ALLEGORY ANTEDILUVEAN

  

It is here my intention to relate to you a story of a very strange occurrence which happened to me not long ago.· 'I cannot say, unfortunately, exactly how many days have elapsed since, as time has been permanently altered for me since the event.

My experience began when I visited my friend, the illustrious Count Orlando, the famed alchemist and soothsayer. We met at his request, in his abode situated in the north part of the city, It was a stormy and treacherous night, one suitable for only the most irksome and foreboding of affairs. Rain pelted down on the cobblestone streets as I made my way to the subterranean enclosure where he dwelt, amid the strangest paraphernalia and accoutrements, carrying out his unusual experiments.

Orlando met me sit the door, looking disheveled and in need of rest.  His usually immaculate velvet robes were creased and had obviously been slept in.  Once in the door he bade me come near to his work tables. Then, while I was looking about me with curiosity at the strange equipment on the largest table, he pulled from among the crucibles and flasks an archaic old book with the ominous title, The Workings of Magick".  This mysterious volume he dusted off and opened at a page that was pre-marked·

Now I took it from his countenance and appearance that Orlando must have

made some singular discovery, something unusual even for one in his line of work. His usual appearance, as I have noted was one of extreme elegance: velvet robes, a great gold chain and amulet about his neck, and often some kind of skull cap on his head of grey, flowing hair, offset by a pair of flashing, crystalline eyes.

He muttered as his stout yet agile finger traced along the lines until it stopped at the beginning of one paragraph. He exclaimed, “Ah, now I have it; look here for yourself.”  I bent forward to peruse the treatise which had apparently brought me forth

From the warm ,comfort of my lodgings into the cold, stormy night and to this forgotten end of the city.

This is remarkable", I blurted, as I read the following summary:

HE WHO HATH READ AND UNDERSTANDS THE ABOVE FORMULAE

AND WHO DO PERCEIVE IN IT THE BENIFICENT WILL OF

THE UNKNOWABLE ONE, THE ANCIENT OF ANCIENTS,

WILL BY SACRED CONJURATION BE ABLE TO UNLOCK

THE SECRET DOOR TO LOST ATLANTIS,. THE BLESSED

LAND OF POSEIDON, KNOWN TO INITIATES SINCE THE

ANCIENT PAST. ·KNOW YE THAT ATLANTIS DOES LIE TO THE WEST OF

THE PILLARS OF HERCULES, AND THE HESPERIDEAN GARDENS

KNOW YE THAT IT MAY YET BE ATTAINED,

He continued: "This is a copy of some older manuscript, possibly of Mayan or Basque origin, But no matter, no matter, I know the formula, I can transport us there."

Before he could say more, my amazed expression made him stop and ask, "You do want to go, don’t you ?"

"I'd not even been thinking of traveling, but…", I stammered,

Nonsense you're coming along. I can't make this journey alone."

"Well", I enjoined, "I haven't really any pressing plans, and I..."

'

"Excellent, we'll begin at once" cried Orlando with a swir1 of his robes. He made for his locker wherein was contained many assorted devices and magical paraphernalia, which apparently it had not been his wont to call on for many a year.

Count Orlando, who had actually adopted the 'Count' as some sort of affectation, was in reality, William Orlandowski, the son of a Polish jockey who had married an ex-nun from the convent of the Sacred Heart in Krakow· He was born enroute to England while crossing the Greenwich prime meridian. It was said that at the time of his birth there occurred a partial eclipse of the moon, at that an unscheduled one, but this fact I have never verified.

This was only one of the many bizarre, stories regarding Orlando, who was also known as Orlondine the jewel thief, Orlondini the goldsmith; Orlodo the painter, none of which, however, are my business to relate here.  He does seem to be inextricably linked to certain writings by the singular Alan Alchemy, most likely another pseudonym.

The matters at hand seemed to me to be growing rather sinister as I saw first one and then another item being placed with ritual purpose around and in the circle of magick which was drawn on the floor in gold.  He produced at least no fewer and extravagant tools than a knife with esoteric markings upon it, a wand of oak, a brazier upon which he burned frankincense, opium, and various other evil-looking and -smelling substances These items, then, announced by their hoary and sinister appearance the great and ancient intention of magickal rite, the arts of' conjuration end evocation.

These ominous proceedings finished, Count Orlando bade me look to our left wheron I saw, as in a hazy vapour, appear the circular canals and gilded rooftops of Cercene, ancient capital of Poseidonis.·Its splendour war unparalleled, with shining step-pyramids and aerial cars all coming clearer as the haze from the burning unguents cleared.

Upon arriving in the capital of the great land we met many incredible and blessed souls who, understanding our mission and wishing to aid us, therewith took us to themselves as friends. We were treated ceremoniously and invited to partake of the custom of sipping nectar and eating the ambrosia, which set the stage for more and numerous miracles of a very illustrious character, the image of Eden before the fall; the laughter and songs of the nymphs; clattering hoof beats as old Poseidon drove his white stallions around the golden stadium; the Nereid’s on the backs of silver dolphins, great fruits and flowers dripping nectar on the passersby.

True there are dangers in this work, perils beyond the imaginations of men, but may not one who is divine of purpose and heart, one who has truly drunk the essence of life, the sweet honey of experience, may he not also drink his fill at such fountains as these?

Gregg Simpson, 1971