“I say I was a ‘good’ man!” repeated the demon preacher, leaning down over the edge of the green pulpit, and rolling its goggle eyes at its audience, particularly at the shuddering McNason—” Good in the sense that you and I and our Human brother understand goodness! I wore a top-hat—”
“Ha-ha!”
“And a frock-coat—”
“Ha-ha!”
“And I went to Church every Sunday—”
“Ha-ha-HA!”
“I took round the collection plate—”
“Ha-ha!”
“And I always put a sixpence into it myself — never less — never more!”
“Ha-ha-ha! Ha-HA!”
“When any poor man asked me to help him, and said he had a large family to keep, I told him he shouldn’t have a large family—”
“Ha-ha-ha!”
“I never sacrificed my own comfort or convenience at any time on any account, and I never parted with a penny I thought it better to keep! I was a most respectable man!”
“Hoo-roo-oo! Hoo-roo!”
“Now, my friends, I will ask you in the spirit of One Timothy Two to consider the interesting subject of my discourse, — our dear Human brother! He, too, is most respectable! He is even more than respectable, for he is a millionaire! And not only a millionaire, but a multi-millionaire! He is all Money! Oh, my friends, how good it is to be all Money! All Money and no Heart! Heart is never respectable — it is always a scoundrel! Always trusting the wrong people, loving the worst sinners, and making a fool of itself in business! Oh yes, my friends, Heart is desperately wicked! But our dear Human brother has none of it. Let us congratulate him! Especially at this time of year, — this dreary, melancholy, grumbling-time — when all the world’s tiresome little children want holiday treats, and all the tradesmen send in their bills, — this wretched, stupid, depressing season when even WE are made uncomfortable —
“Hoo-oo-oo! Hoo-roo!”
And now the Goblins beat their paunches desperately and instead of laughing, began to weep. One cadaverous-looking creature took off its woman’s hat, large as an extra large lamp-shade, and shed tears into it as though it were a bucket.
“Ah — ee! — ah — ee!” it sobbed—” How I do hate the compliments of the season! I always did! When I was a Human, I always had to tip my butler and my coachman on what they called Boxing Day! They expected it, — the Brutes! Ah — ee! — ah — ee! Such bitter, bitter memories!” Other wailings and groanings of a similar nature arose in chorus, and even Josiah McNason’s own particular companion goblin moaned and blubbered.
“It is a terrible time!” it whimpered—” A terrible, terrible time! Everybody expects everybody else to give them something! Such a waste and such an expense! Oh, hoo-roo!”
Again Josiah essayed to speak, — but his tongue still refused to utter.
“At this depressing period,” went on the ranting “Firebrand “When stupid Humans wished each other to be Merry without any cause for merriment, it is a great joy to find so sensible and practical a person as our dear, rich, wise friend Mr. Millionaire McNason among us! Yes, my brethren, it is a great joy! For he never wished anyone a ‘merry’ or even a happy time in his life, and quite right too! He never wanted to be ‘merry himself never felt like it — never looked like it! He is the master of a great Business and has no time for Sentiment. Sentiment is an imbecile quality pertaining to girls, women and fools. And our Human brother is not a fool! Oh dear no! He is living precisely as he wishes to die; — he is making himself into one of us with all possible speed! And how clever that is of him! His only regret is that he will have no use for Money when he becomes a member of our United Empire Club: — and that to be a lord will give him no extra privileges! Otherwise, he is perfectly satisfied with Himself — just as we all used to be perfectly satisfied with Ourselves! And are we not satisfied with ourselves still? Oh yes, my brethren! — oh yes, we are satisfied, because we are compelled to be satisfied! There is no getting out of Our condition! We chose it, We made it, and here We are! And in the spirit of One Timothy Two, we exhort our Human brother to continue in the self righteous way he is going! We beseech him never to be ‘merry,’ never to be kind! We implore him never to either lend or give money to those in need, not even to an old and faithful servant! For old and faithful servants are just as great humbugs as any other class of persons! Moreover gifts are always resented, and kindnesses considered as merely personal advertisements of generosity! Let our Human brother always be as he is now, and so shall he reap the just reward of his labours! The just reward! — the just reward—”
Here the bells suddenly began again, pealing their chimes with a delicious softness as though far, far away.
