#hashytag Good Omens | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mister-a-z-fell · 7 months

Text

After some questions about my ‘true’ form and whether or not I have a thousand eyes and a veritable farmyard of creatures emerging from my collar, I have decided to show you this record of an encounter between myself and a certain writer at the latter end of the Elizabethan period. I remember the event slightly differently, but I suppose one has to make room for artistic licence.

I’m assured that if you click ‘keep reading’, the full transcript will appear.

To assist you, I’ve added a glossary at the end.

And no, Crowley, this still doesn’t count as having wheels.

“This is an true accounting of mine own eyes, set down by mine hand this tenth night of September, in the yeare of Our Lord sixteen hundred and one. They will say I am gone mad, for such visions belong to those who dwell in Beth’lem Monastery, but I swear on all that is precious to me, this se’nnight past I saw an Angel.

I was but newly set out from the towne, and some light yet remained to guide my path, when I looked to the east and saw of a sudden a second dawn. T’was no earthly fire; Aye, I warrant you, I am not bestraught! My father spoke, in Harry’s day, of the great conflagration of Edinburgh. He told me that Hell had claimed the sky, for all above was a fury dress’d in crimson and wretched with soot. But here was nothing of red.

I have seen it since in dreams and will, I ken enow, see it as I draw my final breath. Hasten the day.

It was akin to a man. I gleaned as much in those moments when I looked upon it, ere it saw me and my wits fled me. But also unlike a man, for where a man has but one pair of hands were there some severall, and where a man has flesh and bone was there flame. Such pale fire have I never seen but I should think it alchymy, and mine eyes were indeed ensorceled, for I saw colours without name, and things too marvellous and awful to relate. I will. I must. This labour’d span is raised to worthy work, knowing the glory that awaits. But oh, I am affraid. I pray my sins have not snatched the cup from my lips.

This fearful apparition stood upon the hill, and the white fire that was its crown was with the thin night clouds commingled. Its face — no. Of that no more, yet. I cannot. All about was compassed in armillary radiances which turned one within another, the forme entire and every hand with pearlie lustre enwheeled.

Below, the flames of Tuscalonian hue that formed a body for the Presence were so and so girded with armour: bright fragments, the whole twixt corslet and grand guard, matched with cushes; all of nacreous stuff and lapis-ensigil’d but for one place high ‘pon the rightmost thighpiece where the intricate device was marred and running gold in place of gore.

What can wound an Angel? I think on this and tremble as the very earth trembled where it stood, ague-shooke by a low’ring thunder.

I have held golden angels in my palm and have seen them in holy glass and in base iron gaulle, with doves’ wings upon their shoulders. Foh, we are God’s own fools. Its wings were the clouds pierced by stormlight, dark upon light upon dark, and where they moved was printed a world beyond my understanding, witnest through a furnace shimmer.

I saw a flock of stars draw close around it, and it seemed to dote upon them and cosset them as a hunter with his favourite hounds, and I would there have fainted all away an if I had not been fixed in terror. For they were not specks and embers laid distant upon the sky, a sailor’s comfort and guide, but each and each an inferno pluck’d from Heaven; baleful sentinels from which no secret could be hidden. Such fell lights would render trivial the earthly fires of Nebuchadnezzar.

Words are meat and drink to me, yet do I tell this so poorly I should be ‘shamed and nevermore lift a goose-pen. Still, ‘tis no matter for who shall read it? When all is said, I’ll put these lines away and think on them no more. In telling will I win myself a little peace.

Wheretofore had I been silent, so now instantly did I weep, and laugh, and cry out for God’s mercy, and it looked upon me. Od's-me, it turned its Phoebean eyes on me and I saw its face. Above the gleaming corselet had that most blessed igenieur placed a maske of fine, unblemish’d parchment, in th’ likeness of a gentle visage, before the sainted flame. Troth, a kindely lanthorne of such boundlesse compassion that I fell upon my knees and made to crawl into the fire, sooner to know its forgiuenesse. Then did it smile, as no painted visor could, and all my knotted thoughts were ravel’d out and I was at once a babe, a foole, unfolded and sanctuarized. Under this soft and clement regard I swounded, onely to wake in my lodgings, ‘tired, but not tyred, my travells lost beyond recover.”

Glossary:

Beth’lem Monastery — Bishopgate hospital that would later become the notorious ‘Bedlam’.

se’nnight — seven nights — a week

warrant — assure/promise

bestraught — mad

Harry — another name for Henry — in this case Henry VIII

ere — until

ensorceled — enchanted

commingled — mixed with

compassed — surrounded by

armillary — resembling concentric rings set at angles

pearlie lustre — a pearl-like glow

enwheeled — encircled (shush, Crowley)

Tuscalonian — pale straw-yellow

girded — armoured

twixt — between

corslet — armour covering the upper body

grand guard — armour protecting the heart and left shoulder

cushes — armour for the thighs

nacreous stuff — resembling mother-of-pearl

lapis-ensigil’d — decorated in blue

intricate device — complicated symbol

ague-shooke — shivering, as with a sickness

low’ring — threatening/ominous

golden angels — gold coins stamped with the likeness of Michael defeating Lucifer

holy glass — church windows

iron gaulle — ink

Foh — an exclamation of disgust

cosset — fuss over

an if — if

goose-pen — a quill

Wheretofore — while until now

instantly — at the same time

Od's-me — an exclamation: ‘God save me’

