Ghost Stories of an Antiquary, Montague Rhodes James [best ereader under 100 .TXT] 📗
- Author: Montague Rhodes James
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apologies for his delay; he had not been able, after all, to find the
key. ‘But there!’ he said, ‘you’ve penetrated into the heart of the
mystery unaided and unannealed, as the saying goes. Well! I suppose it’s
a matter of thirty to forty years since any human foot has trod these
precincts. Certain it is that I’ve never set foot in them before. Well,
well! what’s the old proverb about angels fearing to tread? It’s proved
true once again in this case.’ Humphreys’ acquaintance with Cooper,
though it had been short, was sufficient to assure him that there was no
guile in this allusion, and he forbore the obvious remark, merely
suggesting that it was fully time to get back to the house for a late cup
of tea, and to release Cooper for his evening engagement. They left the
maze accordingly, experiencing well-nigh the same ease in retracing their
path as they had in coming in.
‘Have you any idea,’ Humphreys asked, as they went towards the house,
‘why my uncle kept that place so carefully locked?’
Cooper pulled up, and Humphreys felt that he must be on the brink of a
revelation.
‘I should merely be deceiving you, Mr Humphreys, and that to no good
purpose, if I laid claim to possess any information whatsoever on that
topic. When I first entered upon my duties here, some eighteen years
back, that maze was word for word in the condition you see it now, and
the one and only occasion on which the question ever arose within my
knowledge was that of which my girl made mention in your hearing. Lady
Wardrop—I’ve not a word to say against her—wrote applying for admission
to the maze. Your uncle showed me the note—a most civil note—everything
that could be expected from such a quarter. “Cooper,” he said, “I wish
you’d reply to that note on my behalf.” “Certainly Mr Wilson,” I said,
for I was quite inured to acting as his secretary, “what answer shall I
return to it?” “Well,” he said, “give Lady Wardrop my compliments, and
tell her that if ever that portion of the grounds is taken in hand I
shall be happy to give her the first opportunity of viewing it, but that
it has been shut up now for a number of years, and I shall be grateful to
her if she kindly won’t press the matter.” That, Mr Humphreys, was your
good uncle’s last word on the subject, and I don’t think I can add
anything to it. Unless,’ added Cooper, after a pause, ‘it might be just
this: that, so far as I could form a judgement, he had a dislike (as
people often will for one reason or another) to the memory of his
grandfather, who, as I mentioned to you, had that maze laid out. A man of
peculiar teenets, Mr Humphreys, and a great traveller. You’ll have the
opportunity, on the coming Sabbath, of seeing the tablet to him in our
little parish church; put up it was some long time after his death.’
‘Oh! I should have expected a man who had such a taste for building to
have designed a mausoleum for himself.’
‘Well, I’ve never noticed anything of the kind you mention; and, in fact,
come to think of it, I’m not at all sure that his resting-place is within
our boundaries at all: that he lays in the vault I’m pretty confident is
not the case. Curious now that I shouldn’t be in a position to inform you
on that heading! Still, after all, we can’t say, can we, Mr Humphreys,
that it’s a point of crucial importance where the pore mortal coils are
bestowed?’
At this point they entered the house, and Cooper’s speculations were
interrupted.
Tea was laid in the library, where Mr Cooper fell upon subjects
appropriate to the scene. ‘A fine collection of books! One of the finest,
I’ve understood from connoisseurs, in this part of the country; splendid
plates, too, in some of these works. I recollect your uncle showing me
one with views of foreign towns—most absorbing it was: got up in
first-rate style. And another all done by hand, with the ink as fresh as
if it had been laid on yesterday, and yet, he told me, it was the work of
some old monk hundreds of years back. I’ve always taken a keen interest
in literature myself. Hardly anything to my mind can compare with a good
hour’s reading after a hard day’s work; far better than wasting the whole
evening at a friend’s house—and that reminds me, to be sure. I shall be
getting into trouble with the wife if I don’t make the best of my way
home and get ready to squander away one of these same evenings! I must be
off, Mr Humphreys.’
‘And that reminds me,’ said Humphreys, ‘if I’m to show Miss Cooper the
maze tomorrow we must have it cleared out a bit. Could you say a word
about that to the proper person?’
‘Why, to be sure. A couple of men with scythes could cut out a track
tomorrow morning. I’ll leave word as I pass the lodge, and I’ll tell
them, what’ll save you the trouble, perhaps, Mr Humphreys, of having to
go up and extract them yourself: that they’d better have some sticks or a
tape to mark out their way with as they go on.’
‘A very good idea! Yes, do that; and I’ll expect Mrs and Miss Cooper in
the afternoon, and yourself about half-past ten in the morning.’
‘It’ll be a pleasure, I’m sure, both to them and to myself, Mr Humphreys.
