It was at this moment that I was visited with an inspiration. aWill your Majesty grant me a favour?a said I.
aAnything in reason,a said George the Fifth. aWhat would you like? What do you college-wallahs fancy? Star of India? Posthumous, naturally. Youad get it when you became one of us.a I knew why he was so generous; he wanted to get at that stamp. But before I could speak, Mackenzie King intervened.
aYour Majesty has forgotten that Canadians are not permitted to accept t.i.tles, even posthumously.a King George the Fifth spoke at length on that subject, in terms I shall not repeat. His simple, sailoras eloquence burned like a refineras fire. I was lost in wonder at some of the uses he made of the simplest Anglo-Saxon words, but Mackenzie Kingas eyes were once more closed. I sensed that he was thinking of his mother. When the King had finished, I spoke again.
aIt was not a personal favour I sought, but something for the College. We have had some ghosts herea"shabby, detrimental spooks who ran the place down. Now, if your Majestya"and of course you also, sir,a said I, looking at George the Sixth, awish to come here to look at this remarkable stamp, you are welcome at any time. All I ask is that for some part of your yearly visit you will permit yourselves to be seen. It would do so much to establish a good College tone.a Before the King could answer, Mackenzie King had spoken again. aIf any monarch, or monarchs, are to set foota"even posthumous foota"upon Canadian soil, it is desirable that a Canadian Minister of the Crown should be with them at all times,a said he. And because ghosts are not always careful to conceal their thoughts, I could hear, pa.s.sing through his mind, the objectionable phrase, ato keep an eye on thema.
It was at this moment that my inspiration completed itself in a dazzling flash. I spoke in a courtier-like tone which I had not found necessary with the two Georges. aMr. Prime Minister,a said I; ayou were certainly included in the invitation.a He seemed dubious, even then, and closed his eyes. In that instant I winked at the two kings; like the sailors they were at heart, they winked back.
aWhen shall we manifest ourselves?a said George the Fifth.
aI question if it is at all desirable to manifest ourselves,a said Mackenzie King. aThere are a great many young scientists living in this college, and it would be discourteousa"nay, wantonly cruela"to do anything that would tamper with their simple faith in materialism.a aOh, come on,a said the senior monarch. aLetas do the thing properly. I hate all this invisible hooting and rattling windows and so forth. That is for the lower order of ghosts. Be a sport, man; everybody knows you were a keen spiritualist. Weall manifest ourselves.a aYes,a I a.s.sented, eagerly; aif you would consent to walk around the quadrangle at midnight, for instancea"a aCapital!a said the old King. aWeall walk ahead, Bertie, arm-in-arm, and the P.M. can follow us, three paces in the rear. Howas that?a Mr. King looked sour. aWe shall see,a said he. aLet us leave it at this: manifestation if necessary, but not necessarily manifestation.a aOh, it will be necessary,a said George the Fifth. aWhen shall we come?a he asked, eagerly. I could see that his mind was on the stamp.
aWould January the sixth be agreeable to your Majesties?a said I. It was clear by now that Mr. King did not count. The collectors were only too ready to cooperate.
aYou may depend upon us,a said the old King. aNow Bertie, we must go, or we shall be late for the haunted chart-room at Greenwich.a And as he began to fade before my eyes, he drew from some inner recess of his uniform a handsome and completely real cigar and pressed it upon me.
A few minutes later I was strolling about the quad, smoking that admirable Hoyo de Monterey, as contented as any man in Canada, I suppose. For I had managed something for the College which I do not think had been apparent to my distinguished guests. Why should they know what I knewa"two men educated as Naval officers, and a statesman of Presbyterian background and spiritualist leanings? But I knew that by far the most appropriate day for their manifestation was January the sixth, which, is, of course, the last of the Twelve Days of Christmas, and the Feast of the Three Kings.
The Charlottetown Banquet
The range of guests who come to our fortnightly High Table dinners is wide, and provides us with extraordinarily good company. Sometimes we get a surprisea"an economist who turns out to be a poet, for instance. (I mean a poet in the formal sense: all economists are rapt, fanciful creatures; it is necessary to their profession.) Only last Friday we had a visitor whom I found a most delightful and illuminating companion. I shall not tell you what his profession is, or you will immediately identify him, and I shall have betrayed his secret, which is that he is a medium.
