So young Lawrence Edgerton occupied a tall clark's desk in the room nearer the door, his top hat neatly stowed among a row of long, canted wall pegs specially made for that purpose. Shorter pegs might do for lesser headgear such as working men might wear, but this was an establishment frequented by middleclass quasi-gentlemen as well as those farther up the scale. Indeed, in 'the City,' as the financial district was termed, top hats were almost a legal requirement.
He was put to work reading every newspaper and broadsheet available and neatly clipping anything remotely important for his patron, Sir Charles, to examine later. After that, since he had a good hand, came subscription cards, fine heavy stock, about the size of what people in your time call an Ebook Reader. Each featured the name of the concern marketed, its location, the product or service vended, shares to be sold, date of initial sale and opening price. At the bottom came - Sir Charles de Castor, honourable broker, City of London plus his location on Chancery Lane. Lawrence penned them by the dozens and a bit later, during luncheon, distributed them to gentlemen coming and going from The Royal Exchange. Similar advertisements appeared in various daily business journals, but a card, respectfully presented in person was harder to ignore.... That's how he came to know Beau Brummel...
Now this 'Beau Brummel' was not the first Beau Brummel. that personage had long absconded to France in avoidance of debts and other obligations. Yet 'style' had become a 'thing' among certain moneyed circles of the town and this gentleman, one David Watkins, second son to Lord Hefton (thus he'd never inherit the title) was a sartorial paragon and because of that was bestowed with this informal appellation. Everyone called him Beau. We'll come back to him, but first I have to tell you more...
Lawrence particularly valued his time on 'the street.' He'd watch, as 'money barons' good naturedly gathered for lunch at this or that coffee house. Truthfully, coffee house entrances were a good place to distribute his cards, if not the best. The air was less sooty than districts farther east. Due to the narrow streets, foot traffic trumped the horse drawn variety. Shoes stayed cleaner. The meat pies sold at establishments up and down the thoroughfare seemed less lethal than those in less rarefied surroundings and the Honourable Mr. David Hefton apparently liked him. The 'tall' top hat is what did it. We described it in our last post, but for the uninformed, we'll do so once more..... taller than usual... slightly flaring at the top....fits low over the ears and brow, with a brim that rolls up on the sides...very memorable indeed.. In fact, the dapper man about town stopped him and asked where he got it.... but Lawrence didn't know. His 'pretend' aunt paid for it with Illuminati money. He paid no attention to the shop. He was new in town. What did he know?.... All Hefton heard was he didn't know and it struck him funny. Young men always sought good tailors, or hatters and the like and few 'forgot.' So he examined the subscription card Lawrence had just given him and later that afternoon, after a delightful coffeehouse lunch, the rather well known fellow came 'round to the House of de Castor for a talk.... and dropped seven hundred and fifty pounds on a canal company up in the midlands. Sir Charles was very pleased.
That evening Lawrence joined his new friend and other fashionable people for a night at the theatre, followed by a late dinner at one of the fashionable new hotels springing up around town.
Young Edgerton was off to a good start....
