Brockmer House, 4 Crowder Street, London, England, September 1744.

The house of John Paul Brockmer, a London watchmaker, has lead-latticed windows facing the street. The upper floors contain the rooms where the family lives, as well as some boarding rooms. The street is cobbled, here and there stones are missing and a pothole is created. It is 8 o'clock in the morning and people are about.

The front door of the watchmaker's is suddenly thrown open and a man dressed only in a nightgown stumbles out. He is maybe 60 years old, not young anymore, with thin pale hair that stands out in all directions. It is one of the boarders staying at this address. His name is Emanuel Swedenborg, engineer and writer, from Stockholm, Sweden.

The man is trying to make sounds, words, and is spitting and drooling in the effort to speak. His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides. A second figure appears in the door, this time Mr. Brockmer himself. He looks concerned and approaches Mr. Swedenborg, trying to soothe him and restrain him.

"Let me take you to see the doctor," he says calmly. "It's just down the street."

Mr. Swedenborg shakes himself loose, and shouts, "No! No. I cannot… I am the Messiah. Where are the Jews? I am the Messiah!" He starts running, his bare feet awkward on the uneven stones. He is breathing heavily. At one of the muddy potholes he stops and stands stock still. A stream of yellow urine flows across the cobbles, soiling his nightgown. He runs on, around the corner.

Mr. Brockmer is still trailing him, not sure what to do. The Swedish Embassy is in the next street and when Mr. Brockmer turns the corner he sees Mr. Swedenborg at the front door, banging it with both fists, screaming something in Swedish.

"Öppna dörren! Öppna dörren!" (Open the door! Open the door!)

A window on the first floor, above the entrance, opens and someone leans out to see what the commotion is. When he sees the man in dirty clothes with a wild look in his eyes, foaming at the mouth, he quickly shouts down, "Nej! Försvinna, vi är inte öppna!" (No, go away, we are closed) And he shuts the window again.

Mr. Swedenborg stumbles onward, and arrives at a place called the Gully Hole, south from Thames Street and close to the river. This is the site that in 1824 would be replaced by the New London Bridge, also called Rennie's Bridge after the architect. It is the same bridge that in 1968 would be sold to an American oil millionaire for 2,460,000 USD, then transported to Arizona and rebuilt. The transporting and rebuilding would turn out to cost three times as much as the bridge itself. This was before eBay and Free Shipping options.

When Mr. Swedenborg arrives at this location he takes off his night gown. Coins fall out of a pocket and clatter on the street. He stumbles on and then stands stark naked in ankle-deep mud. He keeps repeating, "I am the Messiah." Sometimes in Swedish, "Jag är Messias. Jag är Messias!" Then he begins rolling around in the mud of the ditch, wailing, "I am crucified…"

Mr. Brockmer arrives, carrying six towels. When he sees signs that Mr. Swedenborg is slowing down, he helps him up out of the mud and drapes the towels over his shoulders and around his waist. They walk away, back to Crowder Street. On returning to the watchmaker's house Mr. Swedenborg is bathed and put to bed. A doctor comes calling later that morning.

Mr. Swedenborg would return to London five years later to publish the first volume of a book describing what exactly it was that he had seen in the spirit world that fateful, mud-splattered day.

(From Ordained: Part I Denmark by Stephen Muires, web: .com)