“Soon, very soon,” continued the “Firebrand,” lifting both its skeleton arms aloft from the enshrouding folds of its black draperies—” for our Human brother the joys of money-making will be no more! Soon, very soon, the demands upon his Purse will cease, and his weary eyes will close for the last time upon the pleasant sun! Soon, very soon, he will hear no more ‘compliments of the season’ — nor will he be troubled by the hand-shake of a friend, or the suffering appeal of the sick and needy. Soon, very soon, his ears will be deaf to all entreaties or messages — he will not even hear the message of the Bells! The Bells!” Here the Goblins all began to jump and dance up and down, up and down, — and turning their hideous faces towards Josiah McNason they bowed and bobbed before him, shouting and shrieking:
“The Bells! The Bells!”
“The message of the Bells!” reiterated the demon orator, waving its bony hands excitedly—” Grace, mercy, peace! One Timothy Two! Soon, very soon, our dear Human brother will be offended by that message no more! Soon — very soon — he will be one of us!”
With a tremendous effort, Josiah suddenly regained his speech.
“Never!” he cried, with extraordinary passion—” Never will I be one of You! Never, so help me God!”
As he spoke, a sudden terrific roar of mingled flame and wind sounded in his ears, — the peacock’s tail of light playing up like foam against the Green Pulpit leaped to an abnormal height, and swallowed up the “Reverend Mr. Firebrand” in a twinkling, — then, spreading itself into a rolling stream of fire it swept over the crowd of Goblins and drove them all helter-skelter before it like dead leaves drifting in a hurricane, engulfing them all out of sight save one, — the self-styled “Professor” that still, with its bone of an arm thrust familiarly through McNason’s, remained beside him as it were “on guard.” The Green Pulpit vanished, and nothing remained of the whole shadowy building that had seemed to be a Church, save the great organ, where now instead of a Goblin, sat a boy acolyte dressed in a little white surplice. Under his tender young fingers the notes breathed tremulously but sweetly, and presently he opened his cherub mouth and sang:
“O be joyful in the Lord, all ye lands, — serve the Lord with gladness and come before his presence with a song!”
Here the anthem was taken up by some mighty invisible choir:
“Be ye sure that the Lord He is God; it is He that hath made us and not We Ourselves—”
And all at once a white cloud filled the near and distant spaces like the rushing-in of a wave, and on this opaque pearly vapour came floating a great number of dazzling Angelic Shapes, wonderfully fair, gloriously beautiful, carrying palms in their uplifted hands and singing:
“Glory! Glory to God in the highest! And on earth, peace and goodwill! Glory to God!”
Stricken with a great awe, Josiah McNason looked and listened. He trembled violently. Should he kneel? He wondered! He had often pretended to kneel in Church — though he had really only bent his back slightly for convention’s sake, but now — ?
Before he could make up his mind one way or the other the Goblin’s clutch descended once more upon his coat collar.
“Come along, McNason!” it whispered, “We must go now! We’re not wanted here! Come!”
“Oh! Leave me alone
, for Heaven’s sake!” muttered Josiah pleadingly—” Let me stay here! Why take me away?”
“Why? Because they’re beginning to keep Christmas! We don’t believe in Christmas, do we? We say ‘Curse Christmas’ don’t we? Of course we do! Come along! You’re not wanted and I’m not wanted! One Timothy Two! Off we go!”
* * * * *
Another terrible rush and hurry-scurry through unknown heights and depths of the stormy air, and then with a sudden swoop and pounce, the Goblin dumped Josiah McNason down outside the garden gate of a pretty cottage in a quiet country lane.
Here, as if by magic, the sky cleared to a bright blue, and the sun shone out brilliantly. Birds began to sing, and the scent of a thousand flowers perfumed every light breath of wind.
“A little bit of sunshine, McNason!” whispered the Goblin—” It’s winter time for a good many Humans in many places, but it’s always summer here. It’s what WE call a ‘spiritual’ climate, — not affected by outside conditions!”
