The next day another occultist named Joséphin Péladan joined our group. Péladan always wore by way of hat a large lump of earth which he referred to as “my clod”. (Later I found out that a flowerpot had fallen on his head years ago from a balcony and he found that it suited him well.) For a week we were writing the statutes of a new Order. In my naivete, I asked why we needed a new Order if we already had one. Papus’ answer was that the current Order was for holidays and Sundays, and this one was for working days. Then the question arose as to what the point of that distinction was since almost all the members of the Order were aristocrats who had not worked in their lives. This replica generated some tension, which Papus relieved by slapping me around a little bit. In fact, the debates came up constantly because everyone had their own vision of how reality was seen from the corner of the eye (which, according to Péladan, is the real reality while the other is pure mirage). Rasputin was prone to fits of rage. Above all, he was furious because we allegedly always stepped where he had just mopped the floor. Also because we left the latrines in such a mess: “You must sharpen your aim!”, he always shouted with his strong Russian accent. There were many discussions about the name that the new Order should have. Peladan was in favor of calling it the Order of the Rosicrucian Temple, while Papus preferred the Rosicrucian Order of the Temple. The Marquis asked what temple they referred to. “To the temple of Jerusalem, naturally!”, Papus answered. And that generated endless arguments about whether Jerusalem should be added to the name of the Order and, if so, whether it should be said “Jerusalem” or “Yerushalayim”. Frankly, I wasn’t going to make a fuss over the Order’s name. It seemed a minor matter to me. What mattered to me was whether one could attend the meetings dressed in casual clothes or, on the contrary, it would require formal attire.