The Residence of Whitminster E-Book

Montague Rhodes James

• Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

In "The Residence of Whitminster," M.R. James crafts a chilling narrative that meticulously explores themes of supernatural horror and the uncanny within a traditional English setting. Combining intricate character development with an atmospheric prose style, James weaves a tale centered on the mysterious and eerie events surrounding a rural residence, invoking a sense of dread and suspense typical of early 20th-century ghost stories. This novella exemplifies James's flair for evoking tension through understated descriptions and a slow-building narrative arc, situated within the context of the Gothic genre that he adeptly transformed during his literary career. Montague Rhodes James, a scholar of medieval studies and a noted antiquarian, was profoundly influenced by his academic environment, often infusing his ghost stories with historical and archaeological details. This expertise allowed him to create richly textured narratives that evoke not just fear, but also an appreciation for the past. His unique background as a Cambridge scholar gave him access to ancient manuscripts and settings that greatly informed his writings, making his ghost stories compellingly rooted in a sense of time and place. For readers who appreciate finely crafted tales of suspense and the supernatural, "The Residence of Whitminster" is a quintessential example of M.R. James'Äôs prowess. It serves as both a haunting reflection on the hidden terrors within ordinary life and an exploration of the power of memory and history. Fans of classic horror will find themselves captivated by this meticulously penned tale, which remains a poignant study of fear that resonates through the ages.

Leseprobe

Montague Rhodes James

The Residence of Whitminster

Published by Good Press, 2022

[email protected]

EAN 4064066458713

Table of Contents

Cover

Titlepage

Text

A Thin Ghost and Others — The Residence of Whitminster

Table of Contents

Dr. Ashton—Thomas Ashton, Doctor of Divinity—sat in his study, habited in a dressing-gown, and with a silk cap on his shaven head—his wig being for the time taken off and placed on its block on a side table. He was a man of some fifty-five years, strongly made, of a sanguine complexion, an angry eye, and a long upper lip. Face and eye were lighted up at the moment when I picture him by the level ray of an afternoon sun that shone in upon him through a tall sash window, giving on the west. The room into which it shone was also tall, lined with book-cases, and, where the wall showed between them, panelled. On the table near the doctor’s elbow was a green cloth, and upon it what he would have called a silver standish—a tray with inkstands—quill pens, a calf-bound book or two, some papers, a churchwarden pipe and brass tobacco-box, a flask cased in plaited straw, and a liqueur glass. The year was 1730, the month December, the hour somewhat past three in the afternoon.

I have described in these lines pretty much all that a superficial observer would have noted when he looked into the room. What met Dr. Ashton’s eye when he looked out of it, sitting in his leather arm-chair? Little more than the tops of the shrubs and fruit-trees of his garden could be seen from that point, but the red brick wall of it was visible in almost all the length of its western side. In the middle of that was a gate—a double gate of rather elaborate iron scroll-work, which allowed something of a view beyond. Through it he could see that the ground sloped away almost at once to a bottom, along which a stream must run, and rose steeply from it on the other side, up to a field that was park-like in character, and thickly studded with oaks, now, of course, leafless. They did not stand so thick together but that some glimpse of sky and horizon could be seen between their stems. The sky was now golden and the horizon, a horizon of distant woods, it seemed, was purple.

But all that Dr. Ashton could find to say, after contemplating this prospect for many minutes, was: ‘Abominable!’

A listener would have been aware, immediately upon this, of the sound of footsteps coming somewhat hurriedly in the direction of the study: by the resonance he could have told that they were traversing a much larger room. Dr. Ashton turned round in his chair as the door opened, and looked expectant. The incomer was a lady—a stout lady in the dress of the time: though I have made some attempt at indicating the doctor’s costume, I will not enterprise that of his wife—for it was Mrs. Ashton who now entered. She had an anxious, even a sorely distracted, look, and it was in a very disturbed voice that she almost whispered to Dr. Ashton, putting her head close to his, ‘He’s in a very sad way, love, worse, I’m afraid.’ ‘Tt—tt, is he really?’ and he leaned back and looked in her face. She nodded. Two solemn bells, high up, and not far away, rang out the half-hour at this moment. Mrs. Ashton started. ‘Oh, do you think you can give order that the minster clock be stopped chiming to-night? ’Tis just over his chamber, and will keep him from sleeping, and to sleep is the only chance for him, that’s certain.’ ‘Why, to be sure, if there were need, real need, it could be done, but not upon any light occasion. This Frank, now, do you assure me that his recovery stands upon it?’ said Dr. Ashton: his voice was loud and rather hard. ‘I do verily believe it,’ said his wife. ‘Then, if it must be, bid Molly run across to Simpkins and say on my authority that he is to stop the clock chimes at sunset: and—yes—she is after that to say to my lord Saul that I wish to see him presently in this room.’ Mrs. Ashton hurried off.

Before any other visitor enters, it will be well to explain the situation.

Dr. Ashton was the holder, among other preferments, of a prebend in the rich collegiate church of Whitminster, one of the foundations which, though not a cathedral, survived dissolution and reformation, and retained its constitution and endowments for a hundred years after the time of which I write. The great church, the residences of the dean and the two prebendaries, the choir and its appurtenances, were all intact and in working order. A dean who flourished soon after 1500 had been a great builder, and had erected a spacious quadrangle of red brick adjoining the church for the residence of the officials. Some of these persons were no longer required: their offices had dwindled down to mere titles, borne by clergy or lawyers in the town and neighbourhood; and so the houses that had been meant to accommodate eight or ten people were now shared among three, the dean and the two prebendaries. Dr. Ashton’s included what had been the common parlour and the dining-hall of the whole body. It occupied a whole side of the court, and at one end had a private door into the minster. The other end, as we have seen, looked out over the country.