He does not like being a medium. He finds it embarra.s.sing. But the gift, like being double-jointed or having the power to wiggle oneas ears, can neither be acquired by study nor abdicated by an act of will. His particular power lies in the realm of psychometry; that is to say that sometimesa"not alwaysa"he finds that when he is near to an object that has strong and remarkable a.s.sociations, he becomes aware of those a.s.sociations with an intensity that is troublesome to him. And occasionally psychic manifestations follow.
He confided this to me just as we were leaving the small upstairs dining-room, where we a.s.semble after dinner for conversation and a reasonable consumption of port and Madeira. We were standing at the end of the room by the sideboard, for he had been looking at our College grant-of-arms; he put his hand on the wall to the left of the frame, to enable him to lean forward for a closer look, and then he turned to me, rather white around the mouth, I thought, and saida"
aLetas go downstairs. Itas terribly close in here.a I thought it was the cigar smoke that was troubling him. Excellent as the Bursaras cigars undoubtedly are, the combustion of a couple of dozen of them within an hour does make the air rather heavy. So I went downstairs with him, and thought no more about the matter.
It must have been a couple of hours later that I was taking a turn around the quad for a breath of air before bed, when I saw something I did not like. The window of the small dining room was lighted up, but not by electricity. It was a low, flickering light that seemed to rise and fall in its intensity, and I thought at once of fire. I dashed up the stairs with a burst of speed that any of the Junior Fellows might envy, and opened the door. Sure enough, there was light in the room.
Buta"! Now you must understand that we had left the room in the usual sort of disorder; the table had been covered with the debris of our frugal academic pleasuresa"nutsh.e.l.ls, the parings of fruit, soiled wine-gla.s.ses, filled ashtrays, crumpled napkins, and all that sort of thing. But nowa"!
I have never seen the room looking as it looked at that moment. How shall I describe it?
To begin, the table was covered with a cloth of that refulgent bluey-whiteness that speaks of the finest linen. And, what is more, there was not a crease in it; obviously it had been ironed on the table. The pattern that was woven into it was of maple leaves, entwined with lilies and roses. At every placea"and it was set for twenty-foura"was a napkin folded into the intricate shape known to Victorian butlers as Crown Imperial. At either end of the table was a soup tureen, and my heightened senses immediately discerned that the eastern tureen contained Mock Turtle, while that at the western end was filled with a Consomm enriched with a julienne of trufflesa"that is to say, Consomm Britannia. A n.o.ble boiled salmon of the Restigouche variety was displayed on one platter, with a vessel of Lobster Sauce in waiting, and on another was a selection of Fillets of the most splendid Nova Scotia mackerel, each gleaming with the pearls of a Sauce Maitre daHotel.
And the Entrees! Pet.i.tes Bouches a la Reine, and Grenadine de Veau with a Pique Sauce Tomatea"and none of your nasty bottled tomato sauce, either, but the genuine fresh article. There was a Lapin Saut which had been made to stand upright, its paws raised as though in delight at its own beauty, and a charming fluff of cauliflower sprigs where its tail had been a few hours before; you could see that it was served au Champignons, for two b.u.t.ton mushrooms gleamed where its eyes had once been. There was a C"tellete daAgneau with, naturally, Pet.i.ts Pois. There was a Coquette de Volaille, and a Timbale de Macaroni which had been moulded into the form ofa"of all thingsa"a Beaver.
In addition there were roasted turkeys, chickens, a saddle of mutton and a sirloin of beef, and there were boiled turkeys, hams, corned beef and mutton cutlets. And it was all piping hot.
The flickering soft light I had seen through the window came from a gasolier that hung over the table, and through its alabaster globes gleamed the gaslighta"surely one of the loveliest forms of illumination ever devised by man.
You have recognized the meal, of course. Every gourmet has that menu by heart. It was the Grand Banquet in Honour of the Colonial Delegates which was held at the Halifax Hotel in Charlottetown on September 12, 1864. This was the authentic food of Confederation. A specimen of the menu, elegantly printed on silk, and the gift of Professor Maurice Careless, one of our Senior Fellows, hangs on the wall of our small dining-room, just at the point where our guest, the medium, had laid his hand.
Nor was this all. What I have described to you at some length leapt to my eye in an instant, and my gaze had turned to the sideboard, which was laden with bottles of wine.
And what bottles! Tears came into my eyes, just to look at them. For these were not our ugly modern bottles, with their disagreeable Government stickers adhering to them, and their high shoulders, and their uniformity of shape, and their self-righteous airs, as though in the half-literate, nasal drone of politicians, they were declaiming: aWe are the support of paved roads, general education and public health; we are the pillars of society.a No, no; these were smaller bottles, in a multiplicity of shapes and colours. There were the slim pale-green maidens of hock; the darkly opalescent romantic ports; the st.u.r.dily gay clarets and the high-nosed aristocrats of Burgundy; there were champagnes that almost danced, yet were not ga.s.sy impostors; and they were all bottles of the old shapes and the old coloursa"dark, merry and wicked.
