In this Mystery of the Restraint of Art is also the Secret of Illusion. Why, sayest thou, hath not Our Lady Nuit her Will of Her Lord Hadit, and He of Her, and so all ended? But this is the Play of Her Love, that She veileth Her Beauty in the Robe of Illusion many-coloured, and evadeth Him in Sport, yea, and divorceth Him from the Embrace, weaving new Modesties and allurements in Her Dance. Now, o my Son, the full Comprehension of this Arcanum is the Fruit of Contemplation, if this be prepared by the Experience of this Art in thine own Case. But to them that understand not, and have Grief and Separation, being deceived by this Play so that they deem it the Division of Hate, She can but speak in Simplicity by that Word written in
The Book of the Law: "To me!" For until thou love, the Play of Love is but Emptiness; and its cruelty is Cruelty indeed, except thou know it to be but a Sauce to whet Appetite, and to give Emphasis of Contrast, as a Painter dimmeth the Light by Cunning of his Shadows. But all this Delight that thou mayst have of the Universe both in its Veils and in its Nakedness is a Reward of thine Attainment of Truth, and followeth after it. Nor canst thou comprehend this Doctrine by Mind, for the Division in thee crieth aloud in its Agony, denying it, unless thou be wholly Initiate.
