I’d like to repost one of my favorite stories – the story of how St. Germain inspired the hesitant signers of the Declaration of Independence.
Robert Campbell’s famous account is followed by St. Germain’s alleged actual speech.
Following that is a snippet from an interview I had with St. Germaine (as he calls himself through Linda) in which he verifies that he made this speech.
Reposted from March 12, 2012.
From The Mysterious Rosicrucian who was Father of the American Republic
Little seems to have been known concerning this old gentleman; and in the materials from which this account is compiled, his name is not even once mentioned, for he is uniformly spoken of or referred to as ‘the Professor.’ He was evidently far beyond his threescore and ten years; and he often referred to historical events of more than a century previous just as if he had been a living witness to their occurrence; still he was erect, vigorous and active—hale, hearty and clear-minded, as strong and energetic every way as in the prime of life.
He was tall, of fine figure, perfectly easy, very dignified in his manners, being at once courteous, gracious and commanding. He was, for those times, and considering the customs of the Colonists, very peculiar in his method of living; for he ate no flesh, fowl or fish; he never used for food any ‘green thing’, any roots or anything unripe; he drank no liquor, wine or ale; but confined his diet to cereals and their products, fruits that were ripened on the stem in the sun, nuts, mild tea and the sweet of honey, sugar and molasses. [ Editor’s note: The Comte de Saint Germain’s same abstemious behavior regarding food was well documented in Europe.]
He was well educated, highly cultivated, of extensive as well as varied information, and very studious. He spent considerable of his time in the patient and persistent scanning of a number of very rare old books and ancient manuscripts which he seemed to be deciphering, translating or rewriting.
These books, and manuscripts, together with his own writings, he never showed to anyone; and he did not even mention them in his conversations with the family, except in the most casual way; and he always locked them up carefully in a large, old-fashioned, cubically shaped, iron-bound, heavy oaken chest, whenever he left his room, even for his meals.
He took long and frequent walks alone, sat on the brows of the neighboring hills, or mused in the midst of the green and flower-gemmed meadows. He was fairly liberal—but in no way lavish—in spending his money, with which he was well supplied. He was a quiet, though a very genial and very interesting member of the family; and he was seemingly at home upon any and every topic coming up in conversation. He was, in short, one whom everyone would notice and respect, whom few would feel well acquainted with, and whom no one would presume to question concerning himself—as to whence he came, why he tarried or whither he journeyed.”
By something more than a mere coincidence, the committee appointed by the Colonial Congress to design a flag accepted an invitation to be guests, while at Cambridge, of the family with which the Professor was staying. It was here that General Washington joined them for the purpose of deciding upon a fitting emblem. By the signs that passed between them, it was evident that General Washington and Doctor Franklin recognized the Professor, and by unanimous approval, he was invited to become an active member of the committee. During the proceedings which followed, the Professor was treated with the most profound respect and all his suggestions immediately acted upon. He submitted a pattern which he considered symbolically appropriate for the new flag, and this was unhesitatingly accepted by the six other members of the committee, who voted that the arrangement suggested by the Professor be forthwith adopted. After the episode of the flag, the Professor quickly vanished; and nothing further is known concerning him.
Did General Washington and Doctor Franklin recognize the Professor as an emissary of the Mystery School which has so long controlled the political destinies of this planet? Benjamin Franklin was a philosopher and a Freemason—possibly a Rosicrucian initiate. He and the Marquis de Lafayette—also a man of mystery—constitute two of the important links in the chain of circumstance that culminated in the establishment of the original thirteen American colonies as a free and independent nation. Dr. Franklin’s philosophic attainments are well attested in Poor Richard’s Almanac, published by him for many years under the name of Richard Saunders. His interest in the cause of Freemasonry is also shown in his publication of Anderson’s Constitutions of ‘Freemasonry.
It was during the, evening of July 4, 1776, that the second of these mysterious episodes occurred. In the old State House in Philadelphia, a group of men were gathered for the momentous task of severing the tie between the old country and the new. It was a grave moment, and not a few of those present feared that their lives would be the forfeit for their audacity.
In the midst of the debate a fierce voice rang out. The debaters stopped and turned to look upon the stranger. Who was this man who had suddenly appeared in their midst and had transfixed them with his oratory? They had never seen him before, none knew when he had entered; but his tall form and pale face filled them with awe. His voice ringing with a holy zeal, the stranger stirred them to their very souls. His closing words rang. through the building, ‘God has given America to be free!’