<more to come>
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The woman playing Lawrence Edgerton's aunt was an old Illuminati 'light' (individual member) known as Flora Mendez. In her own way, she was responsible for Wellington's battlefield successes and the Chartist movement yet to come. Contemporary Britain would not be what it is without her. She directed the coachman toward a respectable establishment known as Mrs. Bobbins' Inn, a late Georgian townhouse, not far from Chancery Lane, and all the most respected counting houses. If you've seen the 1951 version of SCROOGE with Alistair Sim, you know the place. The moving picture show up above is for them what ain't seen it. The images come from down time's road a bit, but close enough in feel and spirit.. Now the Britain of these times is in no way like the nation we know today. Few people were allowed to vote. No Woman had the franchise. The vote for Catholics was a new and novel thing and not at all universal in the hearts of the Protestant majority. Jews only voted if they were also registered as members of the (usually) Anglican Church. Many submitted to baptism ( a la the Disraeli family), were added to the rolls, but continued supporting and attending services in synagogues ( the word means 'meeting houses') throughout the realm. Indeed, Benjamin Disraeli himself regularly attended services in the old Synagogue at Bevis Marks. Thankfully, Britain had no Inquisition, even if many openly hated the new voters (Catholics too) for remaining steadfast to their ancestral creeds. Catholics were allowed seats in The Commons in 1829. Unbaptized Jews gained the national franchise in 1858. Both groups faced certain petty difficulties till 1890. No male, of any group, voted if not solidly middleclass. This was not a democracy in the American manner. Life was hard. Family status and personal connections were paramount, although in some ways Britain transcended the American model. Slavery was abolished in 1833. Now we provide all this data to make a point. Much of the social progress we, in the West, take for granted was husbanded and nurtured by those many would call 'Illuminati.'... The pivotal names of individuals responsible for the furtherance of positive ideals we all enjoy today were often found on so called 'Illuminati' lists. Young Lawrence Edgerton belonged to such a group. Soon after arriving in the City of London he joined the counting House of one Charles de Castor, showing up and ready for duties at eight o'clock one cool autumn morning, resplendent in his trim, black suit, dazzling white neck cloth and really quite dashing and impressive 'tall' top hat... You know it.. flares out slightly at the crown... rests low on the ears and brow. I defy any one to look bad in headgear such as that..... Beau Brummel himself (noted, aristocratic fashion plate and man about town) would have approved. In fact, the extraordinary gentleman himself, as well as many of his exalted associates (including a few royals) regularly invested in financial offerings represented by the House of de Castor. Such dealings were strictly private. That's why it was so important for Edgerton's group to place one of their own inside. Who gives money to what is a great indicator of public endorsement and the Illuminati most keenly wanted railroad and steamship consortiums to succeed. Edgerton would provide them with much useful information... How did he come by this position? His artificial 'aunt,' Miss Flora Mendez, also Illuminati, knows everyone... An extensive network of friends is everything. And the young Lawrence Edgerton was well on his way.... That's how the Illuminati does things... A little push here, a little push there... a nod... some money... a beneficial social introduction.... nothing violent... nothing harmful... It's not that way at all... and if it were not for them, human culture would be just as hard as it was in the 'good old days.' <more to come> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click MAKE LIFE BETTER to see all episodes of Vampire Wonderland... and when you get there, please click the SUBSCRIBE button near the top of the screen to go on. click TRADE IDEAS to join me on Twitter. kindly consider leaving a comment? Thank you.
There was a dinner, or some sort of meal. I'd lost track of the days. Time meant nothing. But I sat at a table in a small room, opposite the First Facilitator. The walls and ceiling were covered in a burnished, antique mirror-like finish. The floor was florentined copper tiles. I suppose one of the reflective panels was a door, though once inside and seated, I could not remember where it was. Light came from two carved glass candlesticks. Not too much... just enough. Our leader poured the wine and motioned for me to drink. I did. Odd, how in just a few days (I assume it was just a few days) I'd grown accustomed to it. The leader said - You've been watched since birth... before birth actually... even before conception. I knew your mother and father. Members of the order they were. And we placed you with that family to grow up normally. I asked - Who were they? Why did you say 'were?' Are they dead?. But he ignored me and went on - It's not that hard to control the world. What's required is determination and foresight. Not just on my part. Every member of the order contributes. And some of what we do is so easy. Even kings have secrets. We excavate those secrets and thus we control them - went the leader. Do they ever rebel ? - I said. Sometimes - said my host. But then we persuade them. A prince dies. A palace burns. Whatever fits the situation. There's not a royal bodyguard we can't turn. Wouldn't the people notice all the dead royals? - I asked. They never notice. They never know. We insert a double. Few outside royal circles ever see them close up. It's not hard to do. A gilt coach rolls by. A hand waves. The people cheer. What if a monarch refuses to cooperate and before you can neutralize them, they