LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ®(pqt..._.„„ ©ojujrajjjt fa.: Shelf £ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. MYSTERY THE GOLDEN CLOTH THE STORY OF THE CHRIST; A BOOK OF THE AGES JASPER S: HUGHES CHICAGO WHITE STAR, PUBLISHER 1895 -p% *s COPYRIGHT By JASPER S. HUGHES 1895 €f)t fLafeesttre $r«s R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS CO. CHICAGO MYSTERY OF THE GOLDEN CLOTH. CHAPTER I. Upon the living-room table in my father's house had lain from my earliest recollections an ancient manuscript book, about which the most fascinating traditions had gathered. It was known as the Golden Cloth, or Cloth of Gold, and wrought into its fibers were interpreted certain promises that to its possessor some day would come a great reward. This cloth was an heirloom to my father, as it had been to his father, and so on back from father to son to a period beyond the point we were able to trace our family tree. Just why it had been so closely preserved and so carefully handed down was never rationally accounted for. In my father's day it was sometimes referred to as the " Rosetta," referring to the famous Rosetta Stone, because it resembled it in having the appearance of having be^n written upon in three different languages, and also because it implied a possibility that the mystery it held should some day be revealed. The fabric itself and the characters bore unmistakable marks of antiquity and of an oriental origin. It differed from the Rosetta Stone in being written upon cloth instead of engraved in stone, and the figures, embracing nearly all the great objects in nature, were worked in relief upon its face and cunningly made of the same threads or strands that composed the fabric itself. It also differed from the Rosetta Stone in having its three languages braided together or inwoven ingeniously, instead of each having 3 4 MYSTERY OF THE GOLDEN CLOTH. a space of its own. And though the languages seemed to convey one and the same message, their mechanical arrangement had led into confusion all who had attempted its interpretation. This fact was supposed to render it impossible to be under- stood. The innumerable efforts of the great and learned who had carefully examined true copies of it, had failed, and many con- cluded that it was the work of some idle monk or ingenious person, without any meaning of importance, and but the carrying out of a mere fancy to dispose of idle time by weaving a trackless maze which no one might ever unravel, or, if he should, would be ill rewarded for so great pains. But all agreed that in view of so many failures, it was a great presumption for anyone to attempt the secret. There grew around the cloth, therefore, a thick veil of superstition for its mysteries, and a reverence for its antiquity, as well as for a vague interest felt in the groups of characters them- selves, so strangely worked into it and spread all over its surface. This strange old book fell to me, and was preserved with the same reverence, though not without certain mental questionings, as it had been in the hands of my ancestors, through a long line, even jealously, though I could not tell a reason why. Being a little venturesome, I had once cherished the ambitious design of some day finding at least some part of its long-hidden secret, and being myself an unordained evangel, I had even ventured a few years before to interest my listeners, who had all seen copies of the Cloth of Gold. I had postponed the undertaking, and might never have begun it again, but for the saddest possible calamity that befell me. Upon my lovely home, which I held in my heart to be the most perfect Eden since that one from which the four rivers went out long ago, there fell the shadow of the darkest cloud that ever lowered over a spot which perfect love had made happy from our bridal day. My dear Emily sank abruptly into the pit of black MYSTERY OF THE GOLDEN CLOTH. 5 melancholia from a previous life of continued good health. My own bitterness of spirit that resulted, became unbearable and incapacitated for the duties of life, I was compelled to seek some- thing to divert my thoughts. But my efforts were entirely unavailing, and in whatever direction I sought diversion and interest or oblivion from my thoughts, it proved of no avail. I sought some sea great enough and deep enough to drown my all-consuming grief, and after some months it came to me that on my table there lay a labyrinth of mystery no man had ever threaded and where I might surely lose my thoughts and bury my grief. I determined to do so, remembering, however, that it was commonly believed that most, or many, at least, had become insane in this venturous attempt, and a proverb had often been spoken that "he who attempts to find the secret of the Cloth of Gold is either insane when he begins it or will be when he ends." My distress helped on my usual venturesome disposition and urged me to the attempt. The Cloth of Gold had always been kept within the lids of the old family bible, as in some way akin to it or at least to the family record, and never left its place of lying next to the back lid, folded to fit. As avast body of tradition had gathered round the author of the Cloth of Gold, of little value as affecting either the invention or the author of it, I intended that all claims for the character of both should rest upon what I might find by searching the Cloth itself. Here and there on the Cloth are to be found patches of neat and well written sentiments in Greek, showing all the marks of care and painstaking possible, and bearing marks of literary value, but they are meshed together in an order of hieroglyphic misrule to which neither the Rosetta Stone nor any other relic of antiquity has yet furnished a parallel or the key to unlock. The third element of the Cloth is a sort of psalmody of an 6 MYSTERY OF THE GOLDEN CLOTH. entirely unearthly and supernal type, as from the spell of some enchanted dreamer or transcendental philosopher. One thing of most importance to me was that all traditions agreed in saying that the author of this antique was an exile, and the Cloth con- tains the statement by the author himself that it was while there he wrought out the fabric. I said, here is a man who can sym- pathize with me. He, too, was heartbroken, in exile, and sep- arated from his sweet home, and here he sought and found diversion for his mind. I will study this fabric. Then, too, he was not a modern tobacco fiend and did not read the daily papers for his mental diet, nor engage in modern politics, and being an exile, presumably for life, I would pledge my honor he will be good company and will tell the truth if he speaks and that will be luxury enough for me, and so help me I will be his companion. If it prove a condescending choice I alone hold the secret. Near the beginning, at the top of the left hand corner, I find worked in plain Greek, these words: Maxdpcos 6 avaytvd)(Txiov y xai ol dxouovTSS rbv Xoyov ttjS 7rpo