As the stranger sank into a chair exhausted, a wild enthusiasm burst forth. Name after name was placed upon the parchment: the Declaration of Independence was signed. But where was the man who had precipitated the accomplishment of this immortal task—who had lifted for a moment the veil from the eyes of the assemblage and revealed to them a part at least of the great purpose for which the, new nation was conceived? He had disappeared, nor was he ever seen or his identity established. This episode parallels others of a similar kind recorded by ancient historians attendant upon the founding of every new nation. Are they coincidence, or do they indicate that the divine wisdom of the ancient mysteries still is present in the world, serving mankind as it did of old?
And here is what purports to be his actual speech.
Signing the Declaration of Independence
(St. Germain in the back of the room, the only man pictured in a hat. This same portrait appears on the $2 bill.)
Sign That Document!
The following is taken from Washington and His Generals: or, Legends of the Revolution by George Lippard, published in 1847. The signers of the Declaration of Independence sat in Independence Hall at Philadelphia, contemplating losing their heads or being hanged. Their courage wavered. The document sat there unsigned. An extraordinary catalyst was needed to move them to action. An unknown man rose and gave an electrifying speech. He disappeared soon after.
By signing the Declaration, all were guilty of high treason under British law. The penalty for high treason was to be hanged by the neck until unconscious, then cut down and revived, then disemboweled and cut into quarters. The head and quarters were at the disposal of the crown.
No wonder they wavered! No wonder they discussed back and forth for days on end before signing the document that carried so grave a penalty. An old legend dramatizes the story of the one who galvanized the delegates and gave them the courage to sign that document.
But still there is doubt–and that pale-faced man, shrinking in one corner, squeaks out something about axes, scaffolds, and a–gibbet!
“Gibbet!” echoes a fierce, bold voice, that startles men from their seats–and look yonder! A tall slender man rises, dressed–although it is summer time–in a dark robe. Look how his white hand undulates as it is stretched slowly out, how that dark eye burns, while his words ring through the hall. (We do not know his name, let us therefore call his appeal)
THE SPEECH OF THE UNKNOWN.
“Gibbet? They may stretch our necks on all the gibbets in the land–they may turn every rock into a scaffold–every tree into a gallows, every home into a grave, and yet the words on that Parchment can never die!
“They may pour our blood on a thousand scaffolds, and yet from every drop that dyes the axe, or drips on the sawdust of the block, a new martyr to Freedom will spring into birth!
“The British King may blot out the Stars of God from His sky, but he cannot blot out His words written on the Parchment there! The works of God may perish – His Word, never!
“These words will go forth to the world when our bones are dust. To the slave in the mines they will speak – hope – to the mechanic in his workshop–freedom–to the coward-kings these words will speak, but not in tones of flattery. No, no! They will speak like the flaming syllables on Belshazzar’s wall–
THE DAYS OF YOUR PRIDE AND GLORY ARE NUMBERED!
THE DAYS OF JUDGMENT AND REVOLUTION DRAW NEAR!
“Yes, that Parchment will speak to the Kings in a language sad and terrible as the trump of the Archangel. You have trampled on mankind long enough. At last the voice of human woe has pierced the ear of God, and called His Judgment down! You have waded on to thrones over seas of blood – you have trampled on to power over the necks of millions – you have turned the poor man’s sweat and blood into robes for your delicate forms, into crowns for your anointed brows. Now Kings – now purpled Hangmen of the world – for you come the days of axes and gibbets and scaffolds – for you the wrath of man – for you the lightnings of God!–
“Look! How the light of your palaces on fire flashes up into the midnight sky!
“Now Purpled Hangmen of the world–turn and beg for mercy!
“Where will you find it?
“Not from God, for you have blasphemed His laws!
“Not from the People, for you stand baptized in their blood!
“Here you turn, and lo! a gibbet!
“There–and a scaffold looks you in the face.
“All around you–death–and nowhere pity!
“Now executioners of the human race, kneel down, yes, kneel down upon the sawdust of the scaffold–lay your perfumed heads upon the block–bless the axe as it falls–the axe that you sharpened for the poor man’s neck!
“Such is the message of that Declaration to Man, to the Kings of the world! And shall we falter now? And shall we start back appalled when our feet press the very threshold of Freedom? Do I see quailing faces around me, when our wives have been butchered–when the hearthstones of our land are red with the blood of little children?
“What are these shrinking hearts and faltering voices here, when the very Dead of our battlefields arise, and call upon us to sign that Parchment, or be accursed forever?
“Sign! if the next moment the gibbet’s rope is round your neck! Sign! if the next moment this hall rings with the echo of the falling axe! Sign! By all your hopes in life or death, as husbands–as fathers–as men–sign your names to the Parchment or be accursed forever!