kill themselves, but not before notifying the church of your presence? What do you do then? - I speculated. You are clever. But tell me, are not churchmen an educated lot? I suppose - I said. We brush shoulders at the best universities all the time. They, officially, avoid change. We embrace it. Thus we respect each other . They follow their path and we do ours. Yet privately many a bishop takes the best scientific journals. And many a monsignor wonders about electricity. Now we've spoken too long. Lift the dome and eat. I did and the fine breaded veal chop was still hot, so were the roasted potatoes and green beans..... The food. It's hot? - I asked. Why wouldn't it be? - went my guide, as he buttered a light, fluffy roll. And then we ate, apparently in the Continental manner, for after the main course, a footman entered through the secret door with a tray holding two plates of salad... savory, peppery greens topped with salty, Italian Anchovies and sweet onions. Dessert was lightly candied pears and shaved chocolate, some cheese too. I settled in very quickly. It seems the First Facilitator often dined with newcomers, as a way to feel them out. He poured more wine and we talked some more. I passed inspection, for the next day I took a coach to London. Not alone, a woman, ostensibly my 'aunt' went with me. Our trunks were fine, but not too showy and our garments were the same. I'd never been south before and took in all the sights. Towns grew larger. Well kept canals funneled narrow, cargo laden boats toward the capital. Carriages became numerous and gardens more lush..... At night we stopped at the better inns, taking two rooms, but never overlooking the coach yard to avoid the noise. Some people engaged us in conversation. We were polite but never shared much. I was going south to read law with a learned London barrister and my 'aunt' accompanied me for the esteemed gentleman was a close kinsman. Thus I sailed ever farther from my first life and into something new... mysterious, though enticing at the same time..... <more to come> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click ADVENTURE .... then click SUBSCRIBE near the top of the page when you get there to browse all Vampire Wonderland episodes. click COFFEESHOP CONVERSATION ... to join me and actually a lot of interesting people too. maybe leave a comment? thank you.
To most souls, the world is a dull place. They work. They eat. They procreate, feed their suspicions and sleep. Perhaps there's a reel on a Saturday night, or a hot pancake breakfast on Sunday? Perhaps there's nothing of the kind? Such is life. Few aspire to anything else. Cheap gin takes care of that. Lack of gentle birth does too. And the fleas suck life out of everyone. The Illuminati coalesced to stop that. But progress is slow and more like a careful, artistically arranged erosion than the growth of plants. The man with the long salt and pepper hair taught me that. Others in our rarefied congregation taught me different things, though all formed a very special and magical chord. If you read last night's entry, you know I saw the homecoming of our First Facilitator. I saw his vessel land. A lighter than air craft it was... the great grandfather of all blimpdom. Yet in those early days as miraculous as Fatima. They addressed him as 'Lord Facilitator. He had short white hair, receding at the temples but ample enough everywhere else, a trim matching chin beard and piercing, blue eyes. His attire was all black too... a severely tailored long coat over a satin waistcoat and narrow pants. I was there when he disembarked. They had it down to a science. The roof of a large stone and timber barn opened, just like two halves of a gift box, thanks to the grunting ministrations of ten men (five to a side) manning large cranks effecting a series of gears. The lighter than air ship, a cross between a hot air balloon and gondola (in this case enclosed) and an early framed craft settled in like a hen on her nest. The cranking resumed, this time in the opposite direction. The roof closed. I don't know how it maintained its integrity minus a central, ridge beam, but it did. Apparently the Illuminati know things about the physical side of architecture too. The man with short white hair looked at me and said two words - A novice?.... The man with the long salt and pepper hair nodded. Then the leader joined us in the phaeton (our coach) and we rode back, through the moonlight, toward the manor house. There were two other passengers in the gondola, a Neapolitan violinist and someone else. I never learned who the someone else was. It might have been a woman dressed in a mannish manner a la George Sand. I don't know. After late night brandies in a small sitting room lit by the embers of that evening's fire we retired to our beds upstairs. Mine was in a tiny space under the eaves, but a short, stub of a candle enabled me to get there. The bed sheets were the finest I'd ever known in my life. I saw stars through a small window, while far off, in another part of the house, an unseen juggler slapped clubs together in an intricate rhythm, as he practiced a new routine. The next day they put me to work in the scriptorium, copying texts in second century Latin with the aid of a delicate, though solid, contraption made of fine, wooden beams and small, copper rods called a scriptograph. Four pens, each mounted one foot from the other, reproduced what I wrote.... Such wonders they had. I saw electromagnets and a frighteningly real automaton of Harlequin the Clown. They said his face was covered with real, human skin. But few got to feel, for he'd snap errant fingers with sharp, pointed teeth forged from the best Spanish silver. A French count lost a pinkie. I know, because they told me, plus the relic is still displayed under a small, glass dome in the library... Harlequin still sits there on a chair right next to it, smiling in a most amoral way and waiting for only God knows what.
