Ghost Stories of an Antiquary - Montague Rhodes James (feel good books to read .TXT) 📗

emerged panting into the central circle. He was full of

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