“Sign–and not only for yourselves, but for all ages. For that Parchment will be the Text-book of Freedom–the Bible of the Rights of Man forever!
“Sign–for that declaration will go forth to American hearts forever, and speak to those hearts like the voice of God! And its work will not be done, until throughout this wide Continent not a single inch of ground owns the sway of a British King!
“Nay, do not start and whisper with surprise! It is a truth, your own hearts witness it, God proclaims it.–This Continent is the property of a free people, and their property alone. [17-second applause] God, I say, proclaims it!
“Look at this strange history of a band of exiles and outcasts, suddenly transformed into a people–look at this wonderful Exodus of the oppressed of the Old World into the New, where they came, weak in arms but mighty in Godlike faith–nay, look at this history of your Bunker Hill–your Lexington–where a band of plain farmers mocked and trampled down the panoply of British arms, and then tell me, if you can, that God has not given America to the free?
“It is not given to our poor human intellect to climb the skies, to pierce the councils of the Almighty One. But methinks I stand among the awful clouds which veil the brightness of Jehovah’s throne. Methinks I see the Recording Angel–pale as an angel is pale, weeping as an angel can weep–come trembling up to that Throne, and speak his dread message–
“`Father! the old world is baptized in blood! Father, it is drenched with the blood of millions, butchered in war, in persecution, in slow and grinding oppression! Father–look, with one glance of Thine Eternal eye, look over Europe, Asia, Africa, and behold evermore, that terrible sight, man trodden down beneath the oppressor’s feet–nations lost in blood–Murder and Superstition walking hand in hand over the graves of their victims, and not a single voice to whisper, “Hope to Man!”‘
“He stands there, the Angel, his hands trembling with the black record of human guilt. But hark! The voice of Jehovah speaks out from the awful cloud–`Let there be light again. Let there be a New World. Tell my people–the poor–the trodden down millions, to go out from the Old World. Tell them to go out from wrong, oppression and blood–tell them to go out from this Old World–to build my altar in the New!’
“As God lives, my friends, I believe that to be his voice! Yes, were my soul trembling on the wing for Eternity, were this hand freezing in death, were this voice choking with the last struggle, I would still, with the last impulse of that soul, with the last wave of that hand, with the last gasp of that voice, implore you to remember this truth – God has given America to the free!
“Yes, as I sank down into the gloomy shadows of the grave, with my last gasp, I would beg you to sign that Parchment, in the name of the God, who made the Saviour who redeemed you – in the name of the millions whose very breath is now hushed in intense expectation, as they look up to you for the awful words – `You are free!'”
O many years have gone since that hour–the Speaker, his brethren, all, have crumbled into dust, but it would require an angel’s pen to picture the magic of that Speaker’s look, the deep, terrible emphasis of his voice, the prophet-like beckoning of his hand, the magnetic flame which shooting from his eyes, soon fired every heart throughout the hall!
The work was done. A wild murmur thrills through the hall.–Sign? Hah? There is no doubt now. Look! How they rush forward–stout-hearted John Hancock has scarcely time to sign his bold name, before the pen is grasped by another–another and another! Look how the names blaze on the Parchment–Adams and Lee and Jefferson and Carroll, and now, Roger Sherman the Shoemaker.
And here comes good old Stephen Hopkins–yes, trembling with palsy, he totters forward–quivering from head to foot, with his shaking hands he seizes the pen, he scratches his patriot-name.
Then comes Benjamin Franklin the Printer. . . .
And now the Parchment is signed; and now let word go forth to the People in the streets–to the homes of America–to the camp of Mister Washington, and the Palace of George the Idiot-King–let word go out to all the Earth–
(This reading is taken from the book Washington and His Generals: or, Legends of the Revolution by George Lippard, published in 1847.)
Steve Beckow: Since you’ve raised the American experience, perhaps I could ask you a few questions about the early years of the American experience. Did you appear before the signers of the Declaration of Independence as an old professor and cure them of their hesitancy by crying out to them to sign the document?
St.Germaine: “Crying out” is quite the accuracy of what I did and said. Yes, I did appear as a strange old fellow. It was one of the few times I have actually appeared old. And yes, I decreed to them to sign the document that we had worked so hard on, that we had incorporated into the principles of this nation – the belief in equality and the belief in a different way of government, of society and of existence. So yes, that was I.
(From “An Hour with an Angel Transcript of Conversation with St. Germain,” March 19, 2012, at https://goldenageofgaia.com/ascension-as-of-2012/the-masters-speak/an-hour-with-an-angel-transcript-of-conversation-with-st-germain-march-19-2012/)