone who is part of the chain is invulnerable; any blow that is struck at him, any affliction that is visited upon him strikes countless others in the chain at the same time. And so all the power in the blow, all the weight of the affliction, all poison, physical and spiritual, is warded off with a thousandfold strength ... Whilst I am still exulting in the joy of eternal belonging, eternal union, a voice rings out in the hall saying:
“Lay aside your pilgrim’s garments.”
I happily obey. The clothes I wore on my pilgrimage are still scorched from the fire in my earthly house; they peel away from me. – A brief moment of surprise and reflection: that is how it should be at journey’s end, no matter where the journey led. The clothes of Princess Shotokalungin also peeled away ...
At that moment I am struck a gentle blow on the forehead, as if from a light hammer. It does not hurt, indeed, it is a pleasant sensation, for suddenly rays of light spring from the back of my head, endless rays of light that fill the sky with stars ... and to look up into this sea of stars is bliss.
Consciousness returns, hesitantly, against its will almost.
I am wrapped in white vestments; a beam of light strikes my face from below; I look down and see that my habit, too, bears a glittering golden rose on the breast.
My friend Gärtner is by me and all around in the high, spectral hall is a soft humming, as of swarms of bees.
Radiant white figures surround me, approaching from afar. The humming becomes clearer, more rhythmical, more vibrant. A dark melody breaks into words:
Men of the Rose are we,
Chosen of old.
Darkness repelled have we;
Light shineth gold.
Forged is the Spear for thee,
Bright is its blade;
Danger it wards from thee,
Comes to thine aid.
Joined in the Ring, now we
Open the Chain;
Forge the new link, then we
Close it again.
Hail to the victor who
Set himself free.
We raise our anthem, to
Worship with thee.
How many friends are with you! I think to myself; and in the night of fear you did not know where to look for aid!
For the first time I feel the desire to share my feelings, a desire that weaves itself into the delicate veil of melancholy that once more surrounds me and whose origins I cannot fathom.
But, as I sink into these tentative reflections, Gärtner takes me by the hand and leads me back, by paths I do not remember, to the garden and the low gate into the courtyard. Then my old friend stops and points to the flowerbeds that give off a warm scent:
“I am Gärtner; I am Gardner. That is my profession, although you saw in me the chemist, the alchymist. This is only one rose of many that I have lifted from the rubble and planted in the open beds.”
We step through the gate in the wall and stop in front of the tower.
My friend continues:
“You were always versed in the art of making gold” – a smile crosses his features, indulgent and at the same time with a gentle hint of mocking reproach that makes me cast my eyes down – “and so we have chosen for you a task that will allow you to do what your heart has longed for from the very beginning.”
We climb the tower. It is the tower of Elsbethstein and yet it is not. Slowly my spirit accustoms itself to the interplay of symbols and higher meaning in this realm where I now belong, in my new home.
We climb the broad and darkly gleaming porphyry steps of the spiral staircase to the familiar alchymist’s laboratory. I am strangely moved to find all this splendour where once stood the narrow old decaying wooden ladder. The laboratory is an immense vault; the glittering stars follow their
