THE NECROMANCERS

Other books by Robert Hugh Benson

The Light Invisible
By What Authority?
The King's Achievement
The History of Richard Reynall, Solitary
The Queen's Tragedy
The Religion of the Plain Man
The Sanctity of the Church
The Sentimentalists
Lord of the World
A Mirror of Shalott, composed of tales told at a symposium
Papers of a Pariah
The Conventionalists
The Holy Blissful Martyr Saint Thomas of Canterbury
The Dissolution of the Religious Houses
The Necromancers
Non-Catholic Denominations
None Other Gods
A Winnowing
Christ in the Church: a volume of religious essays
The Dawn of All
Come Rack! Come Rope!
The Coward
The Friendship of Christ
An Average Man
Confessions of a Convert
Optimism
Paradoxes of Catholicism
Poems
Initiation
Oddsfish!
Spiritual Letters of Monsignor R. Hugh Benson to one of his converts
Loneliness
Sermon Notes

THE NECROMANCERS

Robert Hugh Benson

First published in 1909.

Wildside Press
Doylestown, Pennsylvania

The Necromancers
A publication of
Wildside Press
P.O. Box 301
Holicong, PA 18928-0301

www.wildsidepress.com

I must express my gratitude to the Rev. Father Augustine Howard, O.P., who has kindly read this book in manuscript and favored me with his criticisms.

—Robert Hugh Benson.

Contents

Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Epilogue

Chapter I

I

"I am very much distressed about it all," murmured Mrs. Baxter.

She was a small, delicate-looking old lady, very true to type indeed, with the silvery hair of the devout widow crowned with an exquisite lace cap, in a filmy black dress, with a complexion of precious china, kind shortsighted blue eyes, and white blue-veined hands busy now upon needlework. She bore about with her always an atmosphere of piety, humble, tender, and sincere, but as persistent as the gentle sandalwood aroma which breathed from her dress. Her theory of the universe, as the girl who watched her now was beginning to find out, was impregnable and unapproachable. Events which conflicted with it were either not events, or they were so exceptional as to be negligible. If she were hard pressed she emitted a pathetic peevishness that rendered further argument impossible.

The room in which she sat reflected perfectly her personality. In spite of the early Victorian date of the furniture, there was in its arrangement and selection a taste so exquisite as to deprive it of even a suspicion of Philistinism. Somehow the rosewood table on which the September morning sun fell with serene beauty did not conflict as it ought to have done with the Tudor paneling of the room. A tapestry screen veiled the door into the hall, and soft curtains of velvety gold hung on either side of the tall, modern windows leading to the garden. For the rest, the furniture was charming and suitable—low chairs, a tapestry couch, a multitude of little leather-covered books on every table, and two low carved bookshelves on either side of the door filled with poetry and devotion.

The girl who sat upright with her hands on her lap was of another type altogether—of that type of which it is impossible to predicate anything except that it makes itself felt in every company. Any respectable astrologer would have had no difficulty in assigning her birth to the sign of the Scorpion. In outward appearance she was not remarkable, though extremely pleasing, and it was a pleasingness that grew upon acquaintance. Her beauty, such as it was, was based upon a good foundation: upon regular features, a slightly cleft rounded chin, a quantity of dark coiled hair,