Good night!’
*
Humphreys dined at eight. But for the fact that it was his first evening,
and that Calton was evidently inclined for occasional conversation, he
would have finished the novel he had bought for his journey. As it was,
he had to listen and reply to some of Calton’s impressions of the
neighbourhood and the season: the latter, it appeared, was seasonable,
and the former had changed considerably—and not altogether for the
worse—since Calton’s boyhood (which had been spent there). The village
shop in particular had greatly improved since the year 1870. It was now
possible to procure there pretty much anything you liked in reason: which
was a conveniency, because suppose anythink was required of a suddent
(and he had known such things before now), he (Calton) could step down
there (supposing the shop to be still open), and order it in, without he
borrered it of the Rectory, whereas in earlier days it would have been
useless to pursue such a course in respect of anything but candles, or
soap, or treacle, or perhaps a penny child’s picture-book, and nine times
out of ten it’d be something more in the nature of a bottle of whisky
you’d be requiring; leastways— On the whole Humphreys thought he would
be prepared with a book in future.
The library was the obvious place for the after-dinner hours. Candle in
hand and pipe in mouth, he moved round the room for some time, taking
stock of the titles of the books. He had all the predisposition to take
interest in an old library, and there was every opportunity for him here
to make systematic acquaintance with one, for he had learned from Cooper
that there was no catalogue save the very superficial one made for
purposes of probate. The drawing up of a catalogue raisonn� would be a
delicious occupation for winter. There were probably treasures to be
found, too: even manuscripts, if Cooper might be trusted.
As he pursued his round the sense came upon him (as it does upon most of
us in similar places) of the extreme unreadableness of a great portion of
the collection. ‘Editions of Classics and Fathers, and Picart’s
Religious Ceremonies, and the Harleian Miscellany, I suppose are all
very well, but who is ever going to read Tostatus Abulensis, or Pineda on
Job, or a book like this?’ He picked out a small quarto, loose in the
binding, and from which the lettered label had fallen off; and observing
that coffee was waiting for him, retired to a chair. Eventually he opened
the book. It will be observed that his condemnation of it rested wholly
on external grounds. For all he knew it might have been a collection of
unique plays, but undeniably the outside was blank and forbidding. As a
matter of fact, it was a collection of sermons or meditations, and
mutilated at that, for the first sheet was gone. It seemed to belong to
the latter end of the seventeenth century. He turned over the pages till
his eye was caught by a marginal note: ‘_A Parable of this Unhappy
Condition_,’ and he thought he would see what aptitudes the author might
have for imaginative composition. ‘I have heard or read,’ so ran the
passage, ‘whether in the way of Parable or true Relation I leave my
Reader to judge, of a Man who, like Theseus, in the Attick Tale,
should adventure himself, into a Labyrinth or Maze: and such an one
indeed as was not laid out in the Fashion of our Topiary artists of
this Age, but of a wide compass, in which, moreover, such unknown
Pitfalls and Snares, nay, such ill-omened Inhabitants were commonly
thought to lurk as could only be encountered at the Hazard of one’s very
life. Now you may be sure that in such a Case the Disswasions of Friends
were not wanting. “Consider of such-an-one” says a Brother “how he went
the way you wot of, and was never seen more.” “Or of such another” says
the Mother “that adventured himself but a little way in, and from that
day forth is so troubled in his Wits that he cannot tell what he saw, nor
hath passed one good Night.” “And have you never heard” cries a Neighbour
“of what Faces have been seen to look out over the Palisadoes and
betwixt the Bars of the Gate?” But all would not do: the Man was set upon
his Purpose: for it seems it was the common fireside Talk of that Country
that at the Heart and Centre of this Labyrinth there was a Jewel of
such Price and Rarity that would enrich the Finder thereof for his life:
and this should be his by right that could persever to come at it. What
then? Quid multa? The Adventurer pass’d the Gates, and for a whole
day’s space his Friends without had no news of him, except it might be by
some indistinct Cries heard afar off in the Night, such as made them turn
in their restless Beds and sweat for very Fear, not doubting but that
their Son and Brother had put one more to the Catalogue of those
unfortunates that had suffer’d shipwreck on that Voyage. So the next day
they went with weeping Tears to the Clark of the Parish to order the Bell
to be toll’d. And their Way took them hard by the gate of the
Labyrinth: which they would have hastened by, from the Horrour they had
of it, but that they caught sight of a sudden of a Man’s Body lying in
the Roadway, and going up to it (with what Anticipations may be easily
figured) found it to be him whom they reckoned as lost: and not dead,
though he were in a Swound most like Death. They then, who had gone forth
as Mourners came back rejoycing, and set to by all means to revive their
Prodigal. Who, being come to himself, and hearing of their Anxieties and
their
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