AS SOON AS HE ARRIVED AT THE HOTEL, Greg quietly reflected on the Widow's words.
Apparently, this coven of free men, though truly prisoners of their conscience, was willing to offer him an opportunity in exchange for his silence. If he rejected their demands, including that of a splendid future with Giovanna — something he didn't care about — he risked being murdered, just as they had killed his fellow workers. In truth, he wasn't willing to risk his life simply to contradict them.
On the other hand, he felt curious— he wanted to know what ancient secret lay hidden behind the stones of time, God, and the Liberal Arts. As for the members he had met in the lodge, so far they weren't as terrible and bloodthirsty as he had imagined, but there were some obscure details in their methods that still made him uneasy, such as the primitive practice of cutting out their victims' tongues, as well as the condemnatory graffiti written on the walls.
He hoped, however, to find some light at the end of the charade that Freemasonry represented, a solution to the moral problems of the soul. He hoped to learn something good from it all and knew he would rise to the occasion, even if only to show Balkis that he could trust him, as much or more than the chameleonic Umbert Monroe.
Greg was convinced he could pass the trial by fire and thus join the builders' guild. Because the opportunity to gain access to divine mysteries, to authentic magic— not the kind practiced covertly by parlor magicians dedicated to fraud and deception — was something every man or woman dreams of at least once in their life. Knowing the secret of alchemy was part of the initiate's learning, but at the same time, it heightened their fear of the unknown.
He never tried to deceive himself: the price, this unknown offering or tribute that he would have to pay to drink from the source of Wisdom, would be so high that it would shake the foundations of his faith.
He got out of bed and went to the cabinet where he kept the recording and Fulcanelli's work. He took the stack of unbound papers from the safe and sat in the chair at the desk. Having read the book about six years ago and recently, on the plane, he skimmed through it to see if there was anything in those pages that interested him. He discovered a few paragraphs that caught his attention, including a phrase about the Virgin Mary:
— ... stripped of its symbolic veil, it is nothing more than the personification of the primitive substance that the Creative Principle of all that exists employed to carry out its designs... —
The Mystery of the Cathedrals, Fulcanelli.
He also analyzed the unique epistle that was customarily read in the Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Paris, at the Mass celebrated on the day of the Immaculate Conception, a text taken from the Book of Proverbs, in which it is said that Wisdom remained with God long before the creation of the Universe.
From these paragraphs, he deduced that the Virgin Mary, for the alchemists, represented the primordial essence of divine knowledge. It was like giving a face to the consciousness of knowledge.
Before his eyes, philosophical passages imbued with metaphors, artistic and ontological descriptions not devoid of a certain flavor and heresy, unfolded. Behind each story lay a metaphor, behind each sentence, a reason for reflection. Fulcanelli expressed himself in a hermetic language that only alchemists could decipher: the language of the angels. Despite the strain he was subjected to, his mind found a certain coherence between the writer's words and the rigid customs of the lodge, especially in the conclusion of The Mystery of the Cathedrals, in which the French metaphysician explained in detail and faithfully the steps of the initiate, encouraging him to climb the steps that lead to knowledge, a place where, thanks to the faculties of scrutiny, rationality, and introspection, he could assume the unbreakable will he would need if he were to endure the last and most difficult of tasks: to despise the vanities of the world and draw near to those who suffer.
Then he read aloud the last paragraphs of the book:
"The anonymous and mute disciple of Eternal Nature, apostle of eternal Charity, will remain faithful to his vow of silence. In Science, in Good, the neophyte, forever, must... BE SILENT."
He analyzed the sentence, pondering it throughout his waking hours. Finally, overcome by sleep, he let his spirit plunge into the depths. The feeling was one of freedom.