My knees gave a little, and I sat down in the nearest chair.
It was then that I noticed the figure by the sideboard. His back was toward me, and whether he was somewhat clouded in outline, or whether my eyes were dazzled by the table, I cannot say, but I could not quite make him out. He was hoveringa"I might almost say gloatinga"over a dozen of sherry. That should have given me a clue, but you will understand that I was not fully myself. And, furthermore, I had at that instant recalled that the menu given to us by Professor Careless was said by him to have been the property of the Honourable George Brown. On such a matter one does not doubt the word of Maurice Careless.
aMr. Brown! I believe?a I said, in what I hoped was a hospitable tone.
aG.o.d forbid that I should cast doubt on any manas belief,a said the figure, still with its back to me, abut I cannot claim the distinction you attribute to me.a He picked up a bottle of sherry and drew the cork expertly. Then he drew the cork of another, and turned toward me with a wicked chuckle, a bottle in either hand; aThese are Clan Alpineas warriors true,
And, Saxon, I am Roderick Dhua"a
said he, and I was so astonished that I quite overlooked the disagreeable experience of being addressed as a Saxon. For it was none other than Old Tomorrow himself!
Yes, it was Sir John A. Macdonald in his habit as he lived. Or rather, not precisely as we are accustomed to seeing him, but in Victorian evening dress, with a red silk handkerchief thrust into the bosom of his waistcoat. But that head of somewhat stringy ringlets, that crumpled face which seemed to culminate and justify itself in the bulbous, coppery nose, that watery, rolling, merry eye, the accordion pleating of the throat, those moist, mobile lips, were unmistakable.
aIf you were expecting Brown, I am truly sorry,a he continued. aBut, you see, I was the owner of this menu.a (He p.r.o.nounced it, in the Victorian manner, meenoo.) aBrown pocketed it as we left the table. It was a queer little way he had, of picking up odds and ends; we charitably a.s.sumed he took them home to his children. But itas mine, right enough. Look, you can see my thumb-mark on it still.a But I was not interested in thumb-prints. I was deep in awe of the shade before me. I started to my feet. In a voice choking with emotion I cried: aThe Father of my country!a aHookey Walker!a said Sir John, with a wink. aTuck in your napkin, Doctor, and let us enjoy this admirable repast.a I had no will of my own. I make no excuses. Who, under such circ.u.mstances, would have done other than he was bidden? I sat. Sir John, with remarkable grace, uncovered the Mock Turtle, and gave me a full plate. I ate it. Then he gave me a plate of the Consomm Britannia. I ate it. Then I had quite a lot of the salmon. Then a substantial helping of mackerel. I ate busily, humbly, patriotically.
I have always heard of the extraordinary gustatory zest of the Victorians. They ate hugely. But it began to be borne in upon me, as Sir John plied me with one good thing after another, that I was expected to eat all, or at least some, of everything on the table. My gorge rose. But, I said to myself, when will you, ever again, eat such a meal in such company? And my gorge subsided. I began to be aware that my appet.i.te was unimpaired. The food I placed in my mouth, and chewed, and swallowed, seemed to lose substance somewhere just behind my necktie. I had no sense of repletion. And little by little it came upon me that I was eating a ghostly meal, in ghostly company, and that under such circ.u.mstances I could go on indefinitely. Not even my jaws ached. But the tastea"ah, the taste was as palpable as though the viands were of this earth.
Meanwhile Sir John was keeping pace with me, bite for bite. But rather more than gla.s.s for gla.s.s. He had asked me to name my poison, which I took to be a Victorian jocularity for choosing my wine, and I had taken a Mosellea"a fine Berncastelera"with the soup and fish, and had then changed to a St. Emilion with the entrees. (It was particularly good with the rabbit, a dish of which I am especially fond; Sir John did not want any, and I ate that rabbit right down to the ground, and sucked its ghostly bones.) But Sir John stuck to sherry. Never have I seen a man put away so much sherry. And none of your whimpering dry sherries, either, but a brown sherry that looked like liquefied plum pudding. He threw it off a gla.s.s at a time, and he got through bottle after bottle.
