MYSTERY OF wrn^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Chap. Copyright No.. Shelf^n: H^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. JASPER SEASTON HUGHES. MYSTERY OF The Golden Cloth OR THE RIVEN VEIL JASPER SEASTON HUGHES CHICAGO White Star, Publisher 1898 24060 COPYRIGHT By jasper S. HUGHES 1898. COPIES HEC!(VEB' MYSTERY OF THE GOLDEN CLOTH OR THE RIVEN VEIL By JASPER SEASTON HUGHES. AN EXPERIENCE. Upon the living room table in my father's house had lain from my earliest recollections an ancient writing, about which the most fascinating traditions had gathered. It came to be known as the Golden Cloth or Cloth of Gold, and into its fibers were wrought and interpreted certain promises that to its possessor some day would come a great reward. This strange writing was an heirloom to my father as it had been to his father and so on back from father to son from a period beyond the point we were able to trace onr family tree. Just why it had been so closely preserved and so carefully handed down was never very rationally accounted for. In my father's day it was sometimes referred to as the ^^Eo- setta," meaning the famous Eosetta stone, because it resembled it in having the appearance of having been written in highly pictorial language, and also because it implied a possibility that the mystery it held should some day be revealed and so prove to be a key to a treasure-house of knowledge far more valuable even than that. The characters bore unmistakable marks of anticjuity and of an oriental origin, It differed from a 4 MYSTERY OF THE GOLDEN CLOTH; the Rosetta stone in being written upon parchment instead of engraved in stone, and the figures employed nearly all the wonders in nature, were worked in relief upon its face and cunningly made of the same threads, or strands, that composed the fabric like a Damasque or an Arabesque. Though the language seemed to convey one and the same message, the unique arrangement had led into confusion all who had at- tempted its interpretation. This fact was supposed to render it impossible to be understood. The innumerable efforts of the great and learned who had carefully examined true copies of it had failed to give the key, and many concluded it was the work of some idle monk or ingenious person having no mean- ing of importance and but the carr}dng 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 any one to attempt the secret. There grew around the Cloth therefore a veil of mist, of super- stition, for its mysteries and a reverence for its antiquity as well as for a vague interest in the groups of characters them- selves so strangely worked into it and spread over its surface. This strange old book fell to me and was preserved with the same reverence, though not without certain mental question- ings, as it had been in the hands of my ancestors through a long line, even jealously, though I could not tell the 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- ist, I had even ventured a few years before to interest my listeners in its imagery who had all seen copies of the Cloth of Gold and had pondered its sibyllic oracles with wonder. I had postponed the undertaking till I might feel less of awe, and might never have begun it again but for the saddest Or, the riven veil. 5 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 abysmal pit of melancholia from a previous life of continued cheerful health. My own bitter- ness of spirit became to me unbearable and, disqualified for the duties of life, I was compelled to seek some way to divert my thoughts from an agony too intense to be borne. But my ef- forts were entirely unavailing and, in whatever direction I sought diversion or oblivion from my sorrow it proved unavail- ing. I sought some sea great enough to drown my all consum- ing grief. After some months it came to me that on my table there lay a labyrinth of mystery no man had ever threaded and one where I might surely lose my burden and bury my grief. I determined to do so, remembering, however, that it was com-, monly believed that most, or many at least, had become in- sane 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, or will be when he ends it. My distress assisted 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 like the family record, or somewhat nearer, but considered as of doubtfuh right to be taken into the full credit of scripture truth; and as it never left its place folded in and bound with it, and as it closes with words of warning well suiting the close of the great book, I chose to regard it as inspired. As a vast body of tra- dition had gathered around the author of the work, of little value as affecting either the invention or the author of it, I in- tended that all claims for the character of both should rest upon 6 MYSTERY OP THE GOLDEN CLOTH; what I might find by searching the hook itself. Here and there, on the original of which ours is but a translation, are to be found sayings in Greek showing all the marks of care and painstaking possible' and bearing marks of literary value, but are meshed together in an order of hieroglyphic misrule to which neither the Eosetta stone nor any other relic of anti- quity has yet furnished a parallel or the key to unlock. A weird element of the Cloth is a sort of psalmody of an unearthly and supernal type as from the spell of some en- chanted dreamer or transcendental philosopher singing a dirge over perished empires in which a sacramental host in white joins in acclamations of victory over earth and death and time. One thing of much importance to me was that all traditions agreed in saying that the author of this antique was an exile, and this strange mosaic which he composed contains the state- ment by the author himself that it was while there he wrought out the work. I said, soliloquizing, ."Here is a man who can sympathize with me. He too was an exile, as I am, broken hearted and far from his sweet home once graced with the presence of Marj^ the mother of Jesus; and her© in this far off island in solitude has found food for his mind and, may be, solace for his heart. For his sake 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 poli- tics, and being an exile presumably for life, I will pledge my honor he will tell the truth and be good company, 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 I find these words in well written Greek, Maxdpio<; 6 avayivcbdxc^v, x