Count St.Germain - Most Holy Trinosophia: Part 3 Section 1 lyrics

IT is in the retreat of criminals in the dungeons of the Inquisition that your friend writes these lines which are to serve for your instruction. At the thought of the inestimable advantages which this document of friendship will procure for you, the horrors of a long and little deserved captivity seem to be mitigated . . . It gives me pleasure to think that while surrounded by guards and encumbered by chains, a slave may still be able to raise his friend above the mighty, the monarchs who rule this place of exile. My dear Philochatus, you are about to penetrate into the sanctuary of the sublime sciences; my hand is about to raise for you the impenetrable veil which hides from the eyes of common men the tabernacle, the sanctuary wherein the Eternal has lodged the secrets of nature, kept for a few that are privileged, the few Elect whom His omnipotence created that they may SEE, and seeing, may soar after Him in the vast expanse of His Glory and deflect upon mankind one of the Rays that shine round about His golden Throne. If your friend's example proves a salutary lesson for you, I shall bless the long years of tribulation which the wicked have made me suffer. Two stumbling blocks equally dangerous will constantly present themselves to you. One of them would outrage the sacred rights of every individual. It is Misuse of the power which God will have entrusted to you; the other, which would bring ruin upon you, is Indiscretion. . . Both are born of the same mother, both owe their existence to pride. Human frailty nourishes them; they are blind; their mother leads them. With her aid these two Monsters carry their foul breath even into the hearts of the Lord's Elect. Woe unto him who misuses the gifts of heaven in order to serve his pa**ions. The Almighty Hand that made the elements subject to him, would break him like a fragile reed. An eternity of torments could hardly expiate his crime. The Infernal Spirits would smile with contempt at the tears of the one whose menacing voice had so often made them tremble in the bosom of their fiery depths. It is not for you, Philochatus, that I sketch this dreadful picture. The friend of humanity will never become its persecutor . . . The precipice, my son, which I fear for you, is Indiscretion, the imperious craving to inspire astonishment and admiration. God leaves to men the task of punishing the imprudent minister who permits the eye of the profane to look into the mysterious sanctuary. Oh Philochatus, may my sorrows be ever present in your mind. I, too, have known happiness, was showered with the blessings of heaven and surrounded by power such as the human mind cannot conceive. Commanding the genii that guide the world, happy in the happiness that I created, I enjoyed within the bosom of an adored family the felicity which the Eternal accords to His beloved children. One moment destroyed everything. I spoke, and it all vanished like a cloud. O my son, follow not in my steps . . . Let no vain desire to shine before men bring you, too, to disaster . . . Think of me, your friend, writing to you from this dungeon, my body broken by torture! Remember, Philochatus, that the hand which traces these characters bears the marks of the chains which weigh it down. God has punished me, but what have I done to the cruel men that persecute me? What right have they to interrogate the minister of the Eternal? They ask me what are the proofs of my mission. My witnesses are prodigies, and my virtues are my defenders—a clean life, a pure heart. But what am I saying! Have I still the right to complain? I spoke, and the Lord delivered me, deprived of strength and power, to the furies of greedy fanaticism. The arm which once could overthrow an army can today hardly lift the chains that weigh it down. I wander. I should give thanks to eternal Justice . . . The avenging God has pardoned His repentant child. An aerial spirit has entered through the walls which separate me from the world; he has shown himself to me resplendent with light and has determined the duration of my captivity. Within two years my sufferings will end. My torturers upon entering my cell will find it empty and, soon purified by the four elements, pure as the genius of fire, I shall resume the glorious station to which Divine goodness has raised me. But how distant as yet is this time! How long two years seem to one who spends them in suffering and humiliation. Not content with making me undergo the most horrible agony, my oppressors, to torture me further have devised still surer, still more revolting means. They have brought infamy on my head, have made my name a thing of disgrace. The children of men recoil in terror when by chance they approach the walls of my prison; they fear lest some deadly vapour escape through the narrow slit that reluctantly admits a ray of light to my cell. That, O Philochatus, is the cruelest of all blows that they could bear down upon me. I know not whether I shall be able to get this document into your hands . . . I judge the difficulty I shall have in contriving for it a way out of this place of torture by those I have had in order to write it. Deprived of all help, I myself have composed the agents I needed. The flame of my lamp, some coins, and a few chemical substances overlooked by the scrutinizing eyes of my tormentors have yielded the colours which adorn this fruit of a prisoner's leisure. Profit by the instructions of your unhappy friend! They are so clear that danger exists for them to fall into hands other than yours . . . Remember only that all of it is to serve you . . . an obscure line, an omitted character would prevent your lifting the veil which the hand of the Creator has placed over the Sphinx. Adieu, Philochatus! Do not mourn me. The clemency of the Eternal equals His justice. At the first mysterious a**embly you will see your friend again. I salute you in the name of God. Soon I shall give the kiss of peace to my brother.