You must not suppose that we ate in silence. I do not report our conversation because it is of slight interest. Justa"aAnother slice of turkey, my dear Doctor; allow me to give you the liver-wing.a Anda"aSir John, let me press you to a little more of this excellent Timbale de Macaroni; and may I refill your gla.s.s. Oh, youave done it yourself.a You know the sort of thing; the polite exchanges of men who are busy with their food.
But at last the table was empty, except for bones and wreckage. I sat back, satisfied yet in no way uncomfortable, and reached for a toothpick. It was a Victorian table, and so there were toothpicks of the finest sorta"real quill toothpicks such as one rarely sees in these weakly fastidious days. I was ready to put into effect the plan I had been hatching.
In the bad old days, before the academic life claimed me, I was, you must know, a journalist. And here I found myself in a situation of which no journalist would dare even to dream. Across the table from me sat one whose unique knowledge of our countryas past was incalculably enhanced by his extraordinary privilege of possessing access to our countryas future! Here was one who could tell me what would be the outcome of the present disquiet in Quebec. And then how I should be courted in Ottawa! Would I demand the Order of Canadaa"the Companionship, not the mere medala"before I deigned to reveal what I knew? And how I should lord it over Maurice Careless! But I at once put this unworthy thought from me. Whom the G.o.ds would destroy, they first make mad. I wound myself up to put my leading question.
But, poor creature of the twentieth century that I am, I was mistaken about the nature of our meal.
aReady for the second course, I think, eh Doctor?a said Sir John, and waved his hand. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eyea"the Biblical phrase popped into my minda"the table was completely re-set, and before us was spread a profusion of partridges, wild duck, lobster salad, galantines, plum pudding, jelly, pink blancmange, Charlotte Russe, Italian Cream, a Bavarian Cream, a Genoa Cream, plates of pastries of every varietya"apple puffs, bouches, cornucopias, croquenbouche, flans, strawberry tartlets, maids-of-honour, stuffed monkeys, prune flory, tortellia"it was bewildering. And there were ice creams in the Victorian mannera"vast temples of frozen, coloured, flavoured cornstarcha"and there were plum cakes and that now forgotten delicacy called Pyramids.
And fruit! Great towers of fruit, mounting from foundations of apples, through oranges and nectarines to capitals of berries and currants, upon each of which was perched the elegantly explosive figure of a pineapple.
You see, I had forgotten that a proper Victorian dinner had a second course of this nature, so that one might have some relaxation after the serious eating was over.
But Sir John seemed disappointed. aWhat!a he cried; ano gooseberry fool? And I had been so much looking forward to it!a He proceeded to drown his sorrow in sherry.
I had no fault to find. I began again, eating methodically of every dish, and accepting second helpings of Charlotte Russe and plum cake. During this course I drank champagne only. It was that wonderful Victorian champagne, somewhat sweeter than is now fashionable, and with a caressing, rather than an aggressive, carbonization. I hope I did not drink greedily, but in Sir Johnas company it was not easy to tell.
I do not mean to give you the impression that Sir John was the worse for his wine. He was completely self-possessed, but I could not help being aware that he had consumed nine bottles of sherry without any a.s.sistance from me, and that he showed no sign of stopping. I knewa"once again I was in the debt of Professor Careless for this informationa"that it was sherry he had favoured for those Herculean bouts of solitary drinking that are part of his legend. I was concerned, and I suppose my concern showed. Before I could begin my interrogation, might not my companion lose the power of coherent speech? I sipped my champagne and nibbled abstractedly at a stuffed monkey wondering what to do. Suddenly Sir John turned to me.
aHave a weed?a he said, I accepted an excellent cigar from the box he pushed toward me.
aAnd a b. and s. to top off with?a he continued. Once again I murmured my acquiescence, and he prepared a brandy and soda for me at the sideboard. But for himself he kept right on with the sherry.
aNow, Doctor,a said Sir John, aI can see that you have something on your mind. Out with it.a aIt isnat very easy to put into words,a said I. aHere am I, just as Canadaas centennial year is drawing to a close, sitting alone with the great architect of our Confederation. Naturally my mind is full of questions; the problem is, which should come first?a aAh, the centennial year,a said Sir John. aWell, in my time, you know, we didnat have this habit of chopping history up into century-lengths. Itas always the centennial of something.a aBut not the centennial of Canada,a said I. aYou cannot pretend to be indifferent to the growth of the country you yourself brought into being.a aNot indifferent at all,a said he. aIave put myself to no end of inconvenience during the past year, dodging all over the continenta"a mari usque ad marea"to look at this, that and the other thing.a I could not control myself; the inevitable question burst from my lips. aDid you see Expo?a I cried.