Phoebean — relating to Phoebus/the sun

blessed igenieur — The creator

visage — face

Troth — an exclamation: ‘indeed’

lanthorne — lantern

painted visor — an immobile mask

ravel’d out — unwound

unfolded — exposed

sanctuarized — protected/sheltered

clement — forgiving

swounded — fainted

‘tired, but not tyred — a pun: ‘tired (attired) meaning dressed, tyred meaning weary

recover — remember

Addendum:

I’ve been asked to provide a translation for the Latin community. My grasp of Elizabethan Spanish would, I fear, let me down, so this is couched in modern terms…

Este es un relato verdadero de lo que vi, escrito por mi mano esta décima noche de septiembre, en el año de Nuestro Señor mil seiscientos uno. Dirán que me he vuelto loco, pues tales visiones pertenecen a los que viven en el Monasterio de Beth'lem, pero juro por todo lo que me es precioso, que la semana pasada vi a un Ángel.

Hacía poco que había salido de la ciudad, y aún quedaba algo de luz para guiar mi camino, cuando miré hacia el este y de repente vi un segundo amanecer. No era fuego terrestre; ¡te juro que no estoy loco! Mi padre hablaba, en tiempos de Harry, del gran incendio de Edimburgo. Me dijo que el infierno había reclamado el cielo, pues todo lo alto era una furia vestida de carmesí y desdichada por el hollín. Pero aquí no había rojo.

Desde entonces lo he visto en sueños y estoy seguro de que lo veré cuando exhale mi último aliento. Ojalá sea pronto.

Era como un hombre. Me di cuenta de ello en el breve momento en que lo miré, hasta que me vio y perdí la razón. Pero también era distinto de un hombre, porque donde un hombre tiene un solo par de manos había varias, y donde un hombre tiene carne y hueso había llamas. Nunca he visto fuego pálido como éste, a menos que fuera hecho por alquimia, y mis ojos estaban realmente encantados, porque vi colores sin nombre, y cosas demasiado maravillosas y horribles para relatarlas. Lo haré. Debo hacerlo. Esta vida dura merece la pena, sabiendo la gloria que aguarda después de la muerte. Pero tengo miedo. Rezo para que mis pecados no me hayan arrebatado la copa de los labios.

Esta temible aparición se alzaba sobre la colina, y el fuego blanco que la coronaba se enredaba con las delgadas nubes nocturnas. Su rostro... no. Aún no puedo hablar de ello. Todo estaba rodeado de ruedas de luz que giraban unas dentro de otras, y toda su forma y cada una de sus manos estaban rodeadas de un resplandor nacarado.

Debajo, las llamas de color amarillo pálido que formaban el cuerpo de la Presencia estaban cubiertas por piezas de armadura: fragmentos brillantes que, todos juntos, formaban una coraza, y una armadura para las piernas; parecían de nácar cubiertas de símbolos azules brillantes, excepto en un lugar en lo alto del muslo derecho, donde los adornos estaban dañados y sangraban oro.

¿Qué puede herir a un ángel? Pienso en esto y tiemblo como tiembla la tierra donde estaba, sacudida por truenos ominosos.

He tenido ángeles de oro (monedas) en la palma de mi mano y los he visto en vidrio sagrado y en tinta simple, con alas de paloma sobre sus hombros. Buaj, somos los propios tontos de Dios. Sus alas eran las nubes atravesadas por la luz de la tormenta, oscuridad sobre luz sobre oscuridad, y donde se movían vi un mundo más allá de mi entendimiento, presenciado a través de un resplandor como de horno.

Vi una bandada de estrellas acercarse a su alrededor, y parecía adorarlas y mimarlas como un cazador a sus sabuesos favoritos, y me habría desmayado si no me hubiera quedado helado de terror. Porque no eran motas y ascuas lejanas en el cielo, consuelo y guía de un marinero, sino cada una un infierno arrancado del Cielo; torvos centinelas a los que no se podía ocultar ningún secreto. Luces tan terribles harían que los fuegos terrenales de Nabucodonosor parecieran triviales.

Las palabras son carne y bebida para mí, pero estoy contando esto tan mal que debería avergonzarme y no volver a levantar una pluma. Aun así, no importa porque ¿quién lo leerá? Cuando termine, guardaré este escrito y no pensaré en él. Contando esto me ganaré un poco de paz.

Había estado en silencio, pero ahora lloré, y reí, y supliqué la misericordia de Dios, y el ángel me miró. mSobre la coraza reluciente El Creador había colocado una máscara de pergamino fino y sin mancha que parecía un rostro amable, frente al fuego sagrado. De hecho, era una linterna bondadosa de una compasión tan ilimitada que caí de rodillas e intenté arrastrarme hasta el fuego, para poder sentir su perdón. Entonces sonrió (como nunca podría hacerlo una máscara), y todos mis confusos pensamientos se desenredaron y me sentí simultáneamente un bebé, un tonto, expuesto y protegido. Bajo esta atención suave e indulgente me desmayé, sólo para despertar en mi alojamiento, vestido, pero no cansado, incapaz de recordar cómo había llegado hasta allí.

#hashytag good omens #they aren’t wheels they’re parhelia #unofficial Appear Unto #Now with added Spanish

184 notes · View notes