Kingsley Amis - The Green Man

There were no other possibilities. Ware looked at me with gloomy expectancy.

‘Could I have a look at those sundry matters?’ I asked.

‘All these items are kept in the Hobson Room,’ said Ware forcefully, but without indicating whether I was expected to give a cry of pure animal terror at this disclosure, or burst out laughing to find my quest so comically and decisively thwarted, or what. I turned to Duerinckx-Williams.

‘Which, I believe, is not open to non-Fellows without the written permission of the Master,’ he said, ‘but in the case of Mr Allington, who is an M.A. of my college and for whom I am happy to vouch, perhaps this requirement could be waived.’

‘Of course,’ said Ware, impatient now, and with a key already in his hand. Resuming his shopwalker manner, he added, ‘Would you come this way?’

The Hobson Room turned out to occupy a whole floor of a tower at the opposite angle of the court, approached by a winding stone staircase and possessing small windows on three sides. It was cool, the first cool place I had been in for what seemed like weeks. Most of the available wall-space was filled with deep oak shelves of Edwardian pattern, and two working-tables and chairs of the same period completed the furniture. On the shelves stood ranks of grey cloth folders, presumably containing manuscripts. Ware began to examine the top outer corners of these like somebody looking through a collection of gramophone records. I could not watch him; I stood and tried to read a framed quarto page of some book that hung among others on the stone wall, but failed to take in a word.

‘Here we are,’ said Ware. ‘Complete with fly-leaf, I see. Thomas Underhill, D.D., olim Sodalis Collegii Omnium Sanctorum, Universitatis Cantabrigiensis.’

He had to supply the last part from memory, because I had turned and taken the folder from him. It contained all or part of an octavo notebook shorn of its covers—there were traces of glue and stitching—and, apart from a little foxing, in an excellent state of preservation.

‘An odd sort of anonymity, with the man’s name plastered all over the front,’ said Duerinckx-Williams.

‘Thank you,’ I said. I had seldom wanted anything as much as I wanted the two of them to go away and let me read what I held in my hands.

Duerinckx-Williams sensed this at once. ‘We’ll leave you in peace. If you happen to be free at one thirty or so, I’d be delighted to give you lunch at Matthew’s. Just the ordinary combination-room stuff, but eatable as a rule. But you mustn’t feel bound by that.’

‘Perhaps you’d lock up when you leave and return the key to me in the library,’ said Ware, handing it to me.

‘Yes,’ I said. I had the notebook open on one of the decks and a reading-light switched on. Thank you.’

There was a short pause while they presumably looked at each other or, for all I cared, went through a complicated mime of impotent fury, and then there was the clank of the iron latch.

Underhill had written a good clear hand, and had not used any private shorthand system: abbreviations were few and immediately understandable. He began, on June 17th, 1685 (he had died in 1691), by boasting to himself about how learned he was and listing and briefly describing the books he had read. Evidently he had had a considerable private library. Most of the works and authors mentioned were unknown to me, but I did recognize references to the Neoplatonist philosophers, who had been contemporaries of his at Cambridge, quite possibly acquaintances: Cudworth’s intellectual System, More’s Divine Dialogues and a couple of others. I remembered from somewhere that More had been part of, or on the edge of, a circle that practised magic, including a sinister-sounding Dutch baron. What had he been called? Never mind—an interesting lead, perhaps, to the scholar, but I am no scholar, and my interest in Underhill was not scholarly.

I read on, found more of the same, together with mystical speculations either unintelligible or trite, and began to get bored. Was this all there was going to be? Then I came to the entry for September 8th:

‘My man Gurney, on Instruction, adviz’d me that the Girl-child of Widow Tyler was come to the door, to sell Fruits & Vegetables. When this was done, enquir’d of her, Whether she wou’d take a cup of Chocolate w. mee in my Parlour, the day being so foul? She v. prettily consentg, we talk’d there together about half an hour. Told her of the Wonders I cou’d work, & how I was us’d to reward such as pleas’d me. She listen’d to all, & I warrant beleev’d all. At last, bid her, did she desire a fair Husband & Health, Wealth & Good Fortune all her life long, come to me the night following at ten of the clock, but privily, & to tell none on pain of losing all her Benefits, for did she but breathe a Word I wou’d most infallibly know of it, thro’ my Art. But, says shee, She was afear’d of the Dark of the Night. To wch I reply’d, That she must hold in her hand this Crucifix (givg it to her, a worthless Toy), & she wou’d enpoy the surest Protection, both of our Lord J.C. in Heaven, and of myself on Earth. She ask’d, If I wou’d say a strong Spell for her? My strongest, my Dear (smilg). Then (says she) I will come indeed.

‘Of middle stature, good Carriage, full Bosom. Unlike the Country Folk, her Cheek not ruddy, but a fine rose, her Teeth white, her Hand small, a Lady’s hand. Of fourteen year. I dare aver, Kg Solomon had not a finer Wench.’

After this interview, Underhill had evidently returned to his reading with the same diligence as ever: that afternoon, a Latin work on anemomancy, or divination by means of observing the strength, direction and steadiness of the wind, by a certain Alanus Candidus; after dinner, a life of another man I had never heard of by a third such. I felt that this detachment boded no good to Widow Tyler’s daughter. With dread and fascination I turned on through Underhill’s entry for the next day.

‘Upon her most punctual arrival, gave my Visitor a Potion, compounded of Claret & Brandy-wine, w. certain Additions, after the Prescription of Jacobus Magus in his De Inductione Luxuriae. Set going my Brazier, & threw thereon an artful Succession of Incenses, Powders, & caet. from my store, thus producg most delightfull & lascivious Perfumes & also strange & many-colour’d Smoaks. When all these had sufficiently work’d upon her, caus’d her to beleeve she heard sweet Musick from many Voices, warblg amorous and wanton Airs. Then, conjur’d up Shapes to appear, at first pleasg, as, Shepheards & Shepheardesses, Nymphs, Gallants, Revellers, Catamites, Masquers, Hero’s, Queens of Antiquity, some consortg carnally one w. another. Next, desir’d her to remove her Cloaths.

‘Why, Sir, (says shee) you ask me to commit a Sin. Not so, my Dear, (says I) it is not at all sinful to requite w. a show of your Beauties, those who have labour’d to entertain you, & who so labour yet. See, (indicatg a Grecian Youth & a Maid in concourse) what these two are even now about, & solely to make you Sport. Solely? (asks she, slily). In part, you must allow (says I). Why then, (says she) how can I bee less liberal (a stroak of wit that delighted me). & at once stript herself to her naked Skin. O quae deliciae!

‘Now show’d her Creatures not as attractive, as, Hippogriffs, Apes, Turks, Centaurs, Harpies, Chimaera’s, Caribans, Executioners, Worms, all fightg & murtherg & devourg one another. Fill’d her ears w. cries of wild Beasts, & Thunders, & Groans of the Damn’d. She shreik’d without cease, & entreated mee to have done, & to banish these Sights. Shreik as you will, (says I) there is none to hear, my Servants are abroad, & these are no Sights, see how they are all about you & but for mee wou’d rend you in peeces (not tellg her they were mere Apparitions & cou’d not do any thing save affright her). When as I judg’d, she had reach’d the Pitch of Terror, ravisht her upon the Floor, & shortly thereupon drove her from my Presence, throwg her wretched Cloaths after her, & warng her it were best she spoke no word of what had past, else my Devils wou’d pursue her to the Grave & beyond, & she wou’d come to me again whenever I requir’d it of her, & she was mine.