Come back next time and I'll tell you how to make ice knifes.... razor sharp blades perfect for slitting throats and opening femoral arteries. Death comes quick, though no weapon is ever discovered.
And now, Lawrence Edgerton bids you adieu .
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After that first meeting, or coming together, or whatever it was, we broke up into groups. As a newcomer, I had no group, but was told I'd be assigned shortly. People began to move on to more cloistered parts of the manor house, or other smaller, though still quite dignified residences on the estate. I moved out to the entrance hall and pretended to examine a large, bronze cast of Hermes on a marble topped commode table near the door. That's when the man with the long, salt and pepper hair came out to meet me.
He said - Come, let us walk... I followed him out the wide door and down the steps to a waiting coach, a sleek, little, enclosed phaeton of a type much favored in Paris during Napoleon's time. You can Google it if you'd like to see an illustration. Quite racy they were. Often drawn by matched dappled greys. There was a coachman, but no footmen, so we helped ourselves in and we were off, down the drive and through a little wood. Coach rides by moonlight were rare. Travelers usually stopped at inns. But we were on a trip of a different sort. Besides, the coach lights, small brass and glass lanterns similar to the large ones flanking the entrance to the manor house, cut through the darkness just enough.
The man said - Well, what do you think?.... When will I see my family? - I asked..... You mean your foster family - he said..... They're the only one I know - I corrected.... He nodded and in a low voice added - Fear not. You will. But ask me anything. Relax. Let's talk..... For a while just the clip-clops. Those of you who know only this age cannot imagine how hypnotic that was. The slight, steady bouncing of the conveyance caused an all over release of tension... even in a strange, new situation, such as mine.... Perhaps my companion was aware of that?
You see, my boy - he went on - what we do is find new things... new things with potential... new ideas... new devices, practices, beliefs, species and all that. Then we decide which ones the world needs...... Isn't that natural? - I asked. Doesn't society just drift in a direction all its own?..... The man smiled - No, it does not. We're it not for our benevolent guidance, Europe would still be in something quite like the Middle Ages. Public burnings would still be commonplace. You know the last private Inquisitional execution happened just months ago. And what passes for democratic, parliamentary elections here is an embarrassing joke. Although surgeons throughout the Mohammedan, Hindu and Buddhist worlds carefully bathe their hands and instruments prior to operating, most homegrown healers still scoff at the idea..... Before he could go on, I looked up through the trees and witnessed an amazing site. Just above the trees, which were old and venerable in those parts, a fat oblong bladder (later I knew it as a type of hot air balloon) caught the moonlight as it sailed across our path. What was a fifteen foot long enclosed gondola with four, dimly illuminated portholes hung from the bottom. A rotating pinwheel mounted on the rear of the passenger containment seemed to provide propulsion and the whole thing was kept on course by a ship-like, moveable rudder protruding through its bottom...... Holy Mother of God! - I exclaimed. What in Creation is that?!..... 'That' my boy is our First Facilitator returning from a conference on the Isle of Man...... Didn't I see the First Facilitator earlier tonight? - I asked..... No - said the man with the salt and pepper hair. You saw 'A' facilitator, but not the first one..... Shhhh, I hear a fiddler - I said..... Well, I suppose you do. Our courageous leader never travels without one. Soothes the nerves, don't you know. And he has a top notch one from the great music schools of Naples - said the man.
I was dumbstruck, as he whispered - Symbolic, I suppose. We are as the chamber music of humanity. We quicken minds and goose the frustratingly reticent toward what's right....