aI certainly did,a said he, laughing heartily, aand I took special trouble to be there at the end when they were adding up the bill. The deficit was roughly eight times the total budget of this Dominion for the year 1867. You call that a great exposition? Why, my dear Doctor, the only Great Exposition that made any sense at all was the Great Exposition of 1851. It was the only worldas fair in history that produced a profit. And why was that? Because it was dominated by that great financier and shrewd man of business Albert the Prince Consort. If you had had any sense you would have put your confounded Expo under the guidance of the Duke of Edinburgh; no prince would have dared to bilk and rook the country as your politicians did, for he would have known that it might cost him his head. Expo!a"a And then Sir John used some genial indecencies which I shall not repeat.
aBut Sir John,a I protested, athis is a democratic age.a aDemocracy, sir, has its limitations, like all political theories,a said he, and I remembered that I was talking, after all, to a great Conservative and a t.i.tled Canadian. But now, if ever, was the time to come to the point.
aWe have hopes that our mighty effort may reflect itself in the future development of our country,a said I. aBecause you have been so kind as to make yourself palpable to me I am going to ask a very serious question. Sir John, may I enquire what you see in store for Canada, the land which you brought into being, the land which reveres your memory, the land in which your ashes lie and your mighty example is still an inspiration? May I ask what the second century of our Confederation will bring?a aYou may ask, sir,a said Sir John; abut it wonat signify, you know. I see, Doctor, that I must give you a peep into the nature of the realm of which I am now a part. It is a world of peace, and every manas idea of peace is his own. Consider the life I led: it was one long vexation. It was an obstacle race in which my rivals were people like that tendentious, obstructive a.s.s Brown, that rancorous, dissident ruffian Cartier, even such muttonheaded fellows as Tupper and Mowat. It was a world in which I would be interrupted in the task of writing a flattering letter to an uncomprehending Queen in order to choke off some Member of Parliament who wanted one of his const.i.tuents appointed to the post of a lighthouse-keeper. It was a life in which my every generous motive was construed as political artfulness, and my frailties were inflated into examples to scare the children of the Grits. It was, doctor, the life of a yellow dog. Nowa"what would peace be to such a man as I was? Freedom, Doctor; freedom from such cares as those; freedom to observe the comedy and tragedy of life without having to take a hand in it. Freedom to do as I please without regard for consequences.a During this long speech Sir John had finished the final bottle of his dozen of sherry. Those which he had drunk before had all floated, each as it was emptied, to the sideboard, where they now stood in a cl.u.s.ter. He picked up the twelfth bottle, and whirled it round his head like an Indian club, closing one eye to take more careful aim.
aYou ask about the future of Canada, my dear sir?a he shouted. aUnderstandably you want to tell the world what I know it to be. But you canat, my dear Doctor, because I havenat taken the trouble to look. And the reason for that, my dear sir, is that I DO NOT GIVE A d.a.m.n!a And as he uttered these fearful words the Father of My Country hurled that last sherry bottle at the eleven on the sideboard. There was a tremendous smash, the gaslight went out, and I lost consciousness.
How much later it was I cannot tell, but when I was myself again I was walking around the quad, somewhat dazed but strangely elated. For, although I had been baulked in my wish to learn something of the future in this world, had I not been admitted to a precious, soothing, heartlifting secret about the next? To be a Canadian, yet not to have to give a d.a.m.na"was it not glorious!
And to have eaten the Charlottetown banquet in such company! A smile rose to my lips, and with it the ghost of a hiccup.
When Satan Goes Home for Christmas
One of the Fellows of this Collegea"a distinguished scholar whose name is familiar to all of youa"said to me a few weeks ago: aWell, I suppose we are going to have another of your ghost stories at the Gaudy.a My ear is sensitive, and it seemed to me that his remark contained less of eager enquiry than of resigned acceptance. I asked him at once what it was he disliked about my ghost stories.
aThe ghosts,a he said, bluntly. aWeave heard about your meetings with the shades of Queen Victoria, and George V and George VI, and Sir John A. Macdonald; it is as if n.o.body was fit to haunt you who had not first gained a distinguished place in history. Itas ectoplasmic elitism of the most disgusting kind.a I could have told him that these ghosts were not inventions; I did not seek thema"they sought me. But it is useless to argue with jealous people who, if they are haunted at all, are clearly haunted by ghosts drawn from the lower ranks of the Civil Service. But I determined that I would show him. I did not expect a real ghost this year; after all, five in a row is surely enough even for the most-haunted College in the University. I knew I should have to invent a ghost; it would be a simple matter to invent a ghost who would be acceptable to listeners with strong egalitarian views.