The suffering millionaire, breathless, exhausted and conscious of a great aching pain at his heart, gazed at the peaceful scene before him in silence. It was a very little garden upon which he looked, — a mere tea-cup of a garden, — but full to the brim of the sweetest blossom. The cottage to which the garden belonged was likewise very small, but it had a deep and cosy porch, up which the loveliest jessamine clambered and threw out tufts of odorous white spray. Red roses thrust their warm glowing faces through the masses of snowy bloom, and, twining in friendly garlands, showered their velvety petals at the feet of a fair woman who sat just within the porch, with her arms thrown round a sturdy boy of some nine or ten years old. She was well worth the homage of the roses — for she was very sweet to look upon, — fresh-complexioned as the bloom on a peach, — soft-eyed, — full-bosomed, and of an aspect expressing the serenest peace, love and tenderness.
“Once upon a time!” she said.
“Oh, mother!” cried the boy she clasped, “That’s the old way of telling a story! Try some other way!”
She laughed.
“Darling, there’s no other way! Everything was ‘once upon a time’ wasn’t it?” The little fellow looked up at her seriously.
“No, I don’t think so! You could never say you were my mother ‘once upon a time,’ could you? You are my mother always!”
“Always!” she murmured—” That’s very true, little man! Your mother always!” — and her lips moved silently—” On earth, and, please God, in Heaven!”
Josiah McNason, peering over the garden gate, now tried to open it, but found it inflexibly closed against him. He heaved an involuntary sigh. The Goblin echoed the sigh derisively.
“Heigh-ho, Beelzebub!” it said— “Good-looking woman, eh, McNason? And a pretty boy! That’s her youngest. She’s got three sons and a lovely daughter. Feel a bit envious, McNason? Don’t you wish you hadn’t jilted her?”
Josiah started. A sense of fear and shame began to tingle through his long-chilled blood.
“She is — she — ?” he faltered.
“Exactly! That’s it!” said the Goblin.
She — she is! The girl whose first affections you won and threw over! That was a nasty trick of yours, McNason! You did it for Money — yes! — you’ve always done everything for Money! But the girl deserved a better fate than either YOU or your MONEY! — and she’s got it! There she is — a beloved woman, wife, and mother. Just as pretty as you’re plain! She’s poor and you’re rich. But she’s contented and you’re wretched! She has three sons — all clever bright boys, — and you haven’t an heir to your name! You treated her like a CAD, — and she has married a MAN! He hasn’t millions, but he has Heart. Heart is a curious thing, McNason! You don’t know what it is, but it’s really a curious thing! It makes Happiness, — and you don’t know what that is either!”
McNason listened dreamily. All desire to resent or deny the Goblin’s accusations had died out of him. He looked yearningly over that barred garden gate as an unforgiven sinner might look at the closed doors of Paradise. So that beautiful woman with the golden-haired boy was Lilias? Lilias was her name, he remembered; — he had called her familiarly by it in the old days, — days which he recalled now with a sense of imminent desolation. Lilias had married and was happy. Did her happiness please him? No, he could not say it did. A bitter jealousy burnt in his soul, — a wrathful impatience with Deity. Why was the future veiled? Why were men left so much in the dark concerning their destinies? How could he ever have guessed that Lilias would have ripened from the timid, pretty, trusting girl he had known, into this gracious, lovely, and loving woman with all the sacred sweetness of home enfolding her as securely as a rose is enfolded by the cherishing summer air! And still he looked at her, — and still the bitterness in him grew yet more bitter, and in a kind of impotent anger he shook the garden gate with both his hands, determined to force it open.
“Steady, McNason!” said the Goblin at this juncture—” You’re not master here, you know! Every man’s house is his castle! You want to be a burglar, do you? So like you! I know a lot of fellows who feel that way! When they see a man happier than themselves, with a nice wife belonging to him, they try to steal the wife away and make him wretched! It’s a fashionable pastime with them, and they call it ‘Souls!’ Oh, Beelzebub! When they find out what Souls really are, won’t they be sorry for themselves! Come along, McNason!”
But Josiah clung to the garden gate.
“Lilias! Lilias!” he called.
But Lilias, laughing, was playing with her boy’s curls, and neither turned her head nor raised her eyes. The Goblin chuckled.