Who decides what's right? - I asked.....
We do - went the man....
Then I just listened to the lively, though retreating song.
Thus were the Illuminati and indeed, they still are.
<come back next time for more>
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Once inside the large, classic, manor house the man with long salt and pepper hair led me across a dim entry hall floored with black and white marble tiles. We went into what I assumed to be an 'assembly' space used for dances and receptions during the season. Were such things part of my world?... No, they weren't. But I had a vague idea. In my little hamlet, we used to watch from the hedgerows and wave to the black or dark, red burnished, lacquered carriages as they passed, delivering the various landed families to balls and festivities. The room was large and set up for some type of meeting. Thirty high backed chairs flanked each side of a rectangular, parquet expanse. A throne-like dais occupied the far end. Brass chandeliers and sconces bathed all in a soft, golden candlelight. The walls and ceiling featured a restrained, elegant plaster-work. The man with long, salt and pepper hair directed me toward a chair far down from the dais. I looked at him. He nodded. I sat. He walked across the polished hardwood and took his place in a seat much closer to the 'throne.' Liveried footmen gave each in attendance a glass of wine. The right arm of each chair ended in a small platform with slightly raised edges apparently meant for drinks. I studied my fellow congregants, a mixed group of men and women attired in fine, though somber garments. Some looked at me. Others chatted quietly with their neighbors. Then a door opened right by the throne. All stood in unison. An older gentleman entered and sat down on the large carved chair. The other sixty people in the chamber, of which I was one, sat down too. Upon closer inspection I realized we were a mixed group representing humanity in its entirety. Then the man on the dais began to speak.... Welcome to this synod. May we accomplish much. - That's what he said... It was all so straight forward, like a meeting of the brethren in a Methodist church. I wasn't sure what it all meant then. Odd, how quickly I forgot about the tiny, human shaped creatures with the sugar-glass wings, but I did. There was a light incense in the air. Maybe it sedated us?... The man on the dais spoke of pigeons. They communicated through pigeons. Homing pigeons, they were. But I didn't know that then. Illuminati all had coops and the birds flew from 'light' to 'light.' That's what they call each other, 'lights.' In places with multiple 'lights,' not many, but enough to form a small congregation, they call those groups 'beacons.' He asked a few people if their flock was healthy and strong. He asked others, who I assumed were philosophers, or writers, if their tracts were ready. A woman from Krakow said her 'beacon' needed a new printing press, for their old one was smashed by the Czarist police. Most of Poland was ruled by Russia and that autocracy (an absolute, brutal, crushing, 'monarchy') was a particular nemesis of theirs. You see, Illuminati were never involved with dark art. They (we) were just the first people to 'know.' They realized life could be better and they understood that certain organized forces did not want life to get better. Oh, the elites lived wonderful lives... the ecclesiastic elites, the ruling elites, the financial elites... all of them. To be truthful, we had 'lights' among those powerful groups too. It's always better to reform from the inside, though progress was slow. Few people realized there could be anything better. And we did not preach violent political upheaval. Tolerant, progressive, constitutional kingdoms suited us just fine. You know what we were? We were children of The Enlightenment... Voltaire, Spinoza, De Carte, Goethe, Tom Paine and the like. Doctor Franklin, in America was part of it too. The sad fact is 'common people' lack confidence. Give them a friendly taproom and a congenial company of fellows who share the same burdens, fears and biases. That's all they want.. a refuge from their troubles. Do you think Old India was the only land with a caste system? England was just as bad and we considered ourselves a 'modern' western country. ... Look, it's as they say at the top of this 'blog' --- Everything is everywhere. What choices do you make? But I wax too philosophical . Let me return to the wonder of it all. I remember so much. The Illuminati sometimes 'planted seeds.' I was one such seed. They placed me with foster parents, so that I might grow up and see the problems of the world. Then they snatched me back from that modest existence in a none too gentle way, as a demonstration of their capabilities.... And they (we?) are capable of a lot. Sometimes 'retrograde souls,' that's what we call obstinate, powerful types in our way disappear. None take credit. It just happens. Is that a 'dark art?'... I don't think so. I don't know. Is it? Come back next time.... We'll explore... Never be afraid to 'feel' the world... Never be afraid to dream... <more to come> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click - KNOW ... to travel though all episodes of Vampire Wonderland... then click on the 'subscribe' button near to top right corner of the screen to complete the journey. FeedReaderOnLine changed things and that's how they do it now. click - LIKE A ROUND TABLE ... to join me and basically a whole lot of other supportive people too. kindly leave a comment? thank you.