I did so. It is an excellent storya"what used to be called in an earlier day aa ripping yarnaa"and quite original. It is about a Junior Fellow of this College called Frank Einstein, a brilliant young biologist who discovers the secret of life in an old alchemical ma.n.u.script, and manufactures a living creature out of sc.r.a.ps he steals from the dissection lab in the new Medical Building. He fits it together secretly in his bedroom. But because he cannot give his creation a soul, it is a Monster, and kills the Bursar and the Librarian and finally deflowers and then eats Frankas girlfriend, a graduate student called Mary Sh.e.l.ley. It is a lively narrative, and I had looked forward to reading ita"especially the soliloquies of the Monstera"but last nighta"
Last night we held our College Christmas Dance, and there was no sleep till morn, as is entirely proper when Youth and Pleasure meet to chase the glowing Hours with flying-feet. It was about one oaclock, and I had been to look at the dancing in the Round Room, where the flying Hours were being chased in a circle, which is after all what you would expect in a Round Room. I then went downstairs to the Chapel; it seemed unlikely that any couples would be sitting out there, and I would gain ten minutes of blessed quietness. But the Chapel was not empty.
The man who was standing at the altar, gazing so intently at the reredos, was not odd in any way, and yet I felt at once that he was extraordinary in every way. He seemed to be middle-aged, and yet he was not an academic; you can always date an academic by the cut of his dress suit, which he buys before he is thirty and uses very sparingly for the next forty-five years. But this manas tail-coat might have been made yesterday, though its cut was conservative. His hair was rather long, and curly, but it was most elegantly arranged. His bearing was distinguished. I am somewhat too old to describe a manas face as beautiful without self-consciousness, yet he was undeniably beautifula"beautiful but of an icy hauteur. I recognized the type at once; obviously a visiting lecturer from some Mid-Western American University.
aIt is a handsome piece of work, isnat it?a said I, referring to our reredos.
He did not look at me. aQuite interesting, as these family portraits go,a he murmured. I concluded that he must be deaf.
aIt is Russian, seventeenth century, what is called a travelling iconostasis,a I said, raising my voice.
aA pity there is no picture of Father here. Still, not bad of its kind,a said he, still ignoring me.
aI take it you are a visitor to our Department of Fine Art,a I shouted.
He turned then and looked at me. It was a look in which pity and contempt vied for supremacy. I was taken aback, for I have not been looked at in that way since my final oral examination, now some thirty years ago.
aYou do not know me?a said he.
This nettled me. I am not very good at names, but I am first-rate at faces. I knew that I had never seen him before. And yeta"there was something familiar about him.
aDoes this give you a clue?a said the stranger, and in an instant he was transformed. A scarlet, tight-fitting costume, and a voluminous red cloak appeared where the fashionable dress-suit had been, and the murmur of the discotheque upstairs seemed suddenly to be changed to some familiar bars ofa"who was ita"yes, Gounod.
aOf course I know you now,a I cried; ayou are the new director of the Opera School. How good of you to come in fancy dress.a aNo!a he shouted, impatiently, and once again he was transformed. This time he wore a rough, hairy costume, the feet of which were like hooves; great ramas horns sprang from his brow, and at the back, where the seat of his trousers had been, there was now an ugly face from the mouth of which a long red tongue lolled obscenely.
aOf course,a I shouted, and laughed foolishly, for I was becoming somewhat unnerved; ayou must be one of the actors from the medieval play group, the Poculi Ludique Societas. What a good disguise!a aDisguise!a he roared, and his voice was like a lionas. At the same moment the pendulous tongue of that nether face blew a loud raspberrya"the very trumpet-call of derision. aWretched child of an age of unbelief, what is to be done with you?a And suddenly, to my intense dismay, there wasa"right before me in the Chapela"a red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads. The noises made by those seven heads were very hard on the nerves, and the delicate scent of the beautiful manas cologne had given place to a stench of brimstone that made me gasp. I leapt backward, tumbled over a chair and crashed to the ground.
aO the Devil!a I exclaimed, and suddenly the dragon was gone and the beautiful man stood before me. aWell, youave got it at last,a said he, and helped me to rise.