“Think she can hear you, do you?” it inquired mockingly— “Oh — hoo-roo! — what a fool you are, McNason! She is as far away from you as you are from her — and that’s a pretty long distance, I can tell you! You’re out in the storm and wind — she’s in the full sunshine! As I told you, she enjoys a ‘spiritual’ climate — supernatural weather! But you don’t believe in the supernatural, do you, McNason? Of course not! Why should you! You don’t believe in anybody but yourself! Not even in Me! Oh Beelzebub! Come along, come along!”
“Where to?” cried the miserable man, “Where in the name of Heaven do you want to take me next?”
“You shouldn’t talk about Heaven,” — said the Goblin, severely—” That’s a ‘supernatural’ place. I don’t want to take you there, you may be sure! It wouldn’t suit you at all! Nor me! Come along, come along! Don’t hanker any more after what you have lost and can never find again!
Sentiment is Stupidity — Money is Wisdom! Think of that! It makes you one of the wisest men on earth! Come! I’ve got another old friend waiting to see you — urgent appointment! Come along, I tell you!” And the Goblin made a vicious grab at McNason’s coat collar. “Don’t yearn like that! You’re too old to play Romeo, and ever so much too ugly! Hoo-roo-oo-oo! One Timothy Two! — and away we go!”
* * * * *
Out into the storm again on the wings of the bitter winter wind! All the sunshine of the “spiritual” climate vanished, and a great panorama of dark clouds moved rapidly through the freezing air. Clouds everywhere! — clouds of fantastic form and giant shape, — clouds like rocky fortresses set on the summits of high mountains, — clouds resembling huge ruminative animals wallowing in ether, — clouds heavy and threatening, suggesting pent-up thunder and jagged flame! Like a couple of midges the Goblin and its human victim were tossed from edge to edge of the thick rolling vapours, and when they descended to earth once more, Josiah McNason found himself in the small “best parlour” of an unpretentious residence, — one in a row of similar dwellings in an unpretentious street.
“Keep your eyes open, McNason!” said the Goblin—” And your ears! Nobody sees YOU, you know, or HE! We’re invisible. And if you want to curse and swear, do so by all means! Nobody hears, and nobody cares!”
Josiah looked, and saw before him a man reclining in an invalid chair near a small bright fire, his
eyes fixed on the sparkling flames with a patient and wistful sadness. A pale, sweet-faced woman with soft brown hair somewhat silvered, knelt by him, clasping one of his hands tenderly in her own. There were traces of tears on her worn thin cheeks, and her lips quivered. And standing close by, with one arm resting on the mantelpiece, and eyes bent compassionately down upon the pair, was another man whom McNason had no difficulty in recognising as his overseer, Mr. Pitt. Yet his surprise at this was so great that he could not forbear an exclamation.
“Pitt here! How the devil — !”
“Exactly!” said the Goblin—” How the devil and why the devil! Only the devil knows!”
Josiah groaned, and then the overpowering dumbness that had seized him before caught him again in its paralysing power. Stricken mute himself, he was nevertheless forced to listen with the closest attention to all that passed around him. And when Pitt spoke, the sound of that equable familiar voice sent a new and violent shock through his already racked nervous system.
“Mr. McNason is a man of iron,” — said Pitt—” There’s no doubt about it! In fact he’s harder than any metal, for metal can be made to melt, and he can’t!”
The man in the invalid chair moved restlessly.
“Did he remember me at all? — did you remind him?—” he murmured.
“Yes, Willie, I did! I even recalled the days when you used to carry his little son on your shoulder round to see the works — and I said, ‘Dove was one of the smartest men in your employ, and brought valuable custom to the firm.’ But it was all no use — no use!” He paused and then addressed himself gently to the woman who knelt by her husband’s side. “I am sure, Mrs. Dove, you believe that I have done my best?”
“Indeed, indeed, I know you have!” she answered earnestly— “And, — after all — I never had much hope. Mr. McNason must have endless claims upon his purse — and memory! It is so seldom one finds a very very rich man who cares to help little outside troubles like ours—” Here her voice trembled dangerously, and she ceased.
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 934