Although some facts are changed, this leads into material that is very spot on and not meant for everyone. Please know that.
Lawrence Edgerton speaks - I was in a dome, a large, rustic, grey stone dome. The interior vault was studded with windows. Some were round, some triangular, others had a long, rectangle shape and they pointed everywhere. The center of the space featured a seaman's glass, only bigger, much bigger. It was brass, perhaps eighteen feet long and maybe one and a half feet across.... a tube such as a giant admiral might use to track his ships at sea. The oversized thing rested on a fulcrum, also brass. The large end faced a triangular window. The window was open. I could see a star, or what I took to be a star. Everything in the sky was a star to me, save for the moon. I knew nothing. But that in no way indicates a lack of intelligence, merely a paucity of opportunity. And even a moonbeam can pinpoint a mouse. Then a man stepped out of the shadows. His salt and pepper hair was long, reaching his shoulders. Dressed in black, he was. I'd never seen a man with black linen (shirt and neck cloth), but that's what he had.... He nodded. I nodded back... He gestured toward a stool positioned by the 'eye' end of the glass and said - Take a look..... I hesitated.... He went - Go on. Sit down..... Can I move it? - I asked..... Just look - he said..... And then I saw the golden rings of Saturn... For the longest time neither of us made a sound... Finally, the man said - Nine hundred million miles. What you're seeing is a giant world nine times as far from you as you are from the sun.... How big is it? .... Well, let me see. If it was a fishbowl, seven hundred and fifty Earths would fit inside.... What makes the halo? - I asked...... The pulverized bones of all the souls in hell.... I just looked... and then he smiled.... Why am I here? ..... Why are any of us here?.... He opened a door-like triangular window down by the floor and disappeared into it. I heard him say - Follow me.... And I did.... We walked across a broad lawn. There was a Greek revival manor house in the distance, quite new and probably an updating of an earlier structure. You know, the Romantic crowd and all? Most of the windows were dark, or nearly dark. A few, on the first floor were somewhat brighter... not by much, though considering the darkness of the night, the low, coppery light seemed mysterious and inviting. I said - Who lives here? Who's house is that?.... He said - Think not of it as a private residence, but more of a religious order, or a retreat...... For whom? - I asked.... For many people - he said. Now the men driving the conveyance that saved me uttered one word --- Illuminati... and I had no idea what that meant. I asked the astronomer with salt and pepper hair if he was one. .... I thought it might be a family. People from the Italian Peninsula had been coming to England since George II's time... The man said - We are all Illuminati. You are Illuminati too. Ah, how nice. They come to greet us..... I looked up to see a swarm of what appeared to be at least a dozen, glowing, night flying dragonflies, but they were not jewel-like insects. Each proved to be a tiny being with human form and two pair of 'sugar glass' wings. The man chuckled, as one of the creatures whispered in his ear. I suppose it tickled... It that manner we progressed o're the lawn and toward the weathered bronze doors ( a find from an old Venetian palazzo ), softly lit by two exterior, glass lanterns. Whoever these Illuminati were, they certainly had good taste.. and, from the look of the place, quite a bit of power too. Just before entering, I turned to look at the sky and for the first time in my life saw the great and terrifying arc of The Milky Way rise up over the moorlands..... <more next time> ____________________________________ click THE MILKY WAY ... to see all episodes of Vampire Wonderland and when you get to the page, please click the 'subscribe' button near the top right corner of the screen. FeedReaderOnLine changed things and that's how it works now. click WHO'S CALLING? ... to join me on Twitter. maybe kindly leave a comment? thank you.
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