I did not stay on my feet for an instant. I know when I am outcla.s.sed; I dropped immediately to my knees. aGreat Lord,a I said, and as my voice did not seem to be trembling enough naturally I added a shade more tremolo to it by art, aGreat Lord, what is your will?a aMy will is that you stand up and forget all that medieval mummery,a said the Devila"for now it was as plain as could be who the visitor was. aYou wretched mortals insist on treating me as if I had not moved forward since the sixteenth century; but living outside time as I do, I am always thoroughly up-to-date.a aAll right,a said I, getting to my feet, awhat can I do for you? An excellent supper is being served in the Upper Library, or if you would fancy a d.a.m.ned soul or two, I can easily give you a College list, with helpful markings in the margin.a aOh dear, dear, dear,a said he; awhat a cheap Devil you must think me. I donat want any of your Junior Fellows, or any of your colleagues, either; I leave such journeymanas work as they are to my staff.a A thought of really horrible dimensiona"of blasting vanitya"swept through me. Trying to keep pride out of my voice, I whispered, aThen you have come for me?a The Devil laugheda"it was a silvery snicker, if you can imagine such a thinga"and poked me playfully in the ribs. aGet along with you, and stop fishing for compliments,a said he.
It was that poke in the ribs that rea.s.sured me. I had always been told the Devil has a common streak in him, and now he had shown it I was not so afraid. aWell,a said I, aI am sure that you have not come here for nothing; if you donat want soulsa"even so desirable a spiritual property as my own soula"what can I offer you?a aNothing but a really good look at this handsome reredos,a he replied. aDoubtless you will find this strange, but at this time of year, when so much Christmas celebration is going on, I feel a little wistful. I hear so many people saying that they are going home for Christmas. Do you know, Master, I should very much like to go home for Christmas.a I was too tactful to offer any comment.
aBut of course I shanat be asked,a he said, and a look of exquisite melancholy transformed the beautiful, proud face into the saddest sight that I have ever beheld.
When I was a boy there was still a large public for a novel by Marie Corelli called The Sorrows of Satan, but even she never guessed that not being asked home for Christmas was one of them.
I was in a quandary. Against overpowering and insensate Evil I could have thrown myself, and been consumed in defence of the College. But against sentimentalism I did not know what to do. This was a time for the uttermost in tact.
aDo they have a pretty lively time at your old home, when Christmas rolls round?a I asked, thinking that this colloquial tone might disarm him.
aI canat say,a he replied; aas I told you, Iave never been asked back since my difference of opinion with my Father, such a long time ago. Christmas didnat begin until aeons after that.a aAh, I think I understand your situation,a I said. aNo wonder you are so wicked. Itas not your fault at all. You are what we now call the product of a broken home.a The Devil gave me a look which made me profoundly uneasy. aJust because I am enjoying your sympathy, donat imagine that I cannot read you like a book,a he said. aYou think you are cleverer than I; it is a very common academic delusion.a aI certainly do not think I am cleverer than you,a said I; aI know only too well what happens to professors who get that idea; the unfortunate Dr. Faustus, for instance. But I do think you might play fair with me; you ask for my sympathy, and when I do the best I can you threaten me and accuse me of hypocrisy. Please let us talk on terms of intellectual honesty.a Once again the Chapel resounded with that startling and lewd raspberry, and I became aware that though the Devil chose to appear in the guise of a gentleman of impeccable contemporary taste, all those other aspects of his personality, including the one with the seven dragonsa heads and the one with the unconventionally placed tongue, were present, though invisible.
aIntellectual honesty just means playing by your rules,a said he, aand I like to play by my own, which I make up as we go along. Do you think I am so stupid I can only hold one point of view at a time? Why, even you foolish creatures of earth can do better than that. I enjoy being sentimental about Christmas; after all, it is my Younger Brotheras birthday. But donat imagine that because of that I donat take every opportunity to make it distasteful.a He paused, and I could see that he was in a mood both reminiscent and boastful, so I held my peace, and very soon he continued.
aI think the Christmas card was one of my best inventions,a he said. aYes, I think the Christmas card has done as much to put Christmas to the bad as any other single thing. And I began it so cleverly; just a few pretty Victorian printed greetings, and thena"well, you know what it is today.a I nodded, and rubbed my arm, which was still aching with writeras cramp.
aGifts, too,a he mused. aOf course they originated with the Gifts of the Magi. I knew the Magi well, you know. Gaspar, Balthazar and Melchiora"very good chaps and their offerings of gold, frankincense and myrrh were characteristic of their n.o.ble hearts. But when I got to work on their idea and spread the notion that everybody ought to give a Christmas gift to virtually everybody else I was really at the top of my form. The cream of it is, you see, that most people want to give presents to people they like, but I have made it obligatory for them to give presents to people they donat like, as well. Look at it any way you will, that was subtlea"downright subtle.a It sickened me to see that the breakdown in his style of conversation was accompanied by a coa.r.s.ening in his appearance. He was now red-faced, heavy-jowled and wet-lipped. And somewhere in the background I could hear the seven heads of the red dragon hissing like great serpents.
aSanta Claus,a"yes, Santa Claus is all mine,a he continued. aLook at his picture here on your reredosa"St. Nicholas the Wonder Worker. A fine old chap. I knew him very well when he was bishop of Myra. Loved giving gifts. Lavish and open-handed as only a saint knows how to be. But when I went to work, and advertising got into high gear, the job was done. Now you see his picture everywherea"a boozy old b.u.m in a red suit peddling everything you can think of; magazine subscriptions, soft drinks, junk jewellery, dairy products, electric hair driers, television sets, Wettums Dollsa"you name it, Santaas got it. I meet Saint Nicholas now and then; heas still in existence, trying to rescue Christmas, and I donat mind telling you that when we meet Iam almost ashamed to look him in the face. Almost, but not quite.a By this time the degeneration of the Devil had gone very far indeed. His beautiful dress suit was a crumpled mess, his hair had become thin and greasy, his stomach and also his posterior had swollen so that he was positively pear-shaped, and the handkerchief he pulled out to wipe tears of cruel mirth from his eyes was disgustingly dirty.
I had no idea what to do. I felt that the situation was desperate. And then I had an idea.
There is a form of activity very popular now in education, called acounsellinga. Several times each year I receive letters which say, aWhat counselling staff do you provide in your College?a and I always reply with a monosyllablea"aMea. Obviously this was the moment for some counselling, and all that held me back was a strong conviction that counselling, too, had been invented by the Devil. Would he fall for his own nonsense? I could but try.
aYou came here to look at our reredos,a said I, putting my arm around his shoulders in what I hoped was a fatherly, yet respectful manner. aLook at it now, and think of your old home, of your family. Unfortunately we have no likeness of your Fathera"a aThe Michelangelo portrait is by far the best,a he interrupted; acatches Him to a T.a aa"but look here, at your brothersa"the Archangel Michael, the Archangel Gabriel. How handsome they are! Observe what fine physical condition they are in, despite an age almost equal to your own. Remember that you too were once like thata"a I quickly removed my embracing arm; all the disgusting symptoms of spiritual and physical degeneration had fled in that instant, and he stood beside me, naked as the dawn, and equipped with splendid black wings. aI am like that now,a he said proudly. But to my astonishment, I saw that the Devil was a richly endowed hermaphrodite. Still, five years of Ma.s.sey College has prepared me for any unusual development.
aGooda"aha"archangel!a I cried. And then I brought out the tried-and-true counselloras phrase of encouragement. aYou see, you can do anything if only you will try. Now, this dreadful a.s.sault on Christmas is unworthy of you. Donat you think youave done enough? People still celebrate Christmas, you know, in a spirit quite outside the reach of the Christmas card, the perfunctory gift, the degraded figure of Santa Clausa"a I was set to go on, for I was thinking of tonight, and of all of us here, but the Devil looked balefully at me.
aYes, but it is all for Hima"my Younger Brother, you know. One would imagine n.o.body else had ever had a birthday. n.o.body celebrates my birthday.a I looked, and I a.s.sure you he was pouting.
I am not a professor of drama for nothing: I know a cue when I hear one.
aGrieve no more,a I said; aI will celebrate your birthday.a aPooh,a he said; awho are you?a aAha,a said I; ayou are trying to trap me into the sin of Pride. Nevertheless, without my telling you, you know very well who I am.a He had the grace to look somewhat abashed. aWell, be that as it may, whoas going to know?a aThe whole College will know,a said I.
aPooh! The College!a said he, rudely, but he was wavering.
aItas a graduate College,a said I; amore than that, itas a think-tank.a I knew the Devil could not resist a really up-to-the-minute bit of jargon.
aItas a bargain,a he said. aWhat will you do?a aIall fly the College banner and the St. Catharine bell will ring twenty-one times.a aJust as if I were one of the Fellows?a he asked, and there was a gleam in his eyes which looked very much like pleasure.
aPrecisely the same,a I replied. aNow, what is the date?a He hesitated, but only for a moment. aDo you know, Iave never told a soul. Itasa"a and he whispered the date into my ear. His breath made my ear disagreeably hot, but today I notice I